An Offering and a Name (2/2)

Rowan thought about how the man had destroyed the creatures by the bridge, then about how he'd later come to Rowan by the black pond, toeing the edge of his shadows.

He almost shivered as he recalled the feel of all that blood-red energy when it had wrapped around his neck, half-threat, half-caress.

His ward obviously wielded a magic more powerful than anything Rowan had seen outside of the Order. But he couldn't possibly be the Prince of Illusions.

The enemy of the Order would never kneel in the dirt and repair a bridge by hand because he was asked to do so. Yet here this man knelt, black hair falling about his cheeks, the lazy smile on his face as he pulled up the remaining two boards. He pushed the shortest strands of hair out of the way when they fell across his eyes.

Rowan untied the ribbon from his braid and held it out to the young man. "Here. You need it more than I do."

An odd expression flashed through the golden topaz. "Why do you keep giving me things?"

"We can't really count that stew, and you'd have to be blind to see that my clothes don't suit you."

At least he'd finally put on the boots, as well.

"And what do you think would suit me? I'm dying to know."

Rowan shook the ribbon at him. "Just take it."

The young man took it and bound his hair into a loose ponytail at the nape of his neck. Rowan looked away when his ward caught him staring.

"I'm not trying to upset you, but you really don't remember your name?" Rowan said.

"No." The edge was there, but it was softer than the last time Rowan had asked the same question. "I don't have a name."

"Well, you should think of one."

Rowan searched the area for damage to his protective spells and sang as he repaired them one by one. To his surprise, he discovered an unlit candle and a cinnamon cake wrapped in paper at the base of one tree. A handful of daisies were arranged neatly in front of them.

Not sure what to make of them, he left them alone and continued repairing the damaged wards.

By the time he'd mended the last one, his ward was done with the bridge.

He leaned against the railing, listening to Rowan's song as he worked, a relaxed expression on his face. One long leg was crossed in front of the other, and his eyes followed Rowan's movements from behind dark lashes.

"Aren't you going to collect your offerings?" The man pointed at the cake and candle when Rowan was done singing.

"I don't think they're for me."

"Of course they are. But remember, no one leaves offerings for an abomination."

Rowan's stomach fluttered again.

He gathered the gifts, unable to accept that they were intended for him. He pressed the heel of his hand to his temple to quell the lingering throb from his earlier headache. The young man watched as Rowan inspected the bridge.

Rowan was shocked to find that not only had he repaired the wood, but he'd repaired the magic as well. In fact, it was stronger than anything Rowan could have done himself.

Exactly how many things did his ward know how to do?

"How did you do that?" Rowan said.

One corner of the still nameless man's mouth curled slightly. "Hammer and nails, of course."

Rowan started to press the issue, but the man cut him off.

"Your voice is beautiful. Much better than a hammer and nails."

A flush swept up Rowan's neck at the compliment, and he bent to retrieve the old planks before his ward could see how disconcerting it was for him to hear a few kind words.

He thrust the boards at the man. "You can carry these."

The curl at the edges of the man's lips deepened, and he inclined his head ever so slightly. "Yes, Master Caretaker."

"Don't…don't talk like that. Just carry them."

"I thought you said you like me better when I'm compliant."

"That's not what I meant."

Rowan thought he heard the man snicker as he followed quietly behind.

That evening, the man had retreated to a gloomy silence as he paced around the inside of the hut. He refused to eat or drink, and hadn't spoken since the woods.

Rowan decided to sit on his patio, dropping sunflower seeds for the wrens while his ward watched silently from the doorway. His brows cut a dark slash over eyes that had shifted yet again to shadow.

Rowan sang quietly to lure the birds closer, but it was the young man who drew near, first stopping by the end of the row of rose bushes, then by the basin of water that served as a birdbath, and finally beside the bench where Rowan sat.

Rowan scooted over and kept singing, shifting to the song that his ward seemed to love. The man sat next to him, all trace of the fire from earlier stifled by the other aspect of him that seemed intent on dragging him away from reality every chance it got.

"Hold out your hand," Rowan said as he watched the birds hop lightly across the stone.

After a moment, a slender hand appeared in the corner of his vision. He poured the remaining sunflower seeds into the open palm.

"Why don't you feed them while I sing?"

The man did as he was told and tossed the seeds one by one to the tiny, speckled birds. The wrens would draw near to snatch up the seeds, then flit away once they'd snagged a prize. They were more timid tonight than usual, probably nervous about the new person who handed out their evening snack with much less delicacy than Rowan did.

"Are you sure you don't have a name?" Rowan stopped singing to study the person on the bench next to him.

The young man's hand clenched around the seeds, and his body stiffened. "I'm sure."

Rowan sighed. "You are just like those birds, you know that? Just when I think you might trust me, you fly away."

That night, Rowan instructed his ward to sleep in his bed.

"Go ahead. You need to recuperate more than I need my pillows. Tomorrow we are going to find a way to banish your shadows once and for all."

"You're the one in pain. It's your bed, you sleep in it." The man lay down on the floor, then stretched out on his back in the same direction as the bed.

"At least take a pillow."

The man closed his eyes and ignored the pillow Rowan held out to him.

What a pathetic Caretaker he was, allowing this broken individual to sleep on the floor. He took an extra blanket from his chest and covered the young man. His ward's eyes flicked open briefly, but he didn't refuse it.

Rowan removed his boots and crawled into his bed, careful to step around the man's still form. He extinguished the lights with a wave of his hand, vowing to do a better job tomorrow.

Halfway through the night, the young man's voice jolted Rowan out of a dreamless sleep. The sound was anguished and unintelligible, as if he was arguing with someone.

Rowan sat up. "Wake up. You're having a nightmare."

"Let me go. How dare you keep me out. I'll kill you…" The man's words trailed off into a moan that made Rowan feel helpless.

He wanted to reach out to this soul, to do something to pull him from his secret darkness.

The man cried out again.

Rowan slid from the bed. He hesitated for a moment before stepping over his suffering ward to lie on the floor at his side, careful to stay far enough away that he wouldn't defile the young man, even if he flung out an arm.

He alternated between humming and whispering comforting words, he on his side and the young man on his back. The man quieted, and a quick scan with his vision revealed the two halves of the soul were locked in a stalemate for ownership of the body.

"It's okay, little Wren. You don't need to fly away. I promise I will help you," Rowan whispered as he stared at the outline of the man's body in the darkness. "If you don't have a name, I will call you Wren. Is that okay with you?"

The young man turned his face to Rowan. "Don't believe their lies. You're not an abomination," he mumbled before drifting off to sleep.