Page 28 of Heart’s Rescue

“Rowan,” Aloserin begins, his voice level and measured. “Things have changed.”

“Things tend to do that,” Rowan says, matching Aloserin’s deadpan tone. “It’s a bitch.”

“Look, Rowan, this magic with the heart. It’s—”

Aloserin’s voice falters. I take a tiny step closer to the door, my fingers drifting along the edge of the shelf above me.

“It’s complicated, even for the king and his magicians,” Aloserin continues. His tone makes it sound like he’s admitting something horrible. “We need all the best minds on it.”

“And yet here you are,” Rowan replies. “Did you get lost? Do you need directions to all those best minds you’re looking for?”

“Rowan.” There’s an edge to Aloserin’s voice that makes me think he’s reaching for a weapon. I freeze. Then there’s another sigh, and I let myself breathe again.

“If only half of the things I’ve heard about you are true,” Aloserin continues, “then we need you, Rowan. The kingdom needs you.”

Silence. The fire pops. Someone shifts their feet, and a floorboard squeals in protest.

“Okay,” Rowan says, in a voice that’s something between a laugh and a punch to the gut. “I don’t know what you’ve heard about me, but clearly, someone’s been blowing smoke up your ass.”

“They say you’ve mapped the void.”

There’s steel in Aloserin’s voice. I’m suddenly grateful for the wooden door between us.

Rowan laughs. It’s full of sharp edges and ice, nothing like the laugh he gave me.

“That’s impossible,” Rowan says. “Everyone knows the void moves. It can’t be mapped.”

I think about the folded piece of parchment Rowan pulled from his shirt. I’ll carry the map, he’d said.

Rowan knows a place, Phaedron had told me this morning. A secret, a thin place in the barrier. He can get you home.

“You’re the only one who’s ever breached the king’s inner towers,” Aloserin says.

Cold gathers on the back of my neck and prickles my skin. I reach forward, bracing myself against the shelf. My fingertips brush up against something hard and smooth.

“Yeah, you’re welcome for the little stress test of your palace security protocols,” Rowan replies. “I hope Orryen had a chance to tighten them up before he got knocked unconscious for the rest of time.”

Cold slides down my spine and pools in my gut. I reach my fingers out again. They brush something hard and smooth surrounded by cool metal. It could be a jar, a can of something. It could be a box.

I know it’s not. There’s something horribly familiar about the way that cold metal curves. I feel like the floor is tilting beneath me.

“Look, Rowan,” Aloserin says from the other side of the thin, thin door. “I’m not going to dress it up for you. I’d like nothing better than to see you rot out here in the Outer Ring until the void swallows us all, but it’s not my call. King Galan needs you on this, and I’m here to take you in.”

My fingers drag along the shelf, then trace metal. Smooth faceted stones interrupt the cool curve. The top is a series of beveled points, almost but not quite sharp enough to hurt.

“Well, too bad for you my mind’s attached to the rest of me,” Rowan replies. “And you might find that’s a bit much to drag back to the Crystal City.”

I press the palm of my hand against my mouth. This can’t be happening. I can’t be touching what I’m touching, what it feels like I’m touching.

“Rowan—” Aloserin begins.

“You know my price.” It sounds like Rowan spits the words onto the floor.

There’s a heavy sigh. “Positions in the Royal Guard are inherited,” Aloserin says, and some part of me distractedly realizes I’ve lost the thread of this conversation. “That’s the law.”

Not that this conversation matters. Not when my fingers are tracing the cold metal shape that can’t be— that can only be—

“Then change the law,” Rowan says.