Page 40 of Heart’s Rescue

Arryn

Damn

“Arryn, would you do the honors?”

I look up from the bloody mess of my arm and see Rowan gesturing toward the pile of wood he’s stacked in the middle of the canvas shelter. It takes me a moment to realize what he’s asking, and even then it seems so strange that I forget to worry about whatever in the stars might be wrong with my arm.

“You want me to light the fire?” I ask.

Rowan shrugs. He’s taken off his heavy cloak, so I can see the way he tilts his head to the side as he lifts his shoulders. It’s almost attractive.

“I think you’d be a hell of a lot faster than me fumbling around with my flint,” he says.

My cheeks burn, and I turn away. He’s lying; he lit the fire easily last night. So he’s lying to flatter me. But to flatter me about this? About my magic, the dragon’s curse? Rowan sighs.

“Okay, if you’d rather watch me fumble.”

“No,” I snap. Too quickly. Stars help me, the Lands Below are turning me into a barbarian.

Not that anyone is around to care, though. A rebellious little shiver dances across my spine as I lean forward, almost brushing the dry wood with my fingertips. The spirit of fire sings out from inside those branches, imprisoned and begging to be freed. To burn their cages to the ground.

With a sigh, I release my magic. Tiny tongues of flame lick the edges of the wood; sparks drift upward toward the hole in the roof of the shelter. Pleasure moves across my skin like silk, heavy and warm.

And then shame rushes in, chasing my enjoyment up into the sky along with the sparks and smoke. I turn to Rowan, my cheeks burning, guilt heavy in my chest.

“Nice,” Rowan says. He’s smiling at me, an actual smile that doesn’t look anything like a joke. “Thanks.”

I rock back, shuffling frantically through my rules of etiquette to discover how exactly I’m supposed to respond to something like this. But I have nothing. I’m still staring at Rowan. I’ve been staring for so long that it’s probably rude.

“People in the Worlds Above don’t value fire magic, huh?” Rowan asks.

He’s still smiling, but there’s a tightness around his eyes that makes me think he’s not joking. He’s asking a real question. I turn away, then start untying the knots on the front of my jacket.

“Well, no,” I say, stupidly. I risk a glance up at Rowan. He’s not smiling anymore, but that does nothing to discourage the heat burning in my cheeks. “I mean, everyone has magic, of course—”

My voice fades. I shiver as I remember the void beast, and then what came after. Rowan, blue fire pouring from his eyes. Magic exploding from the ground, uprooting trees, chasing the monster over the cliff.

“It’s— It’s nothing like the magic here,” I say. My voice shakes despite my best efforts to be strong. “I can see why everyone feared the Kingdom of the Fall,” I add, trying to smile. Trying to make it sound like a joke.

Rowan smiles back at me like he got the joke and there’s nothing funny about it. Then he turns around and begins pulling things from his pack. The tea kettle. A leather satchel. A roll of bandages. I finish untying my jacket and ease it off, hissing a little as it brushes the spot on my arm that the monster just sliced open. The fire cracks and spits as Rowan settles the tea kettle on the coals.

“That’s not Kingdom of the Fall magic,” he says. His voice is low but clear, as though he’s telling me something he’s not proud of.

“Oh?”

I stop fiddling with the hem of the blue sweater I’m wearing and stare at him.

“That’s just me,” Rowan continues, and his voice makes the words sound like an apology. “That’s my freak born-too-close-to-the-void magic.”

A shiver runs the length of my spine. Rowan turns away, still smiling, but in a way that makes him look like he’s been hurt.

“Damn useful, though,” I say before I can stop myself.

I’ve never said that word before, damn. I half expect Mother to come crashing in through the shelter’s door, drag me into the forest, and feed me to the shadow monsters.

Rowan freezes. I start to prepare an apology, because stars help me, I’ve crossed the line. I threw his own words back at him, and I said something filthy in the process. Rowan is trying to help me for some mysterious reason, and I’m repaying his kindness by being insufferable and rude.

And then Rowan laughs. It’s a surprised kind of sound, as though his own amusement seized him by the collar and shook him until he squeaked. He laughs once, then again, and then he settles back on his sleeping pad and runs his fingers over the ragged edges of his left ear.