by K.N. Lee
Rowen wrapped the new bandage around his arrow wound and clasped her hands before her, taking a step back to check out her handiwork. “I believe so.”
“Good,” he said, and settled his head against the wall. “I need a nap, if you don’t mind?”
Rowen sat on her bed and watched him close his eyes. She wanted to press him for more answers, but it seemed that he was being kept in the dark as much as she was. He didn’t know anything of value.
Gavin yawned again. “Wake me up when Logan delivers dinner.”
Rowen’s brows rose. “So, we are supposed to stay in here all day? And you insist I am not a prisoner.”
He winked at her. “Keeping you safe, remember?”
Rowen pursed her lips and shook her head as Gavin drifted to sleep. She watched him for a while, noting how peaceful he looked with his eyes closed and snoring softly. She should have offered him her bed. The chest didn’t look the least bit comfortable.
She realized that she’d never seen Prince Lawson sleep, or much more than their stolen secreted moments together in various parts of the palace. Her heart was still broken. It had only been a week since she lost him, and his image continued to pop up when she was left in solitude. Finding his killer wasn’t an option anymore. She would never return to Withrae or the land of her birth. Now that she was with pirates, she wondered if her destiny awaited in the human realm.
Such a prospect was terrifying. She’d never dreamed of going to the human kingdoms, but now that it was actually an option it frightened her. She was on her own, for the first time in her life.
She glanced at Gavin and twirled a lock of her hair around her finger. She just had to get away from the pirates.
Yawning, Rowen settled onto her hard bed and closed her eyes. Just a few winks of sleep would give her the energy she needed to continue working her charms on Gavin. Before she could fall asleep, a prophecy flooded her mind, and pinned her down to her bed so that she couldn’t move. She could barely breathe as the scent of blood and burnt coal filled her nostrils.
When Rowen opened her eyes, she was taken aback by the amount of bodies that littered the red dirt of a mountain valley. She covered her mouth, overwhelmed by the smell and sight of death and carnage.
Gavin’s dead body was at her feet, his cold lifeless eyes directed to the sky which was a blend of red, purple and orange.
“Dear fire and light,” she whispered as she looked over the cliff at a sea of blood.
When she spun around, the sight was the same.
Death.
Everywhere.
Captain Elian’s body hung from a tall, black tree just feet behind her with a sign that said “sorcerer” scratched into it with blood. Siddhe was dead at the base, impaled by her own sword.
Why Rowen was alive was a mystery.
“Did I do this?”
Rowen prayed that it wasn’t so. She may have been an accused and convicted murderer, but she’d never killed anyone and never dreamed of such.
A loud screech startled her, and as Rowen turned back to the cliff, a red dragon flew to her, it’s beautiful wings spanning no more than a large bird’s.
Instinctively, Rowen outstretched her left arm, and sucked in a breath of surprise as the red dragon landed on it, just above her wrist.
It turned a golden eye to meet hers and bowed.
It spoke. “Where shall we go now?”
Rowen shot to her elbows, disoriented and fuzzy-headed. It took a moment to even see straight, let alone for the thumping in her head to subside.
Once the prophecy faded, Rowen’s dress clung to her skin with sweat. She’d never had one so confusing before. It left her feeling uneasy and exposed.
Rowen slid off the bed and onto her feet. Quietly, she peeked over at Gavin’s face to see that he was sleeping soundly. Seeing him dead in her prophecy made her stomach churn. She barely knew him, but she didn’t want to see him meet that awful fate.
Satisfied that he wouldn’t be going anywhere for a while, she straightened her dress and quickly braided her hair into a single braid that hung down her back.
Perhaps it was time to investigate on her own. Now that she was armed with a new prophecy, she needed to stay one step ahead of it. At least in this new one she was alive.
She flinched when a soft knock came from the door. Rowen quickly answered, hoping to prevent another from waking Gavin. An older crewman stood outside the door, wearing a dingy brown apron over his leather pants and tucked in shirt. He had sunken blue eyes and stringy grayish-brown hair that fell into his eyes.
