Unhooked(66)

He frowns at my chattering teeth and takes his coat from the rock, feeling it for dampness. Satisfied, he offers it to me. “Strip out of those and wear this instead.”

I give him a doubtful look as I consider the outstretched coat.

“I’ll turn my back. Go on,” he says, thrusting the coat forward.

I take it from him and wait until he’s turned away from me. “Fiona said you and Pan were friends once,” I say as I strip out of my wet shirt and pants as quickly as I can. The question’s easier to ask when I don’t have to face that dark look of his.

He doesn’t answer right away, so I pull on the warm heaviness of his coat. It hangs to mid-thigh, long enough that I’m covered but still short enough that I feel uncomfortably bare. When I wrap it around myself, I’m surrounded by his scent—spicy and heady—the scent of the sea and the wind. And of Rowan.

Rowan. I’ve been thinking of him as that name since . . . when? I’m not even sure. But sometime between when I saw his dark head appear in the window of Pan’s fortress and now, the Captain began to disappear for me. Now all I see is the boy beneath the title. The boy with eyes dark as the night sky.

“I’m ready,” I say, settling myself across from him, covering my bare legs as best I can with his coat. When he turns back, his gaze brushes over me, and even though I’m completely covered, I feel unaccountably bare.

“I know you’re not friends now,” I tell him, trying to distract him and myself. “But something had to have changed. . . .” I let my voice trail off, not wanting to voice the question directly. But he understands my meaning.

“Don’t paint me the hero, lass,” he says stiffly. “The only thing that truly changed is that I learned a new way to kill.”

I frown, but I don’t allow myself to react, and I don’t press him. The stiff set of his shoulders and the self-loathing I hear in his voice are enough to tell me that he judges himself more harshly than maybe even I could.

I wait, giving him the time he needs, and eventually, he speaks again.

“Though it’s no excuse, Pan tricked me into taking that first life. He thought it would bind me to his cause. Instead, it had quite the opposite effect.” The firelight flickers across the sharp features of his face, shadowing his eyes, so I can’t quite make out the emotion there. “You see, the Dark Ones are quite curious beings, Gwendolyn. As you’ve well seen, they’ve the ability to harvest life, but what is a human life save the memories it carries? Without memory, there is no empathy, no humanity. Without memory, we are not ourselves.”

I think about my hazy memories of that other world and how unsettled I feel because I can’t recall them. I think about Olivia, how different she is without any recollection of who she once was. And I find I can’t disagree.

“When I took that first boy’s life, it gave me more time in this world. But it also gave me the child’s long-buried memories. They helped me to remember the world I came from, the person I’d been. Otherwise, I might never have left Pan’s keeping.”

“But you did leave,” I say, focusing on what seems most important.

“Aye, I did.” His eyes meet mine. “I began to see Pan’s games for what they were. He believed himself to be a bloody hero, and I came to believe he needed a suitable villain. Someone who could stand against him in this world.”

“I can’t imagine he let you go willingly, though,” I say, the question in my voice clear.

“No, that was Fiona’s doing. Because she knew I’d been close to Pan, Fiona believed me to be useful. It was she who helped me escape from the fortress. And she who arranged for my ship and my arm”—the clockwork hand clenches, as if to accentuate his point—“which she enchanted, so I could stand against him as a true equal.”

“But you never did help her free the Queen,” I charge. “You didn’t even tell Fiona where Pan was hiding her.

“I couldn’t.” He glances across the fire to where I’m sitting. “Do you think Pan just has the Queen tucked into a cage somewhere? Perhaps in a chest or behind a locked door in the Great Hall of his fortress?” He shakes his head. “He’s buried her in the heart of the island, and none of the Fey who remain are strong enough to unearth her—Pan made sure of that. It took the Queen’s power to put her there, and it would take the Queen’s own power to call her forth again.”

“Because of the runes on his chest,” I realize.

“Aye. Pan’s used his power well. Fiona and her kind aren’t of the Queen’s own blood, so there’s nothing they can do to release her.” Rowan leans forward to stoke the fire. “Not that I let Fiona know right away, mind. But that secret would have been no use to my lads if Neverland had continued to tear itself apart. So I told her of what Pan had done to keep her Queen hidden for so long. Because until he’s defeated and the Queen is released, none of my lads have a chance to return to their world.”

“That’s why Fiona was in London,” I say, understanding. “She was looking for me too.”

Rowan’s expression is clouded with regret. “And for that, I’m sorry. Had I known then what I know now—had I known you—I would have allowed this whole bloody world crumble to dust before I uttered a word.”