Crown of roses, p.10
Crown of Roses, page 10
“Oh!” She instantly went to smooth her hair and use it as a shield to protect her face, like Casimir would be able to see the flush of arousal coloring her cheeks. “Hey, Cas.”
“Hey, yourself.” His dark brown gaze looked beyond her and a line formed across his brow. “What are you doing out here alone?”
Alone? Rowan was right behind her. Surely he—
Maeve turned around. The impenetrable darkness was illuminated only by swooping glass leaves dangling from metal hooks that cast the ship in a fiery glow. Rowan was nowhere to be found. And yet…
And yet she could feel his eyes upon her in the shifting night. She wondered if he knew she kept her thighs clenched, if the heat pooling at the center of her was almost unbearable.
“I was just looking at the stars.” The lie tasted foul in her mouth, like sour grapes. But she drank in the night sky anyway, imagining what gods and goddesses roamed the heavens, wondered if they watched her do unthinkable things when it was just her, alone in her bed. “Just looking and thinking.”
“About?” Casimir pressed.
“About if what we’re doing is really worth it.”
Golden light and shadows reflected off his face, displaying his prominent frown. “You think saving Kells isn’t worth the fight?”
“No. I’d do anything for Kells.” And she would. For her city, for her home. For the people she loved.
Casimir leaned out over the railing. “Then what’s the problem?”
Maeve spread her arms wide, exasperated. The heat burning inside her slowly cooled. “We’ll be in Faeven soon, Cas. In Faeven. A land I’ve only ever read about in fairytales. We have no idea what to expect and no clue what we’ll face. We don’t even know if we’ll even find the anam ó Danua. What if we fail?”
“We won’t.” He was so certain. So confident.
Maeve peered up at him and tried to read his somber expression. But shadows and light played tricks on the eyes, so she questioned him instead. “How can you be so sure?”
He didn’t look at her. Instead he continued to keep his eyes on the inky night, where the sky and the sea bled into one another. “Because I’ve been to Faeven before.”
“What?” Maeve reared back. “When?”
“Before the Evernight War.”
Maeve knew he was without a soul. His very existence was shackled to Carman. After all, it hadn’t taken her long to realize he never aged. In all her twenty-four years, his appearance had changed in just as many days. She supposed she had never taken the time to calculate his true age. She didn’t know he’d been alive during the Evernight War. Or that he’d been to Faeven.
“It was a while ago. Another life, really.” He turned, leaned into the railing and let his head tip back to face the sky. His deep brown skin glowed like the polished amber in the moonlight. “Parts of Faeven are dangerous. But other areas are enough to make you want to live there forever, to never want to leave.”
“Will you tell me about them?” She used to love his tales of adventures growing up. She remembered after a long day of training, they’d walk down the Ridge to one of the docks along the Gaelsong Port to cool their skin and sometimes their tempers. There, he would tell her stories of his battles fought, his wars won, and everything in between. Faeven, oddly enough, he never mentioned.
“Sure.” Casimir settled into himself, just as he’d done so many years ago. Resting his elbows on the railing, he crossed one ankle over the other and let the weight of the world fall away. “I’ve only ever been to the Spring Court. It’s beautiful. Lush and green. Everything is blooming. Flowers. Plants. The days are warm and the nights are cool. There’s a river that runs through Suvarese, the Crown City. When the sunlight hits it, it shines in hundreds of colors. Sometimes it will rain for what seems like forever, anything from a downpour to a sprinkle. When this mist rolls in from off of the Lismore Marin…I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Sounds magical.” Maeve imagined such a place was magnificent. A rainbow-hued river? She would love to wander in a world where it was constantly springtime. The mere thought of it made her heart sigh. “How long were you there?”
“Long enough.” His voice was strange. There was a stiffness to his tone. Words he’d locked away, never to speak of again.
She tried a different angle. “Why were you there?”
“That’s a long story.” He shook his head and glanced down at her with a sympathetic smile. “From a long time ago. Before…”
“Before what?” she prodded.
