Unwilling (Book One of the Compelled Trilogy 1) (39 page)

“It’s not forever. I WILL come back.” He assured her, looking down on her though he wasn’t much taller than her, his eyes concerned.

“I know, it’s just-“ Rowan broke off, shaking her head. She really needed to pull herself together.

“Just what.” Jace whispered, resting his forehead on hers.

“I just love you Jace. I mean, I REALLY, love you.” Rowan said and never felt more convicted of anything in her life. Jace smiled a sad, soft smile and kissed her.

There was no urgency, or fire, but the sweet, gentle kiss made Rowan tingle all the way to her toes. It felt to Rowan like the last kiss two people would ever share and her heart burst inside her. She pulled away, hanging her head so Jace would not see the tears that had finally made their way out of her eyes.

“I love you to.” Jace whispered resting his forehead on hers. “I’ll see you soon Rowan.” Jace said to her tenderly. Rowan didn’t say anything. She feared if she opened her mouth she would beg him to stay, so she kept it shut, her lips pursed tightly.

Jace took a step back from her, brushing her cheek lightly with his knuckles, making Rowan shiver, she ducked her head so he didn’t see the tear that had slipped out.

When she looked up, she was alone under the Great Tree; Jace was gone.
Not forever.
She told herself.
It’s only going to be for a week. I went most of my life without him; I can make it a week.

Rowan kind of felt like she was dying though.

THIRTY-FIVE

Gavaint had been practically untouched, probably because it was so far from where Elias was, and Jace found himself sighing in relief that his hometown looked exactly the same as when he had left. The Market was bustling, though Jace was disappointed to find that his father’s booth was being tended by a young village boy he had never seen before.

Jace hurried home quickly and when his house came into view through the trees he found a large smile breaking out over his face. “MA! PA!” Jace shouted, excitement filling him and he found it hard to contain, breaking into a jog to reach his home faster. “MA!” Jace
repeated. He was maybe ten feet away when the door opened, his grin growing wider.

Jace’s father stepped from the home, his eyes wide; when his eyes rested on his son, he began to run, saying something to himself that Jace could not hear. Jace threw his arms around his father and held him tightly, breathing in the scent of his adolescence; baked bread and pastries.

“My son, is it really you?” His father asked, taking the sides of Jace’s face into his calloused hands.

“Yes, yes it’s me.” Jace assured him, his cheeks hurting from grinning so much.

“Oh my son!” Jace’s father cried, embracing him once more.

“Where’s ma, is she inside.” Jace asked, eager to see his mother. His father released him, a pained expression plastered to his face. For the first time Jace noticed the dark bags under his eyes, his sunken cheeks, and the bent over way he was carrying himself, as if the world rested on his shoulders and it was getting to heavy to carry.

“Jace…” His father started, cringing inwardly.

“Is she sick? Is her heart…” Jace questioned, but he knew by the look on his father’s face that his mother was not just sick. Jace shook his head, refusing to believe what was clearly written in his father’s eyes. “MA!” Jace shouted, leaving his father standing behind him as he ran toward the house.

“Jace! Wait!” His father shouted, but Jace was vaulting into the house.
My mother’s not dead. She not,
Jace thought as the door swung open.

Jace stopped abruptly, staring at the young woman in his living room, nursing an infant. His father came up behind him and Jace whirled around. “How long has she been gone, and you’ve already replaced her! HOW LONG!” Jace roared, his voice filled with grief.

“Jace-”

“No!” Jace roared, allowing anger to overtake him so he did not have to feel the overwhelming grief that threatened to consume him.

“That’s your sister Jace! Melinda is her wet nurse.” His father said, behind Jace the baby started crying, small whimpers that caused Jace to turn and look at the babe.

“What?” Jace responded, eyeing the wriggling pink child.

“Callie was born five months ago. Your mother-“ His father broke off, his throat filling with grief, “she died giving birth.” He finished, his voice heavy. “That’s your sister Jace.” His father repeated. “I could never replace your mother.” He said, though Jace barely heard the words.

Jace walked across the small room to where, Melinda, his father had said her name was, was holding the swaddled baby, bouncing slightly.

“Callie.” Jace said softly, looking down at the tiny babe. She turned her light blue eyes to him and cooed. “Can I, can I hold her.” Jace asked Melinda timidly.

Melinda passed the baby gently to Jace, carefully supporting the young child’s head with the palm of her hand.

“She looks like mom.” Jace said to his father as he came to stand beside him.

“Yes, she does.” His father replied, looking down on his two children and smiling proudly through the tears that dotted his cheeks.

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Later that night after diner and after Melinda had gotten Callie to sleep by walking in circles around the living room, Jace and his father walked out to the porch where they sat in old rocking chairs Jace’s mother had bought from Rin’s mother, Marisol.

Jace’s father watched him as he sat, the chair squeaking with age as he rested his weight into it. Crickets chirped in the grass at the foot of the porch, counting out the seconds that passed between the pair in silence.

Jace’s father spoke first, his voice low and sad. “I wish you would have been here. Not just for Callie, but for your Ma.”

“Me too pa. I’m sorry, I should have been.” Jace said guilty, Callie let out a shriek behind them in the house and his father half stood from his chair, turning his head to the small babe’s cry. Callie quieted soon after and his father settled back down, his ears perked as if to sense any further cries from his daughter.

“She was asking for you at the end.”  His father said, looking out at the tree’s that surrounded the home. Jace remained silent, his guilt eating at his conscious. “When are you leaving again?” His father asked and Jace cringed though there was no malice in his father’s voice.

“I don’t know, pa, but Rowan needs me. I need her.”

“I need you Jace!” His father said, turning his head to him.

