Page 87 of Heart’s Rescue

Rowan

One Last Time

Five teleport hops. Five hops on an empty stomach after a miserable night of no sleep, but hey, it’s not like I could possibly feel any worse than I feel right now. The ground slams into my boots, the teleportation stones of the World’s End solidify around me, and the shattered remains of Kara's barn loom like judge, jury, and executioner in the pale illumination of the failing glowsoft orbs.

I fall over. It’s not graceful or elegant, it’s just collapsing in a heap like a bunch of garbage. Snow crunches beneath my shoulders, and the glowsoft orbs dance in their slow rotations far, far above the dead trees. My breath rises in unsteady wisps, dissipating as it reaches for those drifting orbs of distant light. When it begins to snow, light, cold flecks of ice drifting down from the ceiling of the world, I think for a moment that maybe they’re stars. Maybe I can finally see the stars.

Ice stings my eyes. It wouldn’t be so bad to die here, really. I could just close my eyes and fall asleep. The voids know I’ve stumbled across enough bodies who’ve gone out that way, farmers who’d decided they’d had enough of life in the Outer Ring but didn’t think they’d have a place in the Crystal City, or idiotic trekkers who didn’t know the first thing about surviving out here. Sometimes they take off their cloaks and mittens. Old Eoghan had even taken off his boots. Phaedron found him frozen in a snowbank with his bare feet and a smile on his face. It’s the easiest thing in the Lands Below to die out here.

I groan, and it comes out as a puff of steam. Every part of me hurts. Snow is melting into my boots, ice is hitting my face, and my empty stomach is absolutely screaming at me. I roll over, then push myself unsteadily to my feet.

I can’t die out here. Not now. Not with Phaedron waiting for me.

The door to our cabin creaks as I push it open. The fire’s roaring. Phaedron’s bed is still in the middle of the room, by the fire, and he’s sitting in it, propped up on pillows, reading something. I drag my eyes off him and fix them on the door to my room. If I can just make it to my door, I’ll be okay. If I can just lock myself in my room I can avoid having to face any of the terrible, terrible things that have happened to me since that beautiful monster dropped into our world and then ripped it apart.

“Voids, Rowan,” Phaedron says. “What’s wrong?”

He’s pushing himself out of his bed, moving gingerly, not taking his eyes off me. I wave my hand, trying to tell him not to bother, that I’m just fine.

And I fall to my knees on the floor.

“Fuck, Phae,” I gasp. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Phaedron limps over to me as the entire story spills out of my lips in great, gasping, and probably incoherent sobs. I tell him everything; Arryn and her fire magic and her kisses. Her void-touched arm. Her heart in exchange for the prisoner. Aloserin and his sleep magic. Aloserin and his horrible, horrible question. Any reason at all why we wouldn’t want to offer Phaedron Evenworth access to all the royal secrets?

“It’s me,” I gasp. “It’s me, Phae. I’m the reason you never got that position in the Royal Guard. I’m—”

My breath catches in my throat. Tears are streaming down my face, mixing with the melted snow and ice pooling around my knees. And Phaedron’s here with me, sitting on the cold, hard ground next to his voids-damned mess of a brother, his one remaining arm wrapped delicately around my shoulders.

Because Phaedron is a good man. And I’m—

“I’m sorry,” I moan. “I’m a shit person.”

My chest feels like it’s collapsing in on itself. My shoulders curl over, and my arms wrap around my abdomen like I’m trying to hold myself together.

“Come on,” Phaedron says. “Help me up.”

It takes me a moment to come out of whatever alternate plane of miserable existence I was in, but eventually, I manage to sit up. Then to stand up. And, finally, I offer my hand to Phaedron. He winces as I help him come to his feet, and I start crying again, like the garbage idiot that I am. I keep crying while Phaedron leads me to a chair and sits me down like a child, and I’m still crying as I watch him pull out a bottle of horrible rotgut brandy, pour me a glass, and then very deliberately cap the bottle and put it away.

Phaedron moves slowly, like an old man wracked with pain. Still, some part of me notes that he’s moving on his own now and not limping with all his weight resting on Charay. So not everything is falling apart. Not every single part of my life is absolute shit.

Phaedron hands me the glass. I take it in three shots, slamming the booze back while he settles delicately onto his bed. The fire makes contented little crackling noises as the booze hits my empty stomach and makes my head float. I’m still crying like an idiot, but the pain has taken a nice step back. It’s waiting by the door now instead of actively bashing me in the head.

“Rowan,” Phaedron says. “I’m sorry about the woman. You know I’ve been there too.”

“Yeah,” I say. “I know you have.”

I wipe at my eyes and roll the empty glass between my palms. Some part of me wants to down another three shots, but a much larger part recognizes what a truly terrible idea that would be. Phaedron was right to put the bottle away.

“I’m not going to give you any bullshit,” Phaedron says. “It hurts like hell, and there’s no way around it. But I promise you it’s not always going to hurt like it does right now.”

I sniff in an undignified way. Phaedron sighs as he settles himself on his nest of pillows.

“As for the rest of it,” he begins.

I turn away. I don’t want to face Phaedron if he’s going to acknowledge that I’m the one who’s messed up his entire life. Who’s cost him his one dream.

“Rowan, you saved my life,” Phaedron says.