Court of Shadows (Indefinite Hiatus)

PART 20: ROWAN

It took fewer than twenty-four hours of flying around and listening to mindless blather from soldiers for Rowan's impatience to supercede his reconnaissance strategy. It took fewer than twenty minutes for him to dispatch the northern sentries and break through the palace's magic barriers. In his hawk form, he slipped through a narrow opening in the north tower and shifted mid-flight, knocking out two more males with a single graceful swing. After running down a series of narrow corridors, the ceilings finally let up into the palace's internal cavernous hallways. Rowan shifted once more and shot upward, where he glided between the pale stone sills of the highests windows, using the concentrated light to hide his white figure.

Bombastic courtesans and low-ranking soldiers passed below him, but he paid no attention. Cutting through the warm, stiflingly fragrant air, Rowan weaved between the jasmine-laced pillars and colorful glass lights. He moved his wings as little as possible, so not to disturb the curtains more than the constant breeze already did.

Soaring even closer to the arched ceilings, Rowan pushed his senses further outward and immediately knew that Aelin was not in the palace. He did not sense the formidable power of Aelin, Maeve, or any of his past blood-sworn comrades. Even if Aelin was being held in captivity and her powers oppressed, Maeve would not have left her without a number of powerful guards. Rowan resigned himself to the likelihood that his mate was not in Doranelle at all.

Nevertheless, taking advantage of the palace's lack of experienced arms, Rowan delved deeper. Most of the palace was exposed to the elements, the rooms sometimes more like a veranda overlooking the vibrant city, because they didn't have any structural walls-- only large pillars. He swiftly made his way through the center of the palace, constantly altering his flight pattern to avoid detection by other fae.

As he neared a darker side of the palace, the environment began to change. The lavish decor and streams of water slowly dissipated, and the ever-present music that emanated from the city faded away to just the muted sound of trickling water.

The ceilings pressed downward, and the pillars became far and fewer. Rowan's senses sharpened as his instincts led him down a series of corridors. Upon reaching the corridor which contained access to the dungeons, he shifted back, continuing his forward momentum on two legs.

Rowan hesitated before an iron-wrought door toward the end of the hall. He knew that it had been fortified with some level of ward, and that his passing through may alert someone to his presence. He swung it open and walked through anyways.

Immediately, he was struck with a wave of stimuli. His senses took a moment to adjust to the intensity, and he reconsidered the magic barrier which now separated him from the rest of the palace. He let the heavy door shut behind him and stalked forward. The pale stone of Doranelle gave way completely to dark, flecked stone, lit only by sporadic torches.

Rowan's body contracted as a single scent became more distinct. Aelin. It wasn't potent enough to be her physically, but her scent sharpened intensely, meaning that she had definitely been there. Farther down the stone room, where light from torches implied multiple passages, three armored males appeared. Rowan dispatched them with ease and continued moving forward.

Feeling with his senses to predict other guards, Rowan tracked her scent to what he knew was one of the deepest recesses of the dungeons. So far underground, the torch lights barely penetrated the darkness, and the air felt heavy with moisture.

Somewhere in his mind, his training pumped through his veins, analyzing the solitary exit route and disadvantageous fighting conditions his impatience had led him to. But that considerably faint pulse was nothing compared to the roaring which burned beneath his skin as he reached what would have been Aelin's cell.

The thick iron door was wide open, revealing a cold, oppressive, metal box. Rowan's body constricted, his hand tightening around the hilt of his blade and a low growl building in the back of his throat. With the door closed, the room would be in impenetrable darkness and devoid of all sounds. Of all sense of time. His predatory instincts urged him to enter and go into contact with the source of her scent-- the blood which he knew coated the floor and the shackles attached to the wall--, but his training instincts would not allow himself to walk into a box with his back to the door. Especially one which would completely suppress his magic and senses.

Rowan's body was shaking. In fury and in fear for what had been done-- what he had allowed to happen to his mate-- to his Fireheart.

Breathing Aelin's scent in deeply, Rowan backed away from the containment cell and unsheathed his blade. He had sensed the male's incoming presence the moment the door to the dungeons had been opened. The blood-sworn male had foolishly come alone-- probably with the intent of taking Rowan for himself.

Rowan's lips curled behind his canines, as he turned to face his challenger. "Cairn," he growled, the vibrations echoing off the stone walls.

At the end of the hallway, a hulking figure rotated his arm, the torch light glinting off a long blade. The corners of his own mouth pulled into a deranged grin, the black leather of an eye-patch lifting upward. "Prince Rowan," he cooed. "--How nice of you to visit."