“Pa.” Jace sighed, feeling torn into two directions, his inner self warring over where his loyalties should lie.

“You really do love her huh.” His father said, his lips tight and his eyes haunted.

“She’s my everything, pa. I don’t know if you’ll understand, but I can’t exist without her.” Jace answered.

His father nodded. “I feel that way about your ma, but I have Callie, and she needs at least one parent.”

“I’m sorry pa.” Jace said again.

“If you love her like you say you do then I won’t fight with you, but you’ve got to fight for HER Jace.” His father said, taking Jace by surprise. “If she means that much to you than hold her tight and never let her go, you only have so much time and it goes too fast.” His father stood from his chair, turning his back on his son and Jace knew his father was crying.

Jace stood and walked to his father, wrapping him in an embrace. His father threw his arms around him, gripping tightly to the back of his shirt as if that would bring back his wife. “I love you pa.” Jace whispered and his father’s shoulders heaved, as if finally releasing the overbearing weight that he had been carrying for far too long.

THIRTY-SIX

Rowan hated the rain. She hated feeling damp, and after two weeks of constant rain, Rowan felt damp all the way to her bones. Add the rain to the fact that Jace still had not caught up to them, Rowan’s mood was as treacherous as the weather.

Everything irritated her and she had taken to snapping at anyone who would talk to her. Only Carter had continued trying to converse with her, always sharing his witty comments, and laughing at her sour mood, though Rowan wished he would drop dead most of the time.

Although they had covered more distance than they thought they would have in two weeks, Rowan was weary and every time she thought about the miles they had yet to cover, she thought she would impale herself on the nearest sharp object.

Rowan looked down at the street below, rain drops pinged off the cemented road as if to bludgeon it back into tiny rocks. Rowan could make out the sign to the inn they were staying in, The Wanderer’s Palace, illuminated by the moon, swaying back and forth in the chilling wind. Carter had paid for all of their rooms, pulling an endless amount of coins from inside his saddlebags, though the price of a room had more than tripled in less than the span of a few months, Carter had insisted since the sky had opened up and was now unleashing its fury on the exhausted travelers. 

“Someone’s in a chipper mood as usual!” Carter said to her now, leaning in the frame of her doorway, his arms crossed.

“I don’t care for your antics tonight Carter.” Rowan replied, not even bothering to look at him.

“Rowan!” Carter gasped, his eyebrows shooting up in mock surprise. “You do offend my pride! An esteemed man such as myself shouldn’t take such harsh jabs from a lady.” He said, frowning dramatically.

“Then go away and I won’t jab at you.” Rowan informed him. Instead of leaving, Carter stepped into the room, laying down on Rowans bed and making himself comfortable.

Rowan caught his refection in the window and turned to glare at him. She had been sitting in a stiff chair by the window, observing the torrents of rain falling from the sky. As she looked at Carter now she wondered if she were to push him out of the window if there was enough rain to drown him in.

Carter snorted, his eyes lit up in amusement as Rowan pictured Carter drowning in the rain; flopping around like a fish would outside of the water.

“I don’t like it when you do that.” Rowan informed him for the millionth time.

“Hmmmmm.” Carter responded, closing his eyes. Rowan furrowed her brow,
was he falling asleep?

“Carter?” Rowan said, her voice loud in the sparsely decorated room. “You can’t sleep here. This is my room.” Carter did not say anything but he waved his hand shooingly at her. “Carter!” Rowan yelped, coming to her feet. She huffed her way to the bed and shook his chest.

He opened one eye. “That’s rather impolite of you. Not a very gracious host.” He told her closing his eye again. Rowan shook him harder and succeeded in getting both his eyes open. “Might I help you with something Rowan?”

“You can get out of my room! I neither invited you in nor asked you to stay, please leave.” Rowan demanded, swinging her arm out to show him the door.

“But my room has an awful draft; and is right next to Chev’s. Gives me the creeps he does.” Carter said more to himself then to her with a slight shudder for emphasis. “And besides, your fantastic company!” He smiled at her, showing two rows of perfectly straight white teeth.

“Carter!’ Rowan said exasperated.

“Alright, alright, can’t blame a guy for trying.” Carter said with a shrug and coming to his feet. Rowan walked Carter to the door, following close behind him to assure he actually left. Carter stopped abruptly on the threshold, startling Rowan, who almost ran into his back. “Good night Rowan.” Carter said, turning to face her, his eyes looking sadly into hers, as if what he really wanted would materialize in front of him and ease the earth shattering loneliness that consumed him. He stooped down and kissed her cheek, the contact sending a bolt of electric through her skin where his lips had touched.

Before she could reply, Carter was down the hall and disappeared around a corner. Rowan frowned, unnerved by the sweet gesture and touched her cheek where Carter’s lips had been. Rowan slipped the door closed with a frown, her heart heavy for the pain Carter was feeling.

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Thefts and murders had skyrocketed. The King’s Guard, which had been tasked with keeping the peace, had either been compelled to follow Elias, abandoning their posts, or called to the King, leaving the towns and villages free to pick over by anyone malicious enough to see an advantage out of the current situation.

Any town still occupied was abuzz with rumors of war, though whenever their company passed through people scattered like frightened mice, returning to their boarded up homes and looking out at them distrusting from cracks in the boards in their windows.

One young woman, who Rowan had just managed to catch as she scampered away, had told Rowan that the King was growing more paranoid by the day, locking himself away in his castle lest Elias try and storm it, and was recruiting commoners as young as 13 to defend his sanctuary. She told Rowan in a hushed voice that she had heard from her cousin, who lived in Daria, that the children could be seen walking the gate to his mansion all through the day and night, crying tears for their parents and shouldering swords much too big for them.