Page 108 of Crown of Roses
Maeve stared down at her hands. The Strand forged between herself and Tiernan was still there. The golden sun inside in her palm.
She wasn’t sure of her magic yet, of what she could and could not control. From some of her studies, she knew she would automatically inherit her mother’s magic. Fianna’s magic. Unfortunately, that was a blank spot, an emptiness she wouldn’t be able to fill on her own. Except…Rowan mentioned Fianna controlled fire, which would supposedly pass to Maeve. She also knew the anam ó Danua transformed her into a magic source. Not only could she give life and create, she could also bestow magic. At least, she remembered as much from what Rowan told her.
A nagging voice pilfered through the jumble of thoughts in her mind.
What if Rowan was lying?
Her heart shattered. There was no reason for him to be honest and she supposed it all made sense now. Another rule of the fae had been broken. Years and years of written word said fae were bound to the truth, that they were unable to speak a lie. This never stopped them from bending statements with riddles and twists; it enabled them to fabricate their own honesty. Or lack thereof. But she was fae. And she’d been able to lie, easily and often. Which only proved the original theory to be wrong. Fae could deceive. And Rowan had done as much to her. Deceived her. Mortified her. Her past had been stolen from her. Her loyalty, betrayed. Everyone, everyone, had lied to her. Everyone had tried to break her, to weaken her, to kill her.
Everyone except Saoirse. But Maeve was fae now, perhaps even her best friend would turn away from her. If she was even still alive.
Another wrench twisted through her. She would not go down so easily.
She would not be made to suffer and endure, to tremble and fear. She was the hidden dawn come to destroy the night. The cliffs that withstood the thrashing of the storm. Nothing, and no one, would ever break her again.
“Maeve,” a sing-song voice called her name. “Are you awake?”
Her body went on full alert. Her muscles clenched and her joints stiffened. Ready to attack. To fight. One hand slid to her thigh, and though she could feel the hilt of the Aurastone rub against her palm, she couldn’t grab it. Not even her weapon would respond to her.
Her throat worked, and she blew out a slow, even breath. She would face whatever Parisa brought to her without fear.
“Oh good, you’re up.” Parisa floated around the corner. This time she was in a dress of pale pink, and it tightly cinched her waist and thighs, then spread out like a fan near her calves. Jewels dotted her fingers and the same raindrop diamonds sparkled along her ears. She no longer looked mythical and lethal. Now, she looked like a spoiled princess who always got her way.
Not anymore. The thought reverberated through Maeve’s mind like a mantra.
Casimir stood beside Parisa, but gone were his loose-fitting pants and vest with a hood. Instead, he’d been decorated in a uniform of emerald green and silver, with serpent coils running along the hem. His hair was smoothed and combed. And he donned a ribbon of regalia displaying various medals and awards. He looked ridiculous, like an overstuffed peacock. Maeve wondered if Parisa made him dress like that as a means of humiliation, or a demonstration of power.
Next to him, however, was Fearghal. And all the empowering, vengeance-seeking blood drained from Maeve’s face at the sight of him. His lip curled in response, fully aware of the effect he had on her. Fearghal opened the door to her cell and stepped back, allowing Parisa and Casimir entry first.
Maeve held her ground.
I will not yield. I will not break.
“Now, don’t you feel better without those terrible cuffs holding you back?” Parisa offered a half-hearted smile.
“Not really.” Maeve’s gaze flicked around the cell, then back to the three of them. “You had someone ward the cell to stifle my magic. You’re clearly no better than Carman.”
“Mm.” Parisa’s honeyed eyes deepened to the color of burnt oak. She nodded to Fearghal who eyes flashed white, and the charm encasing the cell vanished. The second it happened, magic flooded through Maeve, pure and vital. It filled her with a fiery passion, determination, and power. The blood magic of her mother, and the soul of the goddess Danua, imbued her. She felt alive. Her magic wove a song of melody and only she knew the words.
“There.” Parisa crossed her arms, her lips pulled into a tight smirk. “Come now, let’s see what you can do.”
Desire to release the full brunt of her power swirled inside her. Hate shredded through her, and she thought only of burning the entire Spring Court down.
“Ooh, she’s smoking. How lovely.” Parisa nodded, clearly impressed. “She obviously received all of Fianna’s power, maternal lines and such.”
“It’s her scent as well.” Fearghal crossed his arms and Casimir’s head whipped toward him. “Smoke. Death. Life. She’s quite the misfit, that one.”
“Agreed. Positively problematic.” Parisa clicked her tongue. “Don’t be shy, Maeve. Use your magic. Show me how absolutely glorious and dangerous you are.”
It was tempting—so tempting—to do something. She knew she could defend herself against them to some extent, she was an Archfae damn it. But she had no idea what she was capable of, no clue how to control herself, and if she attacked and blew it, they’d have her restrained before she could even figure out how to retaliate.
She opted for stubborn pride instead and remained silent.
To her right, Casimir shifted a fraction of an inch closer. “Do what she asks, Maeve.”
“Fuck you, Cas.” Maeve refused to even look at him again. She would never forgive him for what he did to her. For how long he made her suffer. For murdering her true mother.
“My, my. Such language.” Parisa crossed her arms. It was clear her patience was waning. “I’m only going to ask nicely one more time. Show me what you can do. Now.”
