Heir of Hope (Follower of the Word Book 3) Page 9

  A third rap pushed the fog from her mind. Rowen looked over her shoulder at the door and frowned. The door was locked. She remembered the click after the herald left.

  A key clanked softly on the other side.

  Fully awake now, she scrambled to her feet, her hands still bound. The door opened with a long creak. In the doorway stood Valin. His hair was damp and fell in soft, dark curls around his face. His eyes were an icy blue, a shade lighter than the dark blue cloak thrown over his shoulders.

  Without waiting for her to speak, he walked into the room as if he had been beckoned inside. A chill entered with him. He stopped a couple feet away and looked at her. “I have something for you.”

  He held up what looked like a small piece of metal armor. “I think you will find this more accommodating than that leather glove you currently wear and having your hands tied behind your back.”

  The piece of metal he held was a glove of sorts, made from thin, small metal plates and chains.

  Rowen lifted her chin. “Why not simply untie my hands?”

  Valin arched one eyebrow. “And allow you access to your mark? I think not.”

  “As you said, I have a leather glove on.”

  “That you could take off.”

  “Why are you afraid of my mark?”

  Valin laughed. It sounded neither lighthearted nor humorous. “I know what you are, Eldaran. I know of the power you possess. Perhaps even more than you know yourself.”

  Was he implying he knew more about her and her Eldaran blood? Was that possible? He was a Shadonae.

  Her eyes fell on the small, metal glove. Where did he find such an odd contraptio—

  She stifled a gasp. The metal glove—it was made to cover the mark on her hand.

  Valin took a step closer.

  Rowen shrank back.

  “I promise it doesn’t hurt.”

  “How do you know? Have you worn it?”

  Valin held up the glove. “I personally tested it myself when I first had it made.”

  “And who did you have it made for?” Who else had worn it? Her mother?

  He smiled. “So many questions. But answers will only come when I can trust you. Wearing this will help both of us.”

  “How?”

  The smile slid from his face. “I would advise you not to test me, Rowen. I am being more than generous to you. Malchus would have you thrown into the dungeon or worse. By wearing this, we are assured you will not use your mark on us. And in return, I will give you your freedom.”

  He might be beautiful, but Valin was frozen beneath his attractive visage. Rowen glanced back at the metal glove. “So my choices are to either be locked up or to wear that.”

  “Yes.” He held the glove up. “Those are your choices. Personally, I think this is a better option. The metal will provide full freedom of your hand, almost as much as a leather glove. The only thing is that it will be locked around your wrist.”

  Cold sweat broke out across her neck and back. “How?”

  “Here.” Valin turned the glove around. A small keyhole was drilled into the half-inch wide metal band at the bottom of the glove.

  The blood drained from her face. She could never take it off. Never.

  “Why keep me here?” Rowen took a step back. “If I am such a threat to you, why keep me alive?”

  His face grew hard. “Do you really want that? Do you want death? Malchus thinks the same way you do: kill all that threaten us. But he does not see what I see . . .”

  Valin closed the distance between them and lifted his hand. Rowen twisted away. His fingers brushed her cheek. They were warm, not cold, not how she thought they would be. He did not turn her face, instead, he stroked her skin with his thumb. “There is so much inside of you, so much potential. To kill you would be such a loss. I want to give you a chance, Rowen. But I must also protect myself. Please, won’t you consider it? Won’t you consider life?”

  His words were like warm honey, seeping into her mind. Was this small, metal glove worth dying over? That couldn’t possibly be her end.

  Rowen glanced back. “Can I leave this room if I wear the glove?”

  His face thawed. “Yes. Like I said, you will have complete freedom if you wear this glove. I would rather you be my guest than my prisoner.”

  It didn’t matter. In the end, she would still be trading one bondage for another. But if she could leave this room, perhaps she could find out why she was here, why the Word had brought her to Thyra. And how to stop Valin and the other Shadonae, Malchus. “All right. I’ll do it.” Her stomach plummeted as she said those words.

  Valin walked around her. Her insides twisted as he brushed his hand along her arm, down to her hands. Gently he untied the ropes.

  Confused, Rowen glanced back. She had expected him to jerk her hand, or twist the rope. To hurt her. Instead, his touch was tender.

  He removed the leather glove and dropped it to the floor, but still held her by the wrist. He came back around, bringing her hand along with him. He brought her hand up between them. Warm light glowed from her palm. He paused, his eyes drawn to her hand. “Such beauty. Such . . . light. Pity we need to cover it up.”

  He brought the metal glove up and placed the tip of the first finger over her own. The metal slid across her skin, the tiny plates and chain set in such a way that there were gaps for air and she could bend at the knuckles. He placed the rest of her fingers into the glove and slid the glove the rest of the way on. Fine loops of chains woven together covered her mark, the chainmail attaching at the base of each finger and to the half-inch wide metal band that now encircled her wrist. With a quick snap, the band closed around her wrist, leaving her hand bound inside the metal glove.

  Rowen stared at her hand, her mouth dry.

  “Go ahead.” Valin stepped back. “Move your hand.”

