cheekbones would have seemed more at home on a pampered aristocrat or a prince. His brows shadowed dark eyes in a stern expression that seemed familiar, though I was certain I’d never met anyone like this before. He reached up to rub a hand over the dark stubble on his jaw.
“It’s all right,” he said, his voice calm and heavily accented. He stepped around so that he was standing beside me, then crouched. In a movement that was too quick for me to follow he caught my left hand in his own. I tried to pull back, but the strength drained from my arm, and the rock clattered to the ground. I was completely at his mercy, and though he’d saved me from my attacker, something about him filled me with terror. I met his gaze, and my mouth went dry at the sight of his cold, green-flecked, brown eyes.
I’d been wrong when I thought this man was completely unfamiliar.
He let me look for a few seconds, then said, “I’m not going to hurt you. Will you listen while I explain?” His speech was clear, but his accent made everything sound strange.
I was afraid to answer. Someone yelled from near the road, and the stranger frowned.
“I’m sorry.” He reached his free hand toward my face. Blood streaked his knuckles. I flinched, expecting him to hurt me, but he only laid his hand on my forehead. The world grayed out, and I fell away as I had the first time I looked into those strange, beautiful eyes.
Chapter Eleven
Rowan
E verything hurt.
I lay with the left side of my body pressed into a soft surface, with something wedged behind me that kept me from rolling backward. It felt like the room was rocking. Without moving my head, I opened one eye just enough to get a blurry look at my surroundings. The bed I lay in took up one end of a narrow room with boxes lining one wall, a writing desk and built-in wardrobe the other. A heavy curtain was pulled across a small window, and the only light in the room came from a pair of oil lamps. The air smelled of something sweet and herbal that I couldn’t identify.
There didn’t seem to be anyone else in the room. I opened my other eye and lifted my head to look around a bit more.
“Welcome back,” said a smooth voice from somewhere near my feet. I froze, my flesh crawling. “Sorry I had to do that. I don’t imagine falling unconscious is fun, but I’d say you’re becoming accustomed to it by now.”
I looked toward the end of the bed and there he was—the young man with Aquila’s eyes. The rest of his face would have been attractive if those eyes weren’t so cold, or if he would smile. As it was, just looking at him frightened me in a way that seemed to come from instinct as much as it did from the situation. He leaned back in an armchair next to the end of the bed, long legs stretched out in front of him, apparently waiting for me to say something. I got the feeling he could wait all day if he had to.
“Who are you?” I asked, my voice rasping. “What’s happening?”
“My name is Aren. You’re on a trading ship bound for Tyrea. My brother Severn needs you.”
“The…” I tried to moisten my lips with my tongue. “Severn is the king, isn’t he?”
“Close enough.”
I struggled to remember what I’d heard about Ulric’s sons. I couldn’t make my thoughts line up properly. Was Aren the one who read minds? No, controlled them. Unless I was missing something, he could certainly turn into an eagle. Those eyes were unmistakable.
Aren leaned toward me. “You should know that you’re in more trouble right now than you can imagine.”
I could have guessed that, I thought.
“I’m telling you this because you don’t have much time to decide what you’re going to do about it. Severn will—” He paused. Distant shouting echoed outside the room, and my heart beat harder, pumping fresh fear through me.
“Speaking of whom…” Aren stood and stalked to the door, then stopped and turned back to me. “I suggest you close your eyes again and that you
“It’s all right,” he said, his voice calm and heavily accented. He stepped around so that he was standing beside me, then crouched. In a movement that was too quick for me to follow he caught my left hand in his own. I tried to pull back, but the strength drained from my arm, and the rock clattered to the ground. I was completely at his mercy, and though he’d saved me from my attacker, something about him filled me with terror. I met his gaze, and my mouth went dry at the sight of his cold, green-flecked, brown eyes.
I’d been wrong when I thought this man was completely unfamiliar.
He let me look for a few seconds, then said, “I’m not going to hurt you. Will you listen while I explain?” His speech was clear, but his accent made everything sound strange.
I was afraid to answer. Someone yelled from near the road, and the stranger frowned.
“I’m sorry.” He reached his free hand toward my face. Blood streaked his knuckles. I flinched, expecting him to hurt me, but he only laid his hand on my forehead. The world grayed out, and I fell away as I had the first time I looked into those strange, beautiful eyes.
Chapter Eleven
Rowan
E verything hurt.
I lay with the left side of my body pressed into a soft surface, with something wedged behind me that kept me from rolling backward. It felt like the room was rocking. Without moving my head, I opened one eye just enough to get a blurry look at my surroundings. The bed I lay in took up one end of a narrow room with boxes lining one wall, a writing desk and built-in wardrobe the other. A heavy curtain was pulled across a small window, and the only light in the room came from a pair of oil lamps. The air smelled of something sweet and herbal that I couldn’t identify.
There didn’t seem to be anyone else in the room. I opened my other eye and lifted my head to look around a bit more.
“Welcome back,” said a smooth voice from somewhere near my feet. I froze, my flesh crawling. “Sorry I had to do that. I don’t imagine falling unconscious is fun, but I’d say you’re becoming accustomed to it by now.”
I looked toward the end of the bed and there he was—the young man with Aquila’s eyes. The rest of his face would have been attractive if those eyes weren’t so cold, or if he would smile. As it was, just looking at him frightened me in a way that seemed to come from instinct as much as it did from the situation. He leaned back in an armchair next to the end of the bed, long legs stretched out in front of him, apparently waiting for me to say something. I got the feeling he could wait all day if he had to.
“Who are you?” I asked, my voice rasping. “What’s happening?”
“My name is Aren. You’re on a trading ship bound for Tyrea. My brother Severn needs you.”
“The…” I tried to moisten my lips with my tongue. “Severn is the king, isn’t he?”
“Close enough.”
I struggled to remember what I’d heard about Ulric’s sons. I couldn’t make my thoughts line up properly. Was Aren the one who read minds? No, controlled them. Unless I was missing something, he could certainly turn into an eagle. Those eyes were unmistakable.
Aren leaned toward me. “You should know that you’re in more trouble right now than you can imagine.”
I could have guessed that, I thought.
“I’m telling you this because you don’t have much time to decide what you’re going to do about it. Severn will—” He paused. Distant shouting echoed outside the room, and my heart beat harder, pumping fresh fear through me.
“Speaking of whom…” Aren stood and stalked to the door, then stopped and turned back to me. “I suggest you close your eyes again and that you
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