Taken

Chapter 22 (Part 1)

Rowan Fómhar

Home.

What made it so different from a house?

Was it the warmth inside? The love? Or the inviting atmosphere that had a smile wanting to pull at your lips to mimic the foreign expression?

No. It was the family inside. That's what turned a house into a home, making it warm and inviting. It's why the men I had spent the last month traveling the Court with to garner support for the Crown had been so impatient to return to theirs.

They had homes they wanted to return to, even if it was only for a short while before they had to return to their stations or the barracks for endless training.

Many of them won't one day.

Neither will a great deal of the men who will be forced from the very homes that invited us in during our travels to fight in a war they will gain nothing from. Yes, we came to provide food, care, and aid to the remote villages, small towns, and impoverished sectors of cities, but it was so they wouldn't rebel when they were forced to sacrifice their sons to a war the pampered would not face. Sons that our food and aid were strengthening for when the time came.

With the rising tension between the courts, it wasn't far. Alliances had already been made and it appeared that history was set to repeat itself as four sides become two.

Home...

Castles weren't homes.

They destroyed them.

Shouts, grunts, and the sound of flesh hitting flesh sounded from the large open field. Bodies twisted and turned; dodging and striking. Bruises formed on exposed torsos faster than they faded while sweat had any bleeding wounds stinging. Adrenaline and determination kept the soldiers from noticing the irritation.

Rain pelted against the outer walls of the barrack, the sound of it hitting the roof joining the noises filling the air of the open field. The expanse of grass in the center, surrounded by a covered walkway and brick structures, was turning to mud under their feet where it was worn thin from regular activity. Though the steady downpour showed no signs of letting up, neither did the men who had been training in it for hours.

The newest round of recruits had already improved greatly in physical combat. Their efficiency and accuracy had gotten better since I last saw them spar the month prior, before my unit had to leave on a mission that our skills and training made us overqualified for.

But blood made me perfect for it.

As long as no one knew the truth.

I crossed my arms, watching the Fae before me. They needed every last bit of training they could get if they wanted to survive to witness their skin wrinkle and hair whiten.

"Rowan, the Queen wants to see you."

It took a conscious effort to keep from physically reacting to General Amrod, the Queen's war advisor. It only made it worse that he was the one delivering the summons.

Forcing my muscles to remain lax, my eyes passed over him with disinterest as I turned away from the clashing flesh. The calm that came from focusing my attention on watching, tracking, and learning their patterns of attack and defense had dispersed at the mention of the Queen.

I brushed past General Amrod, my departure towards the exit wordlessly conveying that his message had been received. I didn't want to keep the Queen waiting. Good things didn't come to those who did.

Who was I kidding, nothing good ever came from an audience with the Queen. Especially one that she called.

The rain continued to fall from the clouds above, the weather going from sporadic bouts of it to the steady downpour that I stepped into as I exited the Barracks. I formed a shield of air around me to keep the droplets from reaching me as I strode across the field toward the castle. It wasn't far. The barracks were close so that in the case of an attack, the Guard could respond more efficiently.