Risk

Chapter XIV

   Jasta suddenly woke up, sitting bolt upright, her chest heaving. The shriek had just died in her throat.

   It had only been a dream. She sighed and flopped back onto the bed.

   The quilt was wound tightly around her injured leg, and she reached down to untangle herself. She felt the bottom half of the long coat she wore, bunched up underneath her back. She was hot and sticky, making her realize how much she wanted to bathe in the stream again. She felt disgustingly dirty, and she was sure she smelled it, too.

  She rubbed her face with a groan. The faint sound of birdsong came from somewhere on the other side of the wall, which meant she'd slept the entire night through. She was glad that she'd actually woken up at a decent hour, rather than waking up deep in the night from her nightmare like she very well could have. Then she would have had to try and fall asleep again with the image of evil Rowan still fresh in her mind.

   She stifled a yawn. She felt even more tired than when she'd fallen asleep as if she really had been chased through the dark forest. She shivered at the thought of those dark red eyes glinting in Rowan's face.

   She'd heard stories from far-off lands of people who were able to see the future through dreams and omens. Surely her dream was both? She couldn't trust Rowan, because he was really a beast on the inside. It had to be why she had the dream. She'd only ever had four nightmares, one of which had only just happened in the dark forest. There wasn't any other explanation that she could see.

   She swung her legs over the side of the bed, wincing at the stiffness in her injured leg. She didn't want to walk anywhere at the moment, but she just grit her teeth and stood anyways. She had to find Rowan and get on with the journey. She would never get home if she stayed in bed every time she felt under the weather. That wasn't her choice to make. She had her family to think about.

   Ignoring the fact that her neck was still sore where Rowan had held her, and the throbbing in her wound, she hobbled over to the door, pulling at the ornate metal handle that had probably—like the room number—been imported from somewhere with more skillful smiths. The door glided open on silent hinges, and she hopped into the hallway.

   It took a good deal of struggling, and she had her hand pressed against the wall for support nearly the whole way, but she eventually got downstairs.

   She stopped in the lobby, catching her breath. Would she be able to find Rowan? Where would he have gone? He certainly hadn't come back to the room, unless he had, but simply left before she woke up.

   She decided to look in the stable first. If anything, she would be able to grab a bit of bandage to redress her wound.

   The uneven ground outside, combined with the fact that she had no wall to lean against across the stretch of grass between the inn and the stable, made it much more difficult to walk, and she stumbled badly once, only narrowly avoiding a bad fall.

   She pushed the heavy stable door open and walked back to the stall that she remembered putting the horse into the night before. From where she stood, the grey animal wasn't visible.

   For a split second, she was afraid that Rowan had taken the horse and abandoned her, but then she spotted the animal's speckled grey flank, and she let out a sigh of relief.

   She reached the stable, but just as she was about to open the door, Rowan popped up from behind the stall door. She let out a tiny shriek and jumped back, half-expecting his eyes to be glowing and red like they had been in her dream.

   The light that filtered lazily through the cracks in the walls was filled with dust motes, and grey with early morning, but it was still bright enough to see that his eyes were normal—or as normal as they had ever been.