The Crowned Captive
Bitter Sweet Relief

There had never been such relief as when Morana felt the wards of Navyria pass over her. It was if she had just tasted chocolate for the first time, or heard the lilting call of a songbird. It was if she had felt true joy for the first time in her life. She watched as Rowan’s shoulders sagged in front of her, then began to laugh. They had done it. She had not slept for far too long, and she had never been so scared for so long, but they had done it.

She laughed again, a slightly crazed sound as she realised she was currently celebrating getting one step closer to wherever the end of the line was for her. Rowan turned to her at that, his face quizzical. That was apparently funny to her too, or the broken sound that emerged from her chest thought so. When she realised just how ridiculous it was, that broken laugh turned into a sob.

Like a faucet stuck open, tears streamed down her face. The sobs erupted from her lips unbidden, startling the elf in front of her again. She covered her mouth to stifle the noise, watching the shocked man in front of her. He stared at her wide-eyed and slack-jawed. The elite fae kidnapper was currently scared of her, so she was laughing again.

At some point in her hysteria, she had dismounted and collapsed to the ground just beyond the wards. Rowan had dismounted too and sat nearby, watching everything her. He was probably worried that the awful sounds she tried to smother would attract some sort of predator. He did not touch her, did not speak to her, just simply sat and watched the mess unfold.

When the awful sounds had finally stopped, Rowan stood. She watched him with mild curiosity as he began sifting through the saddle bags. Finally, he grasped something and stood. He closed the bag, stood there for a second, and then returned to her side. Wordlessly, he motioned for her hand. He gave her a withering look when she did not produce it, grabbing her wrist and pressing something cold and hard into her palm.

Morana opened her hand, looking down at the golden ball and chain in her palm, and quickly realised her tears were not yet all gone. They streamed down her cheeks once more as she lifted her pendant carefully, brushing a finger over the ornate design. It was a cloak of safety she had sorely missed since her kidnapping. Without hesitation, she unclasped it and returned it to its home around her neck, grateful to feel the weight against her chest once more. She breathed heavily, a bundle of stress she hadn’t known she held dissipating.

“Do you know what the pendant is?” Rowan asked, his eyes watching her closely.

“It was my Mama’s, I think. I had always worn it, ever since I was a little kid. She had made sure of it. It is the only thing of hers I have left,” she replied, clutching it in her palm as if it would disappear again.

“Are you sure it was from your mother? Not your father?”

“Why would it be from my father?” She queried.

“It is a Fae pendant, Morana. It is a puzzle, holding something inside it. Your mother never told you how to open it?”

Morana shook her head, puzzled. Maybe it was from her father then, and her mother had just never mentioned the fact. Why he would leave a pendant like that behind without letting her mother know what it was was beyond her, but the thought of her mother tracking down such a piece of jewellery to give to her daughter without knowing its significance was more puzzling. She looked at it more closely, noting the pins and buttons and grooves.

“What does it hold?” She finally asked, pushing at the buttons absentmindedly. Rowan swatted at her hands, and she stopped to glare at him.

“They can hold near on anything with the right spell. Curses to kill all around you, for example. Please don’t try and open it before we know what is in there.”

Morana nodded, and let it drop back against her chest, resting just above the neckline of her tunic. Exhausted, she looked up at the stars and sighed.

“Is there any chance there is some hidden cache nearby that has a good stew for every weary traveller?”

Rowan laughed and shook his head. With a sigh, Morana hauled herself up, and she and Rowan led the horses a while off the track. They made quick work of setting camp. Rowan paced around their border as they finished, placing whatever wards he usually did, and Morana took the chance to quickly change into her nightgown behind the tent. The chill of the night bit into her skin, and she found herself looking forward to sharing the warmth of the bed roll with Rowan.

“It won’t stop them tracking us, but it will stop the hounds from getting into the camp if they return,” Rowan said as he shucked his tunic.

Morana nodded and turned as he changed, not bothering to leave the tent, and began chewing on some of the dried venison and stale bread. When Rowan came to lay in the bedroll, Morana offered her wrist without question. Rowan paused for a long moment, before replaceing the rope and tying it around a single wrist, then to his. Without another word, Morana pulled the furs tight against her chin and closed her eyes as Rowan lay down beside her.