The Stargazer

Stargazer (chapter four)

Rowan slogged wearily back to the tower, his spirits low. The moonless dark was no impediment. The world would take him back to the tower whether he wanted to go or not. The occasional tree wandered into his path just to keep things uncomfortable, but it wasn’t long before the trees thinned around him and he saw a small light flickering ahead of him.


Wheezer waited by the tower, a slender candle in a holder in one hand and a glum expression on his face.


“She’s crying, Rowan. I don’t know what to do. Nothing I say makes her stop.”


Wheezer had made him laugh, made him angry, but he could never say the golem had ever been reassuring. He sighed.


“And you think anything I can say to her will make her stop crying?”


“Try?”


The candle was thrust at him in anxious hope. Apparently the woman’s tears were more than Wheezer could endure. Rowan stared at the tiny flame. The golem was made of wood. He wasn’t. A woman’s tears were beyond the scope of his experience to deal with.


A new thought lodged between his stubborn rejection of all things Fae and his sense of honesty. There was no proof yet that the woman was a princess. Princesses, he admitted reluctantly, usually saved their tears for an audience where they would be most effective. The golem would never be considered a receptive spectator.


“Damn.” He snatched the candle. “Go to wherever it is you go to and let me be for now.”


The golem brightened, unfazed by the snarling command. “Thanks, Rowan. Maybe she’ll help you chop me up tomorrow.”


“Women don’t fight.”


“This one might.” One leathery shoulder creaked in a shrug. “She flies.”


The word stopped him cold. There were Fae who could fly. The woman might be Fae but if she wasn’t a princess, the bargain wouldn’t be met. He didn’t doubt that the King was canny enough to use a non-royal woman to remind him of how lonely he was, soften him up for the big blow. Not that he could doubt the King’s hand in the woman’s arrival since he was the only person with access to this place, he just had to figure out where the woman fit in the big picture.


“Flies?”


“Yep. Flew away like a butterfly. A really fast, really big butterfly.”


“Flew away?”


“Yep. Up and down and all over the place. That’s when she found the bubble and started crying.”


She wasn’t here willingly? An uncomfortably edged emotion nudged into his chest and he rubbed the spot, scowling. Maybe she was just hoping her tears would make him more susceptible to her charms. She couldn’t know that he’d never found red eyes and a blotchy nose attractive.


Not knowing what else to say, he pushed the door open, leaving the golem outside. He’d never discovered exactly where the golem went when he wasn’t pestering him, but that was the least of his worries right now.


The candle gleamed in the dark, the feeble glow of the fireplace doing little to alleviate the gloom. He set the candle on the table and moved toward the bed where the softly rounded female form made sniffling noises. Her hair tumbled over the side of the bed, glorious tangle of curls that caught the firelight in gilded stands. He scowled, angry for noticing. He caught a glimpse of jewel toned shapes inked onto her shoulder but he couldn’t make out what they were.


“Are you hurt?” he asked gruffly, wanting this over with as quickly as possible.


The woman flipped over, her eyes wide as she stared into the shadows. She couldn’t see him, he realized. Backlit as he was by both fire and candle, he would be nothing more than a larger dark spot in the blackness.


“You’re not Wheezer.”


Her voice was soft but strained, the rasp of tears lingering in the tones. He shifted on his feet, uncomfortable. One delicate hand rose to wipe a glistening trail of wetness from her cheek and her mouth trembled.


“No.”


“Are you Rowan?”


“Are you hurt?” he repeated.


“No.” She shook her head as she sat up, wrapping her arms around herself. “What is this place?”


“My prison.”


She didn’t wail or moan, just tilted her head to as if to study his shadow for answers. “You deserve to be imprisoned?”


A reasonable question but Rowan wasn’t feeling particularly reasonable.


“No. I’m here because I made the mistake of bargaining with a Fae King,” he said bitterly.


She didn’t move. “Which one?”


“Which one what?”


“Which king?” One slim shoulder rose and fell. “There are two, you know. Not that I’d bargain with Ankou for anything, mind you, but I like to know these things.”


“The Time King.” He let the words fall sharp between them but there was no sign of recognition on her face. “Who did you bargain with to get dumped in here with me?”


“No one.” Her shoulder rose again, a gesture of confusion. “I was sitting on the edge of an astrolabe reading a book when I fell. I wound up here. Not that I’m necessarily complaining since falling onto that mirror would have hurt badly but—no offense to your prison, I’m sure it’s a fine one—but I’d really like to get home again.”


“Telescope,” he corrected automatically. “And astrolabe is handheld, predated the sextant for measuring stars for sailing ship navigation, and wouldn’t have a mirror.”


She blinked. “Oh. I didn’t know that.” The pause stretched. “A way out? A backdoor that I can get to? Something?”


He said nothing. The subject was one he would never discuss with her.


“Every cage has a lock,” she pressed. “Every lock has a key. What is the key to this one?”


“I don’t have the key.” Not a lie. She was the key and he didn’t have her. Not really. He shifted on his feet, impatient with the thought. “You’re in my bed.”


She glanced around at the lack of other options for sleeping. Rowan braced himself for an explosion of temper or even more tears, but she only lifted a shoulder and rose, gathering the top blanket with her.


“Are there any other accommodations available? That I can get to?” she added with a slight bite in her voice. In spite of the streaks of dried tears on her face and the tangled hair, she exuded a regal air that killed any hope he might have harbored that she wasn’t royal.


“No. I’m tired. Get out.”


Tears didn’t flow at his snarl. Her eyes narrowed, her lips thinning at the rudeness, but she didn’t lose her temper. Picking her way across the room, she draped the blanket over her shoulders and opened the door. Casting one last glance at him, she inclined her head.


“I bid you goodnight, then.”


The door closed softly behind her and Rowan began to swear, low and virulently. He wasn’t going to feel guilty. He had no reason to. She was an uninvited guest at best and an intruder at worst. It wasn’t until he flopped onto the bed that he realized one small thing.


She’d taken his only blanket.