The man followed Rowan back to the hut without another word. Rowan neither expected nor required an apology.
He pointed at one of the chairs at the kitchen table. "Sit there. You need to eat something."
Rowan's unexpected ward glared, but seemed to be in control of himself once more.
Rowan, never one to let a little choking dissuade him from his duty, pulled out the chair and gave the man a nudge with his spirit, borrowing one of Alaric's favorite tricks. The man blinked in surprise, but he sat.
"Now that we've gotten all that out of the way, I expect that you will allow me to take care of you. Clearly I have failed at my task if you think I am an illusion."
Rowan laved a piece of bread with butter, and placed it on a plate in front of his guest, who ignored it completely. Then he started a pot of lentil stew, taking up the usual song while he chopped the carrots and celery to add to the pot.
He did it all with his vision adjusted to be in both spaces at once, observing his ward's spirit out of the corner of his eye.
As he sang, the young man's energy calmed, until he almost seemed to be in a trance. It was like he was trapped inside a shell, that blood-red energy Rowan knew better than he should suffocating behind a barrier like a transparent grey film.
Rowan snuck a tendril of magic toward him, able to approach now that he'd sung him into a relaxed stupor.
He touched the shell with his magic, immediately recognizing that it was made of the same essence as the man's soul. Rowan pondered this strange dichotomy, two parts of one self, one intent on suppressing the other.
He sensed that the man had finally noticed the probing, and rather than upset him, Rowan retreated.
He was the Caretaker. He'd brought the man back, but clearly he was broken. It was his responsibility to fix it. He just didn't know how.
Rowan poured a glass of water for his ward and set it on the table.
After all the singing, the man's vision had cleared completely, and now the shadows drifting around the golden topaz were of pure exhaustion. He looked at the glass without the slightest indication that he knew what it was for.
"Drink that."
"Why are you doing this? Why do you care if I eat or drink?"
Rowan shrugged. He had to admit that having an actual person to take care of was more gratifying than taking care plants or cleaning up the impurities of death.
"Because I do. I said to drink."
The young man put the glass to his lips and took a tiny sip. Once again Rowan was surprised he obeyed, and this time with no nudge of magic or song.
Deciding to try his luck, Rowan dug through his clothes for a pair of trousers and a shirt. He could feel his ward's eyes hot on the back of his neck.
The man was longer than Rowan in all ways, but his waist didn't look that much bigger. Hopefully his clothes would fit.
He held the shirt and pants out to the young man.
"Here. You must want to wear something besides that nightshirt. I'm afraid this will have to do. You can change in there. The stew will be done soon." Rowan pointed to the bathroom.
He swore the man rolled his eyes before heading silently and obediently to do as he was told. How strange. It was like he was angry at being helped yet hungry for it at the same time. Caught up in a private battle, yet strangely pliant. Rowan closed the bathroom door as the man started stripping.
He set a pair of boots that he rarely wore because they were too large outside of the closed door, then spoke against the wood. "I'll be right back. I have something to do outside. Wait here for me."
Rowan went out to the garden to care for the souls of the members of the Order, relieved to find that they were still in good shape even though his attention had been divided yesterday.
As he knelt before the green shoots, he berated himself for placing his desire to nurture the owner of the garnet-soul over his sworn oath to the Order and poured an extra dose of energy into his song.
When he was done, he swayed in place. The ground tilted slightly beneath his knees.
First the shadow creature, then the attack in the forest, and singing to the young man all morning...he'd depleted his magical reserves and then some. If he wasn't careful, he'd end up passed out with no one to blame but himself.
"Caretaker."
Rowan startled at the sound of the low voice behind him. He really wished he knew what to call his ward.
And so much for waiting inside.
That was fine. Rowan still wasn't sure he liked the feeling of someone doing what he told them to do.
The man had managed fit in the clothes, but he hadn't put on the boots. Several inches of lower leg protruded from the bottom of the trousers, and the shirt stretched tightly across his shoulders.
It wasn't that the man was bulky with muscle. In fact, his graceful appearance of strength, with his long limbs, tapering torso, and loose waves of jet-black hair, was more beautiful than anything.
Rowan sighed. He just never realized the he was that small.
"You were gone. I thought that you..." The young man's black brows creased with something that hovered between anger and confusion and...could that be worry?
"I told you I'd be right back and to wait there."
"I couldn't see you. I can't see...isn't this an illusion?"
There was that word again, the one he'd prefer not to hear because of what it might mean.
Rowan stood up and brushed the grass from his pants. "No. You are in my garden. I am here, and so are you. It's not an illusion."
"I heard you singing again."
"Yes. I'm growing these souls, just like I grew you."
Well, that was barely true. The man before him was nothing like these souls.
"You grew me?" His voice sounded like that of a child.
Rowan's heart clenched at the helplessness of it. Where was the man who resisted him in the kitchen? Who demanded that he sing just for him?
"Yes."
"You didn't let me die?"
"No, I didn't." He couldn't.
The man moved toward Rowan, golden eyes searching for something in his face. "I think you just woke me up."
"What do you mean by that?"
The young man held up his hand, turning it this way and that as he stared at his long fingers. Pearlescent nails glowed softly in the sun.
He reached toward Rowan's chest. "What do you have?"
Rowan dodged out of the way. "Let's go back. You need to eat, but I have to warn you, I'm a terrible cook."
He didn't look to see if the young man was following. When he got back to the hut he turned around, and his ward was less than an arm's length away.
Rowan dodged again and motioned for him to sit at the table.
He ladled two bowls of stew and sat across from his ward. The worry from the garden had been replaced with a scowl.
Rowan cleared his throat. "I would like you to stay here in my garden with me until I can make sure you are well enough to start your new life. You are my responsibility. I can tell that you are suffering, which means I haven't finished my job. Do you understand?"
Rowan interpreted the flash of golden topaz as an agreement.
"But there are some rules you must follow. You must stay away from the black pond. It is dangerous, and I don't want you to fall in. You must do as I say until you leave here. And you must not touch me. Ever."
And try not to kill me, he added in his head.
"Touch you..."
"Yes. I work with death. I am...unclean. We can't risk harming your new body, so you need to keep your distance."
The man smirked. "I thought the Order had a Branch of Logic."
Now it was Rowan's turn to stare blankly. "And how exactly would you know that?"
The smirk slid into a half-smile. "I don't know anything. I'm not sure where that thought came from, Rowan."
Rowan shivered at the sound of his name coming from those lips. "Who are you?"
The smile faded from the man's face, and the light in his eyes disappeared once more to shadow. This time no amount of singing could bring it back.