Chapter 20: Rowan’s Mask
Chapter 20: Rowan’s Mask
“Evelyn, hold on!” Tristan’s shout was a desperate rasp as the red portal’s roar engulfed them, the wraith’s claws raking his arm, its icy grip dragging them through a vortex of shadow and heat. The air churned, thick with the stench of sulfur and blood, Evelyn’s rune searing her palm like a brand. Her boots hit polished stone, and she stumbled, catching Tristan as he collapsed, his amulet glowing faintly, blood streaming from his mouth, the scent of cedar and wax sharp in the air.
“Where are we?” she whispered, her voice hoarse, her dagger drawn, its rose sigil warm in her grip. The chamber was dimly lit, the air heavy with the clink of candle wax and the faint tang of ink. Cedarhold Palace, Rowan’s chambers, the night before her wedding. Her heart pounded, the rune’s heat pulsing, the locket’s remains heavy in her satchel.
“Past,” Tristan gasped, leaning against a tapestried wall, his cloak soaked with sweat, his breath ragged. “Night before… your wedding. Look.” He pointed, his hand trembling, to Rowan, alone by a desk, his golden hair glinting, a velvet doublet loose on his shoulders. He held the silver locket, her locket, its rose etching catching the candlelight, his fingers tracing it like a prayer.
Evelyn, I’m sorry,” Rowan whispered, his voice breaking, barely audible over the candle’s creak. He clutched the locket, tears glistening in his eyes, his jaw tight with anguish. “I never wanted this. He made me swear.” The words hit Evelyn like a fist, her rune burning, her breath catching, the air thick with cedar and sorrow.
She stepped closer, her boots silent on the rug, her dagger trembling in her hand. “He’s guilty,” she whispered, her voice raw, torn between anger and hope. “But he regrets it… doesn’t he?” Her heart ached, Rowan’s tears stirring memories of his laughter, his touch, before the cliff’s betrayal.
Tristan grabbed her arm, his grip weak, blood flecking his lips. “It’s a show, Evelyn,” he hissed, his voice sharp despite the pain. “He’s manipulating, Azrael’s pawn doesn’t cry for you.” His cough rattled, the amulet’s glow dim, his eyes fierce but hurt, the tapestry’s threads snagging his cloak.
Evelyn’s eyes narrowed, her rune pulsing, but she watched Rowan closely. He pulled a letter from his desk, its wax seal bearing Azrael’s red claw, and held it over the candle. The parchment curled, flames licking the edges, the stench of burning wax stinging her nose. “No more,” Rowan muttered, his voice low, shaking, as the ashes fell, scattering like snow on the desk.
“He burned it,” she gasped, her voice trembling, gripping Tristan’s arm, the rug soft under her boots. “He’s wavering, he’s fighting Azrael!” Hope surged, the locket’s weight in her satchel lighter, but doubt gnawed, the rune’s heat a warning flare.
Tristan’s jaw tightened, his hand clutching the amulet. “Or it’s a trap,” he said, his voice low, urgent. “He knows you’re watching, Evelyn, Azrael’s magic lingers in him. We can’t trust this.” He coughed again, blood staining his sleeve, his knees buckling, the air humming with the time-slip’s strain.
“I need to know!” she snapped, pulling free, her dagger glinting, the chamber’s warmth cloying, the candle wax dripping like tears. “If there’s a chance to save him…” She stepped toward Rowan, his tears still wet, but the room shuddered, time cracking, the desk’s edges blurring.
“We’re out of time!” Tristan yelled, yanking her back, his amulet blazing, its runes bright. “The portal’s collapsing!” He pressed it, his chant fading, the chamber dissolving into a rush of fog and rot, the cedar scent replaced by stagnant marsh water. They landed hard, the ground sucking at their boots, the air thick with buzzing insects and the croak of frogs, the red portal’s glow fading behind them.
Evelyn staggered, her rune pulsing weakly, the marshes’ fog swirling green, the locket’s remains heavy in her satchel. “You stopped me again,” she said, her voice sharp, clutching the locket’s charred fragments, their metal cold. “I could’ve learned his heart!”
“You’d have broken the jump!” Tristan shot back, coughing blood, his face pale as bone, leaning on a gnarled root, its bark slimy. “I’m barely alive, Evelyn!” His voice cracked, hurt raw in his eyes, the amulet dim, the fog parting to show the marshes empty of wraiths, their hisses gone.
Evelyn’s chest tightened, the rune’s ache mirroring her guilt. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice soft, the air thick with regret and rot. She stepped closer, her hand brushing his, warm but distant, their bond strained by her indecision. “But Rowan’s tears… what if he can be saved?”
Tristan’s eyes darkened, his hand lingered on hers, his voice low. “Then we find out, but not by hoping. Next jump, we confront him, see his true intentions.” He coughed, blood flecking the mud, his hand tightening on the amulet. “But it’ll cost me, Evelyn. Maybe everything.”
She nodded, her throat tight, the locket’s remains a weight in her heart, the rune’s pulse urging her forward. “We’ll do it together,” she vowed, her voice fierce, her sword clinking at her hip, the leather creaking. “But no more secrets. You tell me when you’re hurting.”
He agreed, his smile faint, pain etched in his breath uneven. The marshes were quiet, the fog lifting, the air colder, the scent of damp earth and salt heavy. They moved toward Morgana’s glowing path, the ground soft, the hum of the time portal faint but growing, its crackle like distant thunder.
Evelyn’s rune flared, a sudden burn that made her gasp, her vision blurring. A vision hit, Rowan, cloaked, riding a black stallion toward Rosehaven, a small army at his back, their banners snapping in the wind, his face shadowed, his intentions unclear. Was he coming to beg forgiveness or to finish Azrael’s work? The vision faded, her rune pulsing, the locket’s remains cold in her hand.
“Tristan, he’s coming!” she said, her voice urgent, gripping his arm, the fog swirling around them. “Rowan, heading to Rosehaven with men. I don’t know why!”
Tristan’s eyes widened, his hand raising the amulet, its runes glowing. “Then we jump again,” he said, his voice tight, blood dripping from his chin. “We confront him, now, before he reaches them.” He stepped toward the portal’s glow, the air humming, the marshes trembling, but his gaze held hers, a silent plea for trust.