“Just before.” He pushed up from the railing, morphing out of the role of obliging protector and back into the frame of fierce warrior. “I’m speaking with Aran tomorrow. In the morning. You should be there, too.”
It wasn’t a command, exactly. But it was definitely a pushy request. “What, like a meeting?”
“You could say that.” Casimir adjusted his black hood and flipped it up over his head. “He has a particular talent for map-making.”
“Map-making?” Maeve thought of all the maps she’d seen hanging on the walls of the library, and the ones tied up with red ribbon for purchase from quaint little gift shops in Kells. She knew the layout of Veterra by heart. She knew where the borders of each kingdom blurred, where the capitals were situated, but a map of Faeven would be a treasure. “What sort of maps?”
“I don’t know how to describe it, exactly. You’ll have to see them for yourself.” His tone shifted and his shoulders bunched, an imperceptible movement to almost anyone. Except Maeve. He was hiding something. “I saw some of his work earlier when I asked him about where he plans on dropping us off.”
“And what did he say about that?” Irritation was beginning to claw its way to the surface of Maeve’s calm exterior. She didn’t care to be excluded from important conversations. She didn’t like how Casimir was taking charge of every situation, not when they’d spent the better part of her life making those decisions together.
Another barely noticeable shift in his demeanor. “He’s going to drop us off in Niahvess. It’s positioned on the sea for an easy escape if necessary, and the Archfae there are fairly neutral when it comes to humans.”
“What’s Niahvess?” Maeve found she enjoyed the way it rolled off her tongue, like some exotic locale.
“It’s the Crown City of the Summer Court.”
“Is it safe?”
“More or less.”
Not really a reassuring answer, but she’d take it. She pieced together everything she knew so far. They were being transported to the Summer Court by Aran, who was a Dorai. His reasons for being a Dorai were still a mystery to her, but she had a feeling she would find out at some point during their travels. Niahvess was the Crown City of Summer, and the safest place for them to enter Faeven.
Everything else was just a guess. An unknown. A lingering omen of their fates.
Casimir gestured toward the arched doors that opened up into a glinting hall of crimson walls and dark wood flooring. “You should get some rest.”
“Why does everyone keep telling me that,” she muttered.
“What?”
“Nothing.” She waved her hand in dismissal of the thought. “Night, Cas.”
“Goodnight.” Casimir opened the door for her and she wandered down the autumn-hued halls.
Aran’s vessel was resplendent. Golden scrollwork of leaves crawled along the ceiling and colored lanterns of deep amber and crimson glowed overhead. But the lighting wasn’t a bulb or the flicker of a flame. It was something else entirely. Faerie fire. Carved door knobs shaped like twisted branches invited her to peer into every room, and running windows of stained glass depicted scenes from what she could only assume was the Autumn Court. There was a mountain range set against the backdrop of a harvest moon, and a valley of trees whose bark was as white as snow, but whose leaves were lit up like fire. And then there was a palace…
She was half-tempted to reach up and run her finger along the beautiful edges of the glass palace walls, but the door right next to her burst open, and Saoirse popped her head out.
“Maeve, there you are!” Her hushed whisper was obnoxiously loud and she gestured for Maeve to follow her into the room. “This one has a big bed, so I figured we could share.”
Maeve smiled and followed behind her. The room was small, but cozy, and draped in decadent hues of aubergine, marigold, and sapphire. Jewel-toned pillows were piled on top of an ebony bed, making it glitter like a crown. A gilded mirror hung on one wall and a wardrobe was positioned on the other. It was a room fitting for a princess.
The sort of room Maeve had never been given.
Saoirse stretched out like a languid cat, then curled her legs back up. A yawn stifled her words. “I know it’s late, but the bathroom is fantastic if you want to freshen up before bed.”
Maeve unhooked her corset and took off her boots. She pulled the pins from her hair and set them on the glossy nightstand next to the bed. “Perfect. I’ll try not to wake you when I’m done.”
But Saoirse was already waving her off, her eyelids too heavy, much like Maeve’s heart.
