hearts of metal

xiii. who did that to you?

Aelin felt his gaze rove over her back, tracing the jagged scars there.

"Who did that to you?" Rowan demanded. His voice was cold, quiet.

Aelin turned slightly and met his eyes. She simply shrugged, memories racing back like film on a camera reel.

"What do we do with the girl?" a gruff voice asked.

Celaena silently twisted her wrists against her constraints. There was no flicker of fear, only a roaring silence in her head and chest.

Sam was gone. He'd never walked out of that last fight, never got the chance to leave Adarlan behind.

Celaena had spent a month digging for information, The more she dug, the more convinced she was that it hadn't been a fair fight. He wouldn't have lost against the rookie who'd been there that day. No, someone drugged him, and all the trails had led to one Duke Perrington. An alias, but for who, Celaena wasn't sure.

She just hadn't expected to get caught.

A man with ice blue eyes crouched down to kneel before her. Celaena raised her chin in defiance, and the man smirked. "I think we can have a little fun with her, no?"

The other man agreed, and they untied Celaena from the chair, although her wrists were still bound together. They half dragged her away, down long, empty halls.

A door opened up, revealing a bare room. Its only accessory were metal chains with handcuffs hanging from the center of the ceiling.

Celaena was stripped of her shirt and chained up. The man with the gruff voice left the room and returned with something in his hands. A long, leather whip.

For the first time, Celaena felt her heart pulse in her throat, fear racing through her. The men sent her matching smiles, before they circled around her.

The whip landed across the flesh on her back. Pain shot through her, alighting the nerves, but she gritted her teeth.

She thought of Sam's mantra, reciting it over and over again in her head, as the man continued.

Even when she lost count of the lashes and her vision faded to black, Celaena kept repeating My name is Celaena Sardothien, and I will not be afraid.

She didn't know how long they kept her. She didn't tell them anything about Arobynn, though they hardly even asked. They seemed more intent on hurting her, then getting anything useful out of her.

Later, Celaena wondered if she should have betrayed him. Except, back then, she hadn't been willing to accept who Arobynn really was. What he had done to Sam, or to her.

So she waited. Bided her time. They kept her locked away in dark cellars, bringing her out every once in a while. She preferred the grimy cells to that damned room where she'd watch her blood pool underneath her.

She dreamed of her escape, of their own blood pooling around them and draining away. But in the end, her escape went unnoticed. She'd heard the sounds of gunfire and seen navy blue FBI vests. She'd slipped away while they were distracted, and heard nothing about the men since.

Celaena returned to Arobynn. He was all apologies and loving relief, but there was something calculating behind his eyes. One of his lackeys, Wesley, later told her that Arobynn hadn't even tried to get her out.

There was no flick of a switch in her hatred for Arobynn. It crept up on her, a slow rising wave of resentment.

And all the while, the scars on her back ached with the memories.

Aelin watched Rowan's face, still stone cold, glance over her bare arms and torso. Finding the other stray scars that peppered her skin. She felt the urge to shy away, but a mix of exhaustion and stubbornness kept her from backing down even an inch.

"Who did that to you?" he repeated, voice still thin and tense.

"Lots of people," she said. She thought of the sneering men that took turns whipping her. She thought of Arobynn's steel gray eyes and auburn hair.

Aelin looked away. She waited to hear him say she deserved it and more.

But he simply dropped the towels on the desk and left. The door closed behind him with a quiet click.

She wished he'd slammed it.

Rowan was still cursing in his head five minutes later as he stalked outside. Her back... gods, it was ruined. Those three long jagged scars, raised ridges of flesh, overlaid dozens of thinner ones.

The image ran on repeat through his head. Fucking hell...

He felt rage simmer up at the thought of someone hurting her. The larger scars were newer, but some of them seemed far older. How young had she been when someone first marked her skin like that?

His fist tightened and closed at his side.

And he'd called her spoiled. When she had more scars than he did, maybe than any of the cadre (as she had nicknamed them) did.

Shame flooded him at the thought. He kept stalking through the cool woods, his breath coming out in frosty puffs of air.

Who did that to her? And where was her foster father the whole time? Was he the one who did it?

The questions didn't stop, and it occurred to him that the only way to really get answers was to ask her. If she even wanted to tell him after what an ass he'd been.

Her face came back into view in his mind. The curved shoulders, the dim Ashryver eyes, and resigned look on her face. He realized with a jolt, the cabin gone from his view, that he'd left her completely alone on the verge of hypothermia. If she thought badly of him before, surely she thought even worse now.

Rowan spun on his heel and turned back towards the cabin, while his thoughts played on a loop-anger, guilt, confusion.

He entered the door and took big strides to Aelin's small room. It was the coldest in the whole cabin, and Rowan felt his heart clench as his eyes fell on the curled up figure on the bed.

Aelin had changed into fresh clothes and was currently in a fetal position on the bed. Her hair was still soaking wet, the blanket clutched to her chest.

Rowan noticed, with growing panic and shame clouding his throat, that her lips were tinged blue and she hadn't stopped shivering.

He picked her up, wrapped in blankets and all, and carried her to his room.

She stirred, but didn't move, as he laid her on his bed. He made quick work of drying her hair and adding blankets to the pile.

After a moment of hesitation, he slipped into the bed beside her.

"You know," she mumbled, "the best way to warm up is body heat. Wouldn't want me catching hypothermia because of you, would you?"

He cursed internally, but rolled over and wrapped an arm around her and pulled her closer. "Just for tonight," he said. Rowan then waited, before saying, "I didn't..." his voice caught. "Aedion didn't say anything..."

"He doesn't know. Don't say anything to him, please." That resigned tone had snuck back into her voice, shading it dull. He wanted anything to bring back the fiery spirit that had been dampened because of him.

"I won't," he affirmed, arms tightening around her.

She nestled into the pillow, strands of golden blonde hair tickling his face. Rowan stayed awake well into the night, mind churning, even after Aelin's breaths gradually evened into sleep.