Underestimate Me

Meredith growled in frustration as her blade rested against Rowen’s tender skin. This time the blade was lower, touching the edge of the skin rubbed raw by his shackle, and it pressed harder until a small trickle of blood fell over his burning skin. Aldith watched the scene in terror, nearly dropping the bucket of water she carried to clean Rowen’s wounds with again. She noticed how pale he had gotten during the morning hours and feared infection might have set in when she was forced to leave him to his injuries the night before.

“You are a lucky man, Son of Elrik,” Meredith spat while pressing the blade hard against his skin. If she moved the wrong way his throat would no longer exist. “This is the second time a woman has saved you; by the power of Maa, there will not be a third.”

“Why not just do it? Get your leader’s revenge for her and continue your lives.”

Meredith released her sword and shook her head. Her eyes weight upon him heavily before she opened her mouth only to shut it again. She turned away from the prisoner only to look over her shoulder and say, “Because a quick death would be a kindness that I will not grant you.”

Her words ricocheted through Rowen’s aching head. The pain started just after day break but it did not come from his shoulder, ear, or cheek. None of his previous injuries seemed to be problems; non except his now broken rib that caused his chest to ache when he breathed. His chest ache might be from another source though, so he did not fear that pain as much as he wished it gone.

When Meredith was far out of his sight Aldith rushed toward him to remove his manacle. She brushed her fingers over his raw skin, only drawing a reaction when she moved closer to the spot where the blade had been. “It’s only a scratch,” she spoke softly.

“It should have been more,” he whispered, not meeting her gaze though he could hear her scoff.

“No, she was wrong to wield her sword against a man who does not have a fighting chance.” Aldith’s words were strong causing Rowen to give her his full attention or at least as much of it as he could muster. “That’s the one good thing I learned from my husband before he turned me in for taking up his craft. No one should be slaughtered without a fighting chance.”

Rowen allowed himself to smile a little at Aldith. She was strong willed and brave even though she was tortured for doing something she loved. He thought she often tried to mold and shape people like she fashioned her swords. “Did I ever have a fighting chance?” The smile faded from his face as he remembered the women falling from the sky handling their weapons better than most of his men while arrows from the trees sprayed them like rain.

Aldith took up his fading smile while dabbing a damp cloth against his burning skin. She did not like the fiery colored ring against the paleness of his face. “Perhaps you did not, but you will. Maa is not a gentle Goddess, but she is a fair Goddess.” She put the back of her hand to his forehead, and the simple gesture nearly brought tears to his eyes as memories of his mother overwhelmed him.

“Hush, little babe…” Her soft voice filled him as the wind did while he played in the sun. It made him feel cooler and better at the same time. His skin burned as if Elrik forced him into boiling water. Her blond hair fell over his chest as she leaned to put the back of her cool fingers against his head. Rowen wanted to cry when the heavy frown crossed her lips making her brow crease in frustration. Her hair fell over his face, filling him with the scent of rain and wind, as she pressed her cheek against his. “My sweet boy,” she whispered, “You have a fever!”

“How do you feel,” Aldith asked while retracting her hand, replacing it with the cool cloth she used to dab his skin.

“Fine.” Rowen would not meet her gaze again, but he refused to tell her about the nausea, about the ache in his head and stomach, or the pain resonating in his chest. “I could use a walk to stretch, but I am fine.”

Aldith nodded before she stood, leaving him to stare at the bucket of water just out of his reach. Little waves lapped over one another as a soft breeze blew through the trees. Rowen did not realize how hot he felt until that breeze brushed over his skin. He closed his eyes willed his body’s temperature to match that of the breeze. “She hates me,” he whispered to himself. A light chuckle startled his eyes open. Evelyn stood before him with her hands on her hips.

“You don’t know what you are talking about, Rowen.” She laughed again before sitting beside him. “The only one here that hates you is Sister Meredith; the rest of us are just curious about the things you say.” He did not speak, only stared into her peaceful eyes. “You were saved in the forest because you have wronged Sister Josselyn in some manner, and there are a lot of rumors about that manner.” She raised her brow.

“What manner? What rumors?” He asked with wide eyes. How did he ever wrong her?

“I don’t know the particulars, but I have heard that you are the one thought to have turned Sister Josselyn in after she shared your bed. That scar going from the tip of her brow down to the bottom of her cheek was your doing.” Rowen could not speak or breathe. He never… Evelyn grabbed him beneath his shoulders and helped him to his feet while his hands remained bound behind his back around the pole. “I cannot grant you a walk, but you can stretch this way.”

Dizziness filled him for a moment, but leaning back against the pole allowed him to gain his bearings before he turned toward the rustling coming from the direction which Josselyn ran toward earlier. Her long legs breeched the wall of trees first, the white robe she donned earlier now as pink as her soft skin. He tried to push the memory of her skin from his mind, but it only made the urge to touch her again worse. The gown hugged her hips the way her dresses used to, and he longed to be that dumb boy walking beside the most beautiful girl in the village again. Crimson rain covered one side of her gown; it took Rowen a long moment to realize that falcon rested on her shoulder, digging its sharp talons into that soft skin he remembered so well. He never hated an animal so much as he hated that bird at that moment.

Josselyn’s long black hair wrapped around the shoulder the bird did not occupy. It curled around her face just as it did when they got caught walking from the market in the rain. Rowen remembered tucking the soft strands behind her ear before she would swat his hand away. He saw the playful warmth that was in her soft blue eyes before they turned on him, full of dark emotions; worry, fear, dread, hatred.

Rowen sighed as he averted his gaze. He hated himself for still loving those soft blue eyes that thought him capable of such monstrosities as the scar that obscured her once perfect, but still beautiful face.