Page 56 of Crown of Roses
Maeve shrank back into her skin. She knew this beast. She’d seen it once before—on the flag of Aran’s ship. She looked up at Lir. He had both swords drawn and his gaze was focused on the edge of the courtyard, beyond the outlying walls of the palace. The air seemed to vibrate and a cold wind blew in, so frozen, Maeve could see her breath billow up before her. She shivered, and the smell of rot slammed into her.
Her lungs seized and she coughed. The stench was the same as when the two dark fae had attacked her in her room. “Where are they?”
She knew they were coming.
“Just there.” Lir nodded to where palms stood still in the breeze, to where a murky haze settled upon the horizon, to where a horde of dark fae prepared to assault the Summer Court.
The dawn was eclipsed by the rise of shