Fen.
I stayed with him a few minutes longer, not speaking. Just watching him breathe.
"Rowan," I said again, letting the name settle into the room like something sacred. "Can you stand?"
He didn't answer, but after a long moment, he shifted. Slowly, deliberately, he gripped the edges of the stone tub and pulled himself up. Water sluiced off his skin in rivulets, trailing along the scars that latticed his arms, the burn marks that never fully faded. His legs trembled once, but he steadied.
I turned my back and gave him privacy while he climbed out. The guards who had assisted before knew better than to intrude now. Rowan had offered his name. That changed things.
When I turned around again, he was standing there—dripping wet, thin as hell, shivering but upright.
"Follow me," I said, keeping my voice level.
He did.
