Page 15 of Heart’s Rescue

Rowan

Boo

How in the voids does my brother stand this horrible job?

I’ve been serving as the World’s End sentry for exactly two days, and I already want to gouge my own eyes out. I never realized how relentlessly boring it is to do this by yourself; I’d never come out here alone, not once. I’d only dragged myself into the woods with Phaedron, when I wasn’t off doing something more exciting, of course, and I’d teased him for his workout regime, his obsessive sword sharpening, and the fact that he was always, always, always up early, no matter how late we’d stayed up the night before at the World’s End pub.

And in all that time, I’d never really grasped the sheer, excruciating boredom of what Phaedron actually does. Or, I think with a sick little twist in my gut, what he did.

It’s not a pleasant thought, that little shift in verb tense. It’s not something I want to face right now. Or ever. I tilt back my hood and run my fingers along the jagged edge of my frost-bitten ear. I don’t know what I’m looking for, exactly, but whatever it is, I’m pretty sure it’s not here. The woods where Phaedron was attacked are silent today, and so still it’s almost creepy. A fresh layer of snow has hidden everything; the blood, the trampled mess of fallen branches and frozen dirt my magic created. Even Phaedron’s severed right arm.

I spit in the snow, pull my hood up, and rub my hands together. That’s enough sentry duty for now. These woods can watch themselves while I go grab a bite at the World’s End pub. I turn toward town.

Someone screams. I freeze as fear shoots through my body like a flaming arrow. I turn slowly, keeping my hood up and reaching under my cloak for Phaedron’s sword.

Because that scream came from the woods. There shouldn’t be anyone in the woods. I’m the only idiot who’s left tracks in this snow for the past two days. Everyone in town is still too scared to come out here.

I pull Phaedron’s sword from its sheath, wincing a little as the hiss of metal against leather whispers through the trees. Then I call my magic, slowly and gently, trying to avoid another explosion like the one that had leveled Kara's barn as I’d run toward Phaedron’s screams. My magic ripples out of the ground, expectant. Hungry.

My vision burns, and I yank my hood down over my face to hide the fire leaking from my eyes. If I play this right, my magic will hide me. This new monster won’t even know I’m here. Not until it’s too late.

Because the king already has his heart.

The next monster doesn’t need to come in alive.

The monster isn’t exactly hard to find. Even if it hadn’t left such deep tracks in the snow, I’d have been able to follow the sound of its feet dragging through the ice and its teeth clanking together. I tilt my head to the side, watching it from deep within the shadows.

Watching her. This monster is obviously a woman. Like the first monster, then, but also not like her. I saw the first monster as Captain Orryen led her away. Her eyes had shot fire at the rest of us, and Orryen had taken at least three blades off of her. That I could see. Plus, she’d clearly gotten the best of him in the end, which is why former Captain Orryen is now missing his heart and living out his days in some sort of magical sleep while Acting Captain Aloserin is the one responding to my letters requesting Phaedron’s promotion to the Royal Guard with a bunch of pretty variations on the theme of no.

But this monster? Eh, she’s hardly going to be worth killing. I’m almost upset about it. As I watch, the monster drags herself to a tree. She’s been moving strangely, sort of hunched over and limping. For a moment I think she’s just going to lie down in the snow and save me the hassle of murdering her, but then she reaches up and begins methodically snapping off dead branches and stacking them at her feet.

Is she going to try to start a fire? Not a bad idea, although I’m not going to let her get that far. The snapping branches cover any noise I make as I approach her. I let my magic bleed away as I walk; it leaves my eyes stinging and my head throbbing.

I raise Phaedron’s sword in the cold, still air. I’m so close to her now. Close enough to see the way her shoulders are convulsing with shivers. Close enough to see that one of her sleeves is torn, and close enough to notice the dozens of branches caught in the tangles of her thick, ebony hair.

I could do it now. Skyfire’s blade is long enough; I could plunge it between the monster’s shoulder blades and into her heart. I hesitate, holding my breath. The monster snaps a branch in two and drops it at her feet, then reaches forward for another.

I think of Kara bringing newborn sheep over to visit us, the way her whole face lit up when she talked about them, the way she named every one. I think of her lying in the snow with her guts ripped apart, her open eyes staring at the ceiling of the world. I think of Phaedron twirling his sword, reflecting the light of the glowsoft orbs across the snow, and then I think of his empty sleeve.

No. I don’t want this monster to die so easily. I want her to know that Rowan killed her.

I push my hood back and feel my magic rush into me. My eyes burn. The monster snaps the branch in her hands and drops it.

“Hey,” I say.

There’s a gasp, a cry, and the monster spins around in a tangled flurry of black hair. Then she’s facing me, and I see wide eyes, dark skin, shock and fear rippling across her features.

“Boo,” I whisper.

She steps back, stumbles over her pile of wood, then catches herself and steps back again. She’s got her eyes locked on me, but she’s fumbling for something at her waist. Her chest rises and falls, rises and falls, and voids damn it, why am I even looking at her chest?

Something flashes in the dim light of the glowsoft orbs. The monster has a dagger in her hand now, a dagger that’s trembling so violently some part of me wants to yell at her to put it away before she cuts herself.

Cute. Real cute, monster.

I step closer. Phaedron’s sword flashes between us. She tries to back away. I lunge forward and grab her wrist. Her skin is warm; I can feel the frantic beating of her pulse. She tries to pull away from my touch. Her breath is a soft little cry in the cold air.

I squeeze her wrist, then twist. Pain flickers across her face. She tugs at her wrist again—