  She moved one finger, then another. The metal plates moved smoothly, the sound like small bells. There was complete movement with the glove, almost as much as she had with her leather one. Only this one could not come off without a key.

  Valin looked at her. “Better?”

  Rowen hated to admit it, but it was. Save the part where her mark was now completely covered. “Yes.” She moved her hand, half horrified by the metal glove, half marveling at the ease with which it moved. She had never seen this kind of workmanship before.

  “Good. I had a bath drawn for you while I was in here. I thought you might want to clean up and change into something a bit more comfortable.”

  Rowen looked down. Her tunic was streaked with mud and sweat, her pants torn in two places and her boots were dark with dirt.

  “This way.” Valin motioned toward the door.

  She didn’t know what to say. She stared at Valin, then the door. “Am I still your prisoner?”

  “Do you think I would treat a prisoner so nicely?”

  No, she did not. “So what am I to you?”

  Valin smiled. “You are my guest.”

  “You chained up my hand.”

  “A precaution. But other than that, you are my guest. Now, I don’t think you want to bathe in cold water. So come.”

  There was a command underlying his words, one that would not entertain any more questions. He motioned toward the door.

  Rowen headed toward the door. Fighting with Valin would not improve her circumstances. It was only a bath. What harm could come of that? If he was going to truly treat her like a guest, she would accept it. He had asked nothing of her, other than to wear this chain on her hand. A chain that gave her freedom.

  Rowen sank into the steamy hot water. Swirls of vapor swept past her face and hair, and a sigh escaped her lips. She settled down at the bottom of the copper tub and sat back, her hands resting on either side. Every part of her melted within the water.

  The bathing room was wide and s
pacious, tiled in white, with one large window a couple feet away. No sunlight poured in today. Instead, grey dismal clouds covered the sky. Candles were lit and placed to one side of the wooden table set against the far wall. Linen cloths, an ivory comb, and a pale dress rested on the other side. To her right was a fireplace. A kettle hung above the glowing coals inside.

  She closed her eyes. She could almost pretend she was home, in the White City. It would be the second day of the week, the day she usually bathed. Lady Astrea would be in her private sitting room working on her correspondence. The rest of the castle would be busy with their usual business of the day. Lore might be training a new guard. Aren would be attending to Lord Gaynor. The first snow of winter would be falling outside.

  Rowen opened her eyes and reality came back, along with it the familiar ache she carried deep inside. It gnawed at her now. She sat up and wrapped her arms around her knees. Word, what am I doing here? She looked over at the window. Tree branches scraped across the glass as the wind blew outside.

  The ache expanded until her stomach hurt. She rested her chin on her arms. Here she was bathing inside Thyra instead of stuck in a cold, dark cell. Small ripples moved along the surface. From what little she knew, she was supposedly the enemy of the Shadonae. The one who could stop them. If that was true, then why did Valin treat her so nicely?

  Well, that wasn’t fully true. She lifted up her right hand. Water dripped from the corner of the metal glove. He had protected himself from her in a fashion. But why not do away with her?

  She turned her hand until her palm was upright. She could not see her mark beneath the chains, but she could feel it. Her power had become a part of her. Stronger now, ever since her time in Temanin.

  Valin feared her mark. And was fascinated by it at the same time. Why? She could see inside people and heal. That was it. And she didn’t need to see inside Valin to guess how dark he was. So why did he fear her? Was he afraid of what he was inside?

  Rowen laughed, the sound a cheerless echo inside the room. No, there was more. He knew more. He knew something about her. And she wanted to know what it was.

  She reached over the tub and grabbed the soap bar that lay on the ground. It was a dull brown with no scent and it took a lot of rubbing to create a lather. She washed her hair twice and her body more until every bit of her time on the ship had rinsed away. By now the water had cooled and had a hazy grey look to it.

  Rowen scrambled out of the tub and crossed the room to the table. She grabbed one of the long linens and dried off before the fireplace. Wrapping another linen around her body, she began to work on her hair. Drops of water hit the floor as she worked a comb through the long strands. The hair warmed and dried as she held it close to the fire.

  She felt almost human again, except for the metal contraption on her hand. Rowen placed the comb down on the table and paused. No, she wasn’t human. Neither were Valin or Malchus. Were there any humans left in Thyra? Did that strange herald count?

  She reached for the dress and pulled it over her head. It was long and flowing, and gathered just beneath her breasts. The sleeves were made from a translucent material that opened at her shoulders and flowed around her arms. The material was cool and silky. She stood by the fire again, letting the warmth from the flames soak into the material of the dress. By now her hair was almost dry. She braided it, tying the end off with a bit of cloth she ripped from her old tunic.

  Rowen paused and touched her neck. Distorted skin and ridges. With her hair back, her scar would be fully visible. She reached for the braid, intending to undo the strands, then stopped. She didn’t care. Let Valin see. Let Malchus see.

  Valin didn’t seem repulsed by it anyway. The first person not to be.

  Why?

  Chapter

  10

  Rowen woke up the next morning, this time in bed. Pale sunlight struggled through the window across the room. Dust motes moved in and out of its beam. She stared at the light from the bed, the thick cover pulled up to her neck.

  Emptiness filled her room. It expanded across the house and out into the streets. There were no people outside her window, shouting their wares or wishing each other good morning. There were no servants bustling around the house. No dogs barking or birds singing. The emptiness was invisible and all consuming. It pressed down, choking her, dragging her toward the darkness—

  Rowen tossed back the covers and sat up. I need to get out of here.

  A wardrobe stood against the far wall, in a dark corner where the sunlight barely reached. She left the bed and opened the doors. Long, simple gowns hung inside, left behind long ago by a woman about her size.

  Her fingers trailed the fabrics. Something warm.

  She lifted out a light blue gown. The clothing style was different here. The gowns gathered beneath the breasts and flowed down the body with little decorative stitching, unlike the more form-fitting gowns in the White City.

  Rowen held the gown up and sighed. What she wouldn’t give to wear her varor uniform. Just a simple tunic and pants. And a warm, thick cloak.

  She placed the gown on the bed and rummaged around some more until she found a grey wrap similar to her cloak. That would work.

  After dressing, Rowen looked around for shoes. She had left her boots in the bathing room, along with her old clothes. They were so grimy and foul they were best put in the fire and burned to ashes.

  At the bottom of the wardrobe she found some kind of shoes with leather straps.

  Curious, she took them back to the bed and sat down. She tried the first one on her right foot. The shoe fit across the bottom of her foot, with a leather strap that settled between her first two toes and another, longer strap that wound around her ankle. She was not used to having her feet exposed. It felt . . . odd.

  She placed the other one on and walked around the room, testing the shoes. They weren’t uncomfortable. Just different.

  She glanced at the door. Valin had said she had freedom to move about if she agreed to wear the metal glove. Now to see if he told the truth.

  She crossed the room and tried the handle. It turned. Slowly she pulled back. The hallway was dark, save for light that came from the window at the end of the hall.

  Rowen stepped out from her room. The corridor was empty. Not a picture or tapestry hung on the walls, no side tables, no runner on the floor. To the right, at the end of the hall, was the stairway.

  She crept along the hall. Silence filled the air. A weight settled again, right between her shoulder blades, pressing down . . .

  Rowen flew down the stairs to the first floor. I need to find the door, need to get out of—

  She skidded to a stop at the bottom of the steps. She took another deep breath. A wheaty, yeasty smell.

  Her stomach grumbled loudly and dizziness washed over her.

  Rowen turned and stumbled past the stairs to the back of the house. Two doorways. One led to the kitchen, the other to a small dining room.

  She followed the scent into the dining room and found a loaf of bread and a crock of butter sitting on the table.

  She hadn’t eaten in over a day.

  It took everything inside her not to grab the bread and tear out a large chunk. Instead, she looked around. Where had the bread come from? Was it safe to eat?

  She swayed and her mouth watered. If Valin or Malchus wanted to kill her, she doubted they would do it by giving her poisoned food.

  With that thought, she tore into the bread, not even bothering to use the butter. Crusty on the outside, soft and warm on the inside. She barely chewed before swallowing and tore another piece with her teeth.

  Halfway through the loaf she slowed. Rowen closed her eyes, stopped chewing, and held the bread up. Thank you, Word. It wasn’t much, but she couldn’t remember being more grateful for something to eat.

  She had broken off another piece when the clop of boots sounded out
in the hallway. Rowen dropped the bread onto the table, scurried to the wall near the doorway and waited. The boots drew closer. She held still. She had no weapon—Wait. The metal glove. She could use that.

  Slowly, quietly she brought her hands up and meshed her fingers together into one tight fist.

  The boots stopped outside the doorway.

  “Rowen?”

  Valin.

  She didn’t come out.

  He entered the room and looked around, pausing at the half-eaten loaf of bread. He turned and found her next to the wall. “I see you found the breakfast I sent for you. Looks like you enjoyed it too.”

  “Yes.” She dropped her hands. “Er . . . thank you.” She picked at the half loaf. “Where did you get the bread?”

  “We have servants to attend our needs.”

  “Servants? I haven’t seen anyone in the city.”

  “We have very few.”

  Rowen studied the bread. Were they real people? Or like the herald, Regessus?

  “I thought we might take a walk this morning. Through one of the gardens.” He stared at her, his gaze slowly moving across her body. Her appetite vanished and Rowen pushed the bread away. His eyes paused on her scar, but he did not react.

  Rowen turned back toward the stairs. “I would rather go back to my room.”

  “I insist.”

  She stopped. Invisible cords seemed to wrap around her body, urging her to turn back. She did, slowly.

  “After all, it is a nice day. Perhaps one of the last days before winter.” His eyes pierced hers. Such an icy blue.

  Rowen slowly nodded. It was like she couldn’t say no.

  He waved to her. “Come, then.”

  She fought the impulse enveloping her. Valin would not control her.

  Seconds ticked by. Each one brought her more freedom.

  His face grew stern.

  Once she knew it was her own choice, she nodded again.

  A satisfied smile spread across his face. “This way.” He turned and headed toward the hallway.