She stepped into the bathroom and wasted no time soaking in her luxurious surroundings. Shimmery gold marble with streaks of iridescent champagne lined the walls. It was another overhead faucet, just like the one back home, except the water which poured over her was hot, and fragrant, and came down with the kindness of a gentle rainfall instead of a bruising blast. She tipped her head back and let the water soak her hair, her body, and rinse away her worries. Maeve scrubbed her face and stared down at the silver cuffs bound to her wrists.
To protect us. To keep the monster away.
Carman’s words played back in her mind and doubt burrowed its way into her heart. What if she was cursed with dark fae magic? What if she was a monster? What if part of the darkness looming inside her came from Carman herself?
She stood in the glass-enclosed stall until steam filled the room with the delectable scent of cinnamon and earthy florals. Until her skin was pink from the burning heat of the water. Until she remembered why she was going to Faeven in the first place.
To save Kells. To break her curse. To take her crown.
Chapter Eleven
It wasn’t the early beams of dawn that woke Maeve from a fitful slumber, it was the sensation of being watched. Maeve’s eyes flew open to see Rowan’s face inches from her own. His hand clamped over her mouth to silence her scream and on instinct, she reached for her dagger strapped to her thigh. The tips of her fingers barely grazed the hilt when he smiled, and put one finger to his lips. Then he nodded to where Saoirse slept on the other side of the bed, half naked, with a blade gripped firmly in her fist. Even in sleep, she was lethal.
“Come with me.” Rowan’s whisper floated over her, and tingles shivered from her shoulders to her toes. “There’s something I want to show you.”
Maeve propped herself up on her elbows. “Can I get dressed first?”
His eyes lit with interest and his gaze trailed down her body, skimmed over the threadbare cotton blouse she wore. Her skin went hot beneath the intensity of his stare. When he spoke, his voice was dry. “Yes.”
Maeve climbed out of bed and let Rowan get away with brushing his fingers along the tops of her thighs when she slid past him. She gathered up her clothing and disappeared into the bathroom, reappearing a few minutes later fresh-faced and fully clothed.
He stuck his bottom lip out in a pout. “I missed the show.”
Her lips twitched. “Pity.”
Rowan extended his hand, and with a cautious glance back at the sleeping Saoirse, Maeve accepted. He led her from the room to the starboard side of the ship. He gestured to the horizon, to the stunning sunrise, where the sky was awash with ruby and bronze. Teal waves were dipped in gold like a watercolor painting brought to life. It was breathtaking. She wanted to ingrain this moment in her mind, to never forget the beauty of the realm. The world shimmered in an explosion of radiance, and a burst of magic coated her skin. Orange blossom and cedarwood filled her senses, and made her feel alive.
She knew in her soul, down to her core, they’d entered Faeven.
“Sun and sky,” Maeve breathed.
“Literally.” Rowan smiled and Maeve drifted closer to him. “Where do you think that phrase originated?”
Her mouth fell open. She never considered the possibility that words she spoke, phrases of little consequence, could be centuries old. They stood there until the sun rose higher, rising up from the east, and drenching the sky in shades of blush and turquoise. Ribbons of warmth caressed her skin and wisps of snowy white clouds swirled across the horizon. She didn’t know how much time had passed, but she knew she was terrified to look away or even blink, for fear of missing the dawn’s glory. “It’s beautiful.”
“Mm.” Rowan nodded his head, his eyes on her. “It is.”
“You’re doing it again.”
He sidled up closer, until his hand covered hers on the railing and she was flush against him. “Doing what?”
“Looking at me like that again.”
The tip of his nose brushed against hers. “Like what?”
“Like…” Like she was the sun and he wanted to worship her for all eternity.
“What do you think you’re doing?” A male baritone sounded from behind Maeve and she whipped around, stumbling backward into Rowan’s chest.
He steadied her and stepped away, putting some distance between them. She fully expected to see Casimir glowering down at her, but instead it was Aran who stood before them. But his scowl wasn’t directed at her. Instead, he looked like he wanted to kill Rowan.
