Six Of Crows & A Court Of Thorns And Roses

8- Old Debts

8- Old Debts

Rowan

"You aren't leaving anytime soon, boy, so I suggest you sit down," He watched the human slip the knife he was holding behind him as he registered Rowan's voice.

"I'd rather not, thanks," The boy replied with a grin. He looked around at the mud and what looked to be hay trampled into the floor and corners of the cell. Rowan could see why he'd rather not.

A guard had informed him a few minutes ago that the boy was from a foreign human realm and Amarantha needed him (meaning keep him just about alive).

He assessed him from the other sides of the bars while the boy assessed him back. The boy favoured one side, possibly an old injury in one leg; he had a slender but cleanly cut frame; young, even for a human; he smelt like a city, a modern one- the kind Rowan tried to avoid- and he was way to confident for someone in a cell, so stupid, as well.

"Rowan," The boy said slowly, clearly trying to recall the name. "Would you say you're a good man?" Rowan had learnt to not even think about his answers to questions like that in this world. The Fae here, as far as he could see, were equally matched in power but seemed to have more peculiar gifts- more variety, not just one affinity. 

Rowan stared, face blank. "Are you really on the Red Queen's side?" The boy tried again. That was a long story that this boy, more than likely, wouldn't live long enough to hear.

Lucien still sat silently looking towards the dirt on the floor.

"My name is Kaz Brekker." It somehow sounded as if it should be a threat, even though Rowan hadn't asked. To his ancient ears, it was just another name. "And you look as if you could if you need Kaz Brekker, right now." Rowan knew desperation when he saw it- though it was well hidden, admittedly. "Got any secrets, Old Man?"

Rowan looked through the bars of the cell and felt something inside him stir at the scene. The boy- Kaz- reminded him of someone. Someone from a very long time ago. It had been centuries since he'd faced this kind of arrogance. 

He tried to remember what he'd liked about it. 

Despite the amount of time, he would never forget. She was his queen, not this redhead who'd built herself a mountain and called it a throne. 

Promises to stay alive and good were no use to her now she was no longer here. He tried, though. He tried to stay good for her. But it was so long ago...

Rowan turned to leave as the boy called out: "What's that golden plate in the throne room mean, anyway?"

Rowan stopped. His doom, he thought. Then cursed himself for thinking it. He didn't think he'd thought about the plate, let alone mentioned it... Maybe this boy was more than human.

He didn't smell it, he smelt extremely human: smoke and sweat and soap, nothing natural.

That plate was the only reason he was trapped here. Not that anyone, not even the stupid queen, knew that. He couldn't touch it and it couldn't touch him, but it's existence still grounded him to this broken world. 

He looked back at the boy, Lucien still crouched in the corner of the unnaturally dark cell.

Through his air of unease or his silence, the boy knew. "Get me out of this cell and I'll take it." Rowan was extremely uncomfortable with the idea. Not only did the boy know too much but releasing him in this mountain of wolves wasn't exactly a mercy. 

But Rowan had heard the scream. This human was fighting for someone. The same way she would have done. Against all odds. 

Rowan had wronged many people in his time. One of those mistakes had led him here. Would saving this boy set things straight? She would have wanted him to. She would have helped the human without a thought.

And she would have done it grinning...

Rowan turned to walk away again and looked back once. The boy understood and nodded. A slip of metal appeared in his hand. The locks were free.

For a few minutes, there would be no magic there.

Honestly, he could hold out against her magic for hours, but she would notice and the less these kind of monsters know about you, the better.

Was it selfishness to let the little boy out? Was it just Rowan's fools hope of him getting rid of the plate especially when it would probably cost the boy his life? 

Rowan's ears pricked at the slight sound of metal against metal. He was far enough away that he didn't observe any of it- he didn't see the hairpin being twisted in the lock or the shift in the shadows as Kaz Brekker slipped through them. He heard but didn't see them.

Rowan didn't allow himself to think of what would happen if the boy managed to steal the plate. The Golden Plate of Erilea. Purest gold. Too pure to belong in this world, let alone under this mountain. It had words carved innately across its front in the old language. Rowan realised that that was probably why the boy had asked him about it- because of the tattoos in the old language covering his body. 

So the boy was smart.

Did that make it better or worse that he'd just let him out?

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