“Logan, is it?”
He nodded and she looked down to the plates of cheese, beans, and bread he had in his hand.
“Dinner, miss,” he said as she accepted the food.
Rowen set the plates on the empty crate and before Logan could get away, she rushed back to him and took his hand into her own.
He tensed, and then went limp at her touch.
“Stay with Gavin, won’t you?” She asked with a sweet smile.
Logan’s eyes widened and he nodded. “Of course, miss. I’ll stay with Gavin.”
“Good,” Rowen said, patting his roughened hand. “Sit there, and watch him for me.”
Dutifully, Logan sat on the bed and turned his gaze to the sleeping young scribe.
Pleased with the effectiveness of her bewitching of the old pirate, Rowen walked over to Gavin, placed a hand on his forehead, and leaned close to his ear.
“Stay asleep until I return to wake you,” she whispered and his head lolled to the left, toward the wall.
Rowen grinned as she stood. She rubbed her hands together. “Good,” she said. “Now, let’s get some answers.”
She left the safety of her cabin and peered around both corners from the doorway. No one was coming.
She jumped and retreated to her room, closing the door quietly as she heard footsteps coming down the hallway.
Siddhe’s footsteps. Already she knew them well, the click of her boots, and the rustling of the keys at her belt.
She listened as Siddhe walked right into Captain Elian’s office without bothering to knock.
Once the door opened and closed, Rowen carefully opened her door and stepped out into the hallway.
Her heart thumped in her chest. This would be dangerous. But, she had no other choice. Sitting around and waiting to be sold or killed was out of the question. She’d bewitch them all if she had to.
Rowen pressed her cheek to Elian’s door, and listened.
Chapter 20
SO, THAT WAS Nimah’s daughter?
He rolled the name Nimah Glenick around on his tongue and found it tasted sour. Nimah Vasour had sounded… and tasted so much sweeter.
But apparently, she had turned out to be an ambitious little bitch, just like her mother and father. Married a duke. Served her purpose as a right little brood mare, producing a chit just in her likeness.
And, just as ruthless, if the charge of murdering the crown prince of Withrae was to be believed.
Elian jumped to his feet and flipped the table over with a cry of frustration. Pewter and porcelain went crashing, and ale slinked into the cracks of the wood floor.
All that power expended, all those dark souls lost, all for the sake of what, saving Nimah’s brat? What the bloody hell did that have to do with the Red Dragon? The Vasours were Mount Withrae Dragons with ice in their blood, and in their hearts. Every last one of them.
There was nothing special among the nobility of Draconia. Every dragon family claimed some mountain or other, and what did that make them? A bunch of overgrown lizards crowing over owning a piece of rock.
He wondered with a wry smile what they would have done about their magnificent lineages if Draconia had been all desert. They would have had to play king of the sand dune, only to have it all blow away.
All the same, Rowen Glenick’s presence made him think twice about dismissing Withrae as being significant in the quest for the Red Dragon. It was a damn s
hame that he had just complicated getting back into the kingdom by foiling the execution of its most wanted criminal.
Pacing around the cabin, despite the residual exhaustion from expending all the dark souls, he replayed Cota’s words. Nothing fit when it came to Rowen.
She wasn’t his heart’s desire. She wasn’t any kind of desire for him. For one thing, she was far too young, and for another, he felt slightly sick at the idea of bedding Nimah’s daughter. If nothing else, Siddhe would have his balls if he looked at the girl wrong, and he liked his balls right where they were. Siddhe did, too.
As if he had conjured her, the mermaid strode into his cabin without bothering to knock. She glanced without emotion at the overturned table and spilled food.
“Storm’s passed.” One look at Siddhe showed that while the weather may have cleared, her own personal storm was brewing and just about to break loose.
“Where’d we end up?” He hadn’t set any particular orders before they left, just to get them out of there.
“In the middle of the ocean.” She shrugged.
Elian managed a weak snort at that.
“Correction,” she added. “In the middle of the ocean, waiting like sitting ducks for the Withraen navy.”
“It could have been any ship that took the girl. We weren’t the only ones buggering out of port that day.”
“I give that scribe boy’s barmaid exactly two minutes under a stern glare before she tells the royal inquisitors everything.”
“Well, as you said, we’re in the middle of the ocean. We didn’t even know where we were sailing to, so how could they?”
Siddhe looked ready to slap him upside the head.
“The girl is from Harrow,” she spat.
She didn’t need to say anything more. He knew what she meant. If Rowen was part of the mystery and came from Harrow, then the next logical step was to go back to Harrow.
“Torture her.” Siddhe’s voice was even but deadly cold.
Elian considered it. “Why?”
“She must know something, even if she doesn’t know it. Pain begets answers.”
The memory of his vision of Rowen falling with the noose around her neck pulsed behind his eyes. He hadn’t had a prophesy in so long. Decades. That’s why he had needed Cota. The vision of Rowen had to mean something.
“She might talk of her own accord,” Elian mused. “Without torture.”
Siddhe’s incredulous expression came uncomfortably close to the way he looked at Gavin.
“The right questions may get answers she doesn’t know she has,” he pointed out.
“Then, take your time with her, by all means. Might as well let the Withraen navy catch up.”
“There are times, Siddhe, when you begin to sound alarmingly like me.”
“There are times when you are a fool.”
Elian huffed in amusement and walked over to his desk. He leaned over, bracing his hands against the surface. He pressed his lips together in an effort to ignore the faint discomfort coming from the very center of his bones. Concentrating on the large parchment before him helped somewhat.
The parchment was old, with age browning and shredding the edges and corners. Read from left-to-right, it was obviously a map, but it looked only half-finished. Elian focused his anger on the blank half of the map. It was there. All those drawings that would lead him to the Red Dragon were there. Just hidden.
Every landmark on the map so far had been bought with blood and peril. The first few had been the angry buccaneering of a young man with a broken heart. The second handful were the object of a man whose life was empty of everything else but a pointless purpose. The hidden marks in the blank space mocked him, now when his very life depended on succeeding in this quest.
He couldn’t afford to dismiss any clue, even if it came in the form of a silly little girl who had been the catspaw in an undoubtedly bigger political game.
“We head for Harrow, then?” Siddhe’s voice called him back from his thoughts.
He nodded once, wearily.
There was a loud crash behind him, and he winced, not really wanting to know what Siddhe had smashed.
“When will you stop?” she demanded. There was a breathless, desperate edge to her voice. “Your endless dreaming of someday will make you lose all that you have today!”
He moved to Siddhe and wrapped her in his arms. “Dreaming of someday is all that makes this day bearable. That, and you, my lovely little sea monster.”
Siddhe’s kisses were full of salt, either from her ocean blood or her tears.
If only they could have been enough to reconcile a dying man to his fate.
***
TORTURE?
Shaking, Rowen pulled away from the door. She’d heard enough. She’d escaped torture and death. Now, these pirates wanted to treat her like a prisoner again. Could she never truly win?
She retreated to her cabin before Siddhe and the captain finished having sex with one another. Her heart raced, and yet she had no outlet for the fear that gripped at her.
Logan sat on her bed like a statue, his eyes on Gavin as if his life depended on it.
She placed a hand on his cheek. “You should get back to the kitchen. Don’t you think?” She tried to keep her voice light and sweet as her mind fought to think of a way to get off that ship.
Logan nodded. “Right, miss. I’m s’pposed to be feedin’ the crew.”
“Good man,” she said, and watched him leave the room.
She knelt before Gavin and whispered into his ear, while holding his hand. “You’re free to wake up whenever you’d like.”
Gavin’s body relaxed and with a sigh, Rowen pushed herself back up to her feet.
She stood in the center of the room, staring at the closed cabin door. So many questions. Still, very little answers.
Why would they need to torture her for answers? She was certain that she didn’t know anything useful to them.
Chapter 21
THREE BRUTAL DAYS of waiting had passed and Rowen was still unsure of her place on the ship. She lived in fear, and utter boredom, with only Gavin to comfort and entertain her. When they moved her from her cabin to another darker, muskier, smaller cabin on another level, her confusion only grew. The bed was the only piece of furniture in her new cabin, and she was forced to eat her meals off of her lap like a stable hand rushing in between shoveling dung.
Gavin—her protector—had returned to his duties on the ship and only came to her when they were done. His wounds were healing, but he was still weakened.
Twice, Elian called for Rowen and questioned her. Each time was more frustrating than the last.
On the second day, Captain Elian summoned her again. This time he had questions about her Dragon abilities. With a straight face, Rowen told him that she had none.
“Silly, useless girl,” he called her, but her answer satisfied him and he allowed her to go.
On the third day, he called for her. Questions about Prince Lawson and whether she killed him were addressed. Vehemently, Rowen swore that she had loved Lawson and had been framed for his murder.
Again, Captain Elian believed her. This time it was the truth. Either the captain truly took her for her word, or was only pretending to. The latter frightened her. There was a quiet mystery about that man that she couldn’t shake. The way his ice-gray eyes lingered on her face and examined her always left her unsettled for hours after their meetings ended.
All Rowen wanted was fresh air, a good hot meal, a warm comfortable bed, and her freedom.
When Gavin visited her that evening, Rowen didn’t waste any time. She stood from her small, rickety bed, which took up most of the room.
“Gavin,” she said, wringing her hands. “You have to tell me what they have planned. Don’t let me sit here awaiting my death? Not again. Please.”
He held his hands out and clicked his teeth. “Now, who told you that you were going to die? Didn’t I say that you were safe? Come now, you’re supposed to t
rust me.”
“Why are we going to Harrow?”
Gavin tensed. He hid his surprise, but it was too late. Now, she knew he was hiding things. In just hours they would be docking in her hometown. The concept was both terrifying and exciting. If only she knew why.
“Where did you hear that?”
Rowen placed her hands on her hips. “Logan,” she said. “Seems he tells me more than you do. And, I’m supposed to trust you?”
She turned away from him, feigning indignation. Her cheeks were flushed, and her breathing had quickened. She pulled her dress away from her chest, letting in more air. That cabin was hot and stuffy, and she was sick of being there. Why they moved her in the first place was a mystery.
“Rowen,” Gavin called.
“No,” she said. “You don’t care if I live or die. Just admit it.” Her words were petulant, but would appeal to his softer side. She needed him to let down his guard and see her for the poor, defenseless young lady that she was. That was the angle she chose to play this time.
Anything to get him to tell her the truth.
When he took her by the arm, Rowen softened against his touch. Gently, he turned her to face him.
For a moment, she felt as if she looked at Lawson. The way Gavin tilted her chin with his fingers almost brought her to tears. Instead of crying, she looked into his eyes, pleadingly.
“What’s the worst that can happen if you just tell me what’s going on?”
Gavin shook his head. “I can end up dead is all.” His eyes locked on her lips. When he licked his own, Rowen had the urge to just take him by the face and kiss him. It was stronger than she’d expected, and difficult to fight. She was sure that his lips tasted as delicious as they looked.
Rowen did take him by the face, with both hands, and lowered her voice to a dangerous snarl.
“Tell me what you know about Captain Elian’s plans for me. Why are we going to Harrow?”
His words about dying nagged at her. She didn’t want him to die for revealing secrets, but no one would have to know.
Gavin grabbed her hand, his brows furrowing, and he smacked her hand back. “What do you think you’re doing?”
