Page 94 of Heart’s Rescue

Arryn

Heart Magic

I’m trembling. My heart feels like it’s about to burst out of my chest and take wings, and my pulse is pounding so loudly inside my skull they can probably hear it in the Worlds Above. Because Rowan is here. Rowan is right here, standing in front of me.

I open my mouth to speak, but the words refuse to come. Rowan is here. He’s alive. And he’s looking at me like he expects some sort of response.

The words still won’t come. My body won’t stop shaking. All those long hours I spent in the neat little room they gave me, staring out the window at the Crystal City and trying to will myself to believe that Rowan was still alive. That he was locked away somewhere, of course, that’s only to be expected after we were captured trespassing in the palace, but that he was alive. He was still breathing. His heart still beat.

And the cold shadow of doubt that had followed me as I’d paced that room, that haunted all my conversations with the woman who came to change my bandages and ask me about Princess Elanerill who had once come to the Lands Below and had gotten her heart stolen. I’d asked about Rowan, over and over, but she’d only shaken her head and given me a small, sad smile, and I’d felt like my own heart had been turned to stone.

Because, even if Rowan was still alive, he wouldn’t choose to be with me. He’d said no, very clearly, in the cabin in Fringe. He didn’t want to be a part of my world or my life. Or me.

And still, I’d whispered fervent prayers to the stars of the Worlds Above every night as the glowsoft orbs outside my window dimmed. Please let Rowan live. Even if I’ll only see him walk out of the palace gates and into another life, a life without me, please. Let Rowan live.

I try to force myself to breathe. Rowan is here. He is alive. And, his heart—

“Rowan,” I say, and my voice comes out in a whisper.

I step into his arms, raise my hand to his heart, and look into those brilliant blue eyes, and I’m falling, falling again, because now there’s nothing else in either of our worlds that matters.

“Well, that’s decided,” King Galan announces from behind me. “Let’s get on with it, shall we?”

I turn slowly, heat rising in my cheeks as I realize how close I was to giving Rowan the kind of kiss that really shouldn’t be shared in front of a king and his collection of guards. Rowan moves with me, his hand on the small of my back, because apparently he doesn’t want to stop touching me either. The king sweeps down from his throne, nods at the guards, and then nods at us.

“Follow me,” he says. “Aloserin, call the magicians, please. It looks like Rowan will get to see my inner chambers after all.”

King Galan’s eyes are sparkling as he says this, but I’m not sure if it’s meant as a joke. I turn to follow the king as he walks through the throne room. Rowan threads his fingers through mine, and I glance up at him.

“Where are they taking us?” I whisper.

“No idea,” Rowan answers.

The king opens a small door in the back of the throne room. It leads to a set of dark, narrow stairs, something that I would assume is meant for servants.

“But it’s not like we’ve got much of a choice,” Rowan whispers.

I squeeze his hand. “It’s okay,” I say. “We’ve come this far.”

Rowan smiles at me, and I have to tear my eyes away because, by the stars, I really am about to kiss him again. And if I kiss him now, I’m not sure if I’ll be able to stop.

Hand in hand, Rowan and I follow the king. The stairs lead up and up until I’m sure we’re higher than any tower in the Kingdom of the Summer. And then, just when I think my lungs will burst from the climb, the stairs open into an enormous room encircled by windows. It reminds me of the lighthouse that winks over the harbor at the royal summer estate, but this room doesn’t hold a fire amplified with mirrors. Instead, there are shelves and shelves of books, tables filled with colorful bottles and strange instruments, delicate crystals suspended with copper wire, and spheres of colored glass that appear to be floating. And, against the far wall, there’s what looks like a bed.

“Captain Orryen,” Rowan says, under his breath.

“Indeed,” the king replies.

King Galan moves through the room, deftly navigating piles of books and delicate tables, and then stands beside the bed. I can see now there’s a man on that bed. He’s lying on top of the scarlet coverlet and wearing what appears to be a guard’s uniform. He’s handsome, the man on the bed, with dark hair and a closely trimmed beard, and he looks stern and perhaps a bit sad. The king leans down to brush a wayward curl back from the man’s forehead.

“Aloserin refreshes the sleep spell every fortnight,” the king says. His words sound like a sigh.

“I didn’t know you kept him locked up here,” Rowan says.

The king doesn’t respond, and suddenly I’m remembering riding my horse past the Kingdom of the Summer in the middle of the day, following the crier who was announcing my intentions to pray at the Shrine of the Morning Star. I remember tracing the towers of the palace with my eyes as I rode past, lingering over the farthest, tallest tower, the one capped in crystal, where Princess Elanerill waits in her enchanted sleep until her heart returns from the Lands Below. I remember that twinge of sadness when I realized she was in the tallest tower, so far from her heart.

“He’s closer to his heart,” I say.

My words sound very loud in the strange room. Rowan and the king both turn to stare at me, and I try to ignore the wiggling embarrassment in my stomach. Ladies should not speak unless spoken to, Mother would say.