Page 100 of Crown of Roses
Casimir hopped down from the trechen, landing soundly on the balustrade. He reached up, took Maeve by the waist, and plucked her off Effie’s back.
“Fair winds, Maeve of Kells.” Aran tugged on Effie’s corded reins and she lifted higher, away from them.
“Wait, you’re leaving?” Maeve spun around. An unnaturally cold wind picked up from off of the sea and barreled into them.
“I must.” Aran inclined his head, and a rush of shimmery auburn hair fell forward. He swept it back from his face, and when his brilliant eyes found her, they softened. “Perhaps we’ll see each other again soon.”
“Yes. Perhaps.”
Effie lurched into the sky, taking Aran with her, and Maeve waved. But he didn’t look back. And she watched as they disappeared in a mist of silver and magic.
“Maeve!” Saoirse called out, and the loud clacking of her boots echoed across the granite. “Maeve!”
She turned to see Saoirse running toward her. Her summer blue eyes were wide, and there was a slash of red along the side of her beautiful friend’s face. The wound looked fresh, barely healed, and the skin surrounding it was angry with red splotches. The slice ran from the outer edge of her eyebrow, down to her jaw. There was some slight discoloration under her eyes, a bluish-green shade, the remnants of a bruise. Exhaustion tugged at the lines of her face, and the closer she got, the more Maeve realized it wasn’t surprise that reflected in Saoirse’s eyes.
It was fear.
“Saoirse, what happened to you?”
“Carman happened to me.” Pain clouded her friend’s face, like a memory she didn’t want to relive. But then her arm shot out, and she pulled Maeve closer to her, away from Casimir. She ducked her head low, and her harsh whisper scoured Maeve’s skin. “Maeve, what are you doing here?”
“What do you mean?” Maeve searched the warrior’s face for something, anything that would explain why Saoirse was acting like she was committing treason. “I came back for Kells. And for…other things.”
Other things she wouldn’t mention out loud, because all walls within the city had ears.
“You shouldn’t be here.” Pieces of Saoirse’s braid fell loose, and it was then Maeve noticed her flower. Instead of the usual bright bloom tucked behind her ear, she was wearing a half-wilted black rose. “It’s not safe.”
“Nowhere is safe.” Maeve tossed a look over at Casimir, who turned away from them. He faced the horizon, where the sun seemed to halt its rise mid-air. “I’ve come to help.”
“No. No, no.” Saoirse shook her head violently. “You should go now. You need to leave. Before she finds out.”
“Saoirse.” Maeve pulled back, away from the paranoia oozing off of Saoirse in heavy waves. “What is going on?”
A low, familiar laugh echoed across the terrace. It was a petrifying sound Maeve knew all too well. It was Carman, and the noise she made was not one of amusement. It was that of victory.
“It’s a trap, Maeve.” Saoirse’s voice cracked. Dread sank deep into her features. And when she took Maeve’s hand, her skin was slicked with cool sweat. “A trap.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“A trap?” Maeve shook her head. Such a thing was impossible. No one knew they were coming back. “What are you talking about?”
“She’s talking about you, wretched girl.” Carman stalked across the terrace, flanked by ten soldiers on each side. Her raven hair was twisted high into a tightly coiled bun, her strapless gown draped around her like graying clouds, and a black cloak tumbled to the ground around her. The virdis lepatite pinned to her chest burned bright, in a sickening shade of green. “How dare you return here without the soul.”
Maeve stepped back as the guards circled around her, separating her from Casimir and Saoirse, a lethal wall of silver and night. Each of them approached her with swords drawn, the tips of their blades aimed true. Distrust and anger shaded their faces. Faces she recognized. Names she knew. All of them now turned against her.
“I searched for the anam ó Danua as you requested. But it won’t save Kells.” Maeve longed to reach for her Aurastone, but didn’t dare. One slip, one wrong move, and she’d meet her death. “Rowan was mistaken.”
“Don’t lie to me!” Carman shrieked. Distorted veins bulged along her neck; they wrinkled her hands and aged her hideously. “Three weeks you were gone! Three! And with nothing to show for it. You abandoned your city. You left your people to die. Tell me, Maeve, how many innocent lives do you think were stolen, while the Scathing ravaged Kells, while you wasted time in Faeven?”
Maeve inched away from the soldier with the tip of his blade nestled at her spine. “I didn’t think—”
“Enough!”
Carman’s hand shot out and an invisible grip tightened around Maeve’s throat. She gasped, but the pressure only increased. She clawed at her neck, thrashed violently against Carman’s dark magic. But the sorceress only smiled, closing her hand into a white-knuckled fist. Maeve’s knees slammed into the solid granite of the balustrade. Her chest was too tight. The air wouldn’t come. Her vision blurred, a warped convulsion of shapes and darkness. Above her, the sky roiled with anger. Cold wind bit her cheeks, harsh pelts of rain slashed across her face. Death had finally come for her and yet…
Vaguely, she made out Casimir’s form coming closer. His hood was pulled down low and she could barely see the bow of his lips. When he spoke, his voice was hushed and quiet, words meant only for Carman. Whatever he said, whatever he promised must have convinced Carman to spare Maeve’s life. She relented her power, slamming Maeve’s oxygen-deprived body onto the hard stone. Pain spasmed through her, ripped through her back and neck. It tore into her shoulders and head. Delirious stars danced in front of Maeve’s eyes, and when she rolled onto her side, a coppery, metallic tang filled her mouth. Blood. It’s sticky, wetness trickled out from the corner of her mouth, and slid down to her chin. Drops of freezing rain pelted her. Ruthless and unforgiving.
Above her, Carman’s lips peeled back into a wide sneer.