“Nothing,” Rowan muttered, and he adjusted the collar of his shirt, displaying the band of scars across his chest. “Anymore.”
“Good. You should know better than to sully things of beauty.” Aran’s voice was eerily calm and drenched in so much fury, Maeve shivered. “Especially when they don’t belong to you.”
What the hell? Was this fae actually implying she belonged to someone? Like property? She would die before she allowed such a transgression to pass. She found her spine then, and fisted her hands on her hips. “I don’t belong to anyone.”
Aran’s emerald gaze flicked to her, and for a brief second, his stormy expression softened. “Of course.” Then he shot a look of warning to Rowan and held it until Rowan finally looked away first.
What the fuck?
There was a past between these two. She suspected as much from their tense greeting yesterday afternoon, but now there was no mistaking it. They did not like each other. At all.
“Would you care to join me for breakfast, Your Highness?” Aran inclined his head. “The rest of your companions are already there.”
The subtle inclination was understood. She was late, and her absence had not gone unnoticed. No doubt she would suffer an earful from Casimir, as well as Saoirse—though for vastly different reasons.
“Okay.” Maeve rolled her shoulders back.
“This way.”
She glanced back at Rowan one final time, and though he said nothing, he watched her walk away.
Maeve turned back to follow Aran and wasn’t quick enough to silence her gasp.
“It’s okay.” Aran spoke quietly. Not quite a whisper, but a low, subdued murmur. “You can stare. I assure you, I’m used to it.”
Maeve’s gaze roved over his back. He wore a sheer green shirt with tiny gold embroidered leaves, but it was not enough to disguise the scarring along his back. There were two identical gouges, one on each side, just below his shoulder blades. The skin was jagged and torn, the edges of flesh red and blackened, and pulled taut into the shape of deformed crescent moons.
“What…” She didn’t even want to ask. But her curiosity was a secondary curse. “What happened to you?”
“I almost died.”
She scoffed in return. “Obviously.”
Aran whirled around then with one auburn brow arched high, and Maeve simply shrugged. “How?”
Scrutiny flowed from him. He wasn’t sure what to think of her, or her daring foolishness to use sarcasm when speaking with a fae. She could only hope he had a decent sense of humor. He took a slow, steadying breath. “My wings were cut off.”
Maeve’s hands flew to cover her mouth. She stared at him, wide-eyed. What an awful, torturous thing to have suffered. But then, “You had wings?”
The awe of his admission was more than she could handle.
A low chuckle escaped him. “You sound surprised.”
“Just impressed.”
He smiled then, and it warmed a cold place within her soul. “Yes. I had wings. And they were resplendent.”
She stepped closer, enraptured by the notion. She knew some of the more powerful fae were capable of fading, a movement which had been likened to teleportation according to her books, however, she never heard of a single faerie with wings. “What did they look like?”
Aran studied her. “You ask a lot of questions.”
“Keep your enemies close.”
“What makes you think I’m your enemy?”
“All fae are the enemy.”
He watched her. Carefully. “But why?”
Maeve opened her mouth, then snapped it shut. She didn’t have an answer. As far as she knew, no faerie had ever personally affronted her. She’d been born to hate them, bred to hate them. And she’d never known anything else. She’d never questioned it, either.
“Fine.” Maeve crossed arms, annoyed with him for outsmarting her. “All dark fae are the enemy.”
“Agreed.” Aran stepped aside and allowed her entrance to the stairwell first.
She climbed up the small spiral staircase and struggled to contain her surprise when she discovered where it led. Before her was an outdoor seating area on a patio, and one of the crimson banners swept across the space for shade. Casimir and Saoirse were seated at a large round table, surrounded by platters and trays steaming with bacon, chopped potatoes, grilled vegetables, and any breakfast food Maeve could imagine. There were bottomless mimosas, cranberry and orange juice, and a dark liquid that smelled faintly of hazelnuts and cinnamon.
