Page 20 of Crown of Roses
“Don’t let go!” Saoirse yelled as she was ripped from her side.
Maeve reached for her, for something, but her fingers clutched empty air. Blinded and terrified her blade would strike her best friend, she lowered her weapon.
“Saoirse!” She screamed and the pungent stench of decay filled her mouth. Her knees slammed into the ground, fists coiled into the damp terrain. Her sword was ripped from her grip. Hot bile scalded the back of her throat, and she gagged, coughed, struggled to get back on her feet. Pain lanced through her, stole into her mind, and she squeezed her eyes shut against the agony, against the assault. She gasped and her lungs filled, burned with air tainted by aged oak and sea salt. The howl of the wind faded away, only to be replaced by the deafening roar of an angry ocean, and the distinctive creak of frayed rope grinding against a weakened tree branch.
No.
She’d already lived this nightmare once before; she couldn’t suffer through it again. She wouldn’t survive. Peeling one eye open, panic sank deep within her, dug its claws into her bones, and spread through her body like a plague. Every muscle seized with fear and her joints locked up. She couldn’t move, she couldn’t escape. Her heart hammered wildly, and her chest rose and fell like rapid fire. Shadows sneered from the corner of her mind, threatened to leave her in oblivion. Terror stole into her, snatching the air from her lungs like a thief, leaving her breathless. Stricken.
She was back in the cage.
She took a breath and was left hollow. Her heart pounded, galloped like a thousand wild horses racing across the shore. She scrubbed her damp palms against the smooth fabric of her pants and inched herself backwards, away from the rusted bars of the cage. The wind returned, lit with fury this time, and whipped her hair against her face. The sting was a harsh slap, the replica of Carman’s hand across her cheek. Iron creaked and the cage rocked. Maeve grabbed a bar on either side of her and pressed her back to the frozen metal, dragged her knees to her chest. Another gust of wind tossed the cage further over the ledge in a violent lashing. Her stomach heaved into a tangle of unforgiving knots and the branch anchoring her above the crashing sea groaned in agony.
A smothering blanket of gray loomed on the horizon. Streaks of lightning shattered across the sky, and in one thunderous crack, the heavens broke open. Chills prickled along Maeve’s flesh and the tiny hairs at the back of her neck stood on end. Shots of icy water pelted her hands, her face, her body. Heavy rain hammered against her, and soaked her through until her body convulsed and shuddered. But there was nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide.
A storm ravaged around her, blew in hard from the seething coast.
The cage wouldn’t survive.
She wouldn’t survive.
It was all of her fears come to life, worse than she ever remembered. The anger of the ocean. The irrational fear of drowning, despite knowing how to swim. The numbing, gripping anxiety of heights, of losing control, of never being enough. Tears streamed down her face, hot and fast, a harsh contrast to the frigid temperature.
Lightning struck close, and the shocking jolt of it snapped the oak’s branch in half. She watched in terror as her lifeline broke away from the tree. The cage lurched and Maeve tumbled with it. Metal slammed into her stomach first, then her back. Her head snapped against the lock, sending spasms of pain screaming through her temples and down her spine. She clawed at the baseboard of the cage and tendrils of wood curled beneath her nails. Shards of oak splintered her skin as she tumbled out of the cage toward the jagged cliffs of the sea.
Maeve screamed.
A blinding slash cut through her vision, like the colors of twilight set on fire. Something snagged her by the elbow; a branch of some fallen tree, or a claw of a wild animal. She didn’t know, she didn’t care. Reaching out, she clutched it, and swung her feet wildly to keep the sea of death at bay. Then she was moving up. Up and away. The rocks that jutted up like vicious teeth from the ocean’s ravenous mouth slipped away, receding into a damp forest floor.
But she was done. Her body, her bones, her mind…all of it was gone. The Hagla stole her energy and fear rendered her useless. Maeve collapsed into the vaguely familiar scent of night jasmine and moss, and then there was nothing.
Maeve was rocking. A gentle, swaying motion kept her calm and steady. She sighed onto the cushion behind her head, then inhaled slowly. Deeply. There was a scent too; citrus and fresh earth. It soothed her. But the beating of her own heart didn’t guarantee her safety, so she peeled her eyes open, only to be blinded by the brilliant blue of the sky. Lazy white clouds stretched overhead and sunlight warmed her body. A shadow loomed on the outskirts of her vision.
She blinked and Casimir came into focus. She was looking up at the underside of his chin, the outline of his jaw. An odd view. It was then she realized she was on a horse, his horse, presumably. She was nestled against him and her legs were swept over his lap. In the distance, she heard muffled voices. They were hushed, like whispers. One was Saoirse. The other was Rowan. She would recognize them anywhere.
“Captain.” Saoirse’s call drifted over to them. “The clearing is up ahead.”
Casimir shifted her in his arms, curled her closer to him. Kept her protected. “We’ll stop there to prepare for the crossing.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. It was easier to keep them closed than to look up at him, knowing she was reclining in his arms.
A low rumble sounded from inside the hard wall of his chest. “I know you’re pretending.”
Damn.
Her eyes fluttered open. A grin stretched across his face, and he carefully eased her into a sitting position. Her gaze skimmed their surroundings. Saoirse rode alongside Rowan, and Maeve’s horse was nowhere to be seen. They were hardly a day into their journey, and possible death already hung heavily in the air. How would they manage? There was no telling how long it would take to reach Faeven, or how much time would pass until they found the anam ó Danua—if they even found it at all. The possibilities of all of them staying alive for the duration seemed fleeting. Defeated, Maeve let her head roll back onto Casimir’s shoulder.
“How are you feeling?” His words were soft. Kind.
“I don’t really know.” Her voice cracked and she pressed her fingers to her forehead, let a breath escape her when there was no sudden pain. Her throat, however, was parched. “Exhausted, I think. And a little thirsty.”
“I bet you are.” He pulled a flask of water from his pack and handed it to her. She guzzled a few mouthfuls. “You slept for a day.”
Maeve choked on the water, then forced herself to cough when her lungs seized. Casimir patted her roughly on the back. His face was illuminated with the remnants of amusement, but something else was layered just beneath the surface of his features. A ghost of another emotion. Relief? Regret? She couldn’t be sure.
“A full day?” Maeve asked.
“Just about.” Casimir smiled once more but then it vanished, replaced by a scowl. She understood why a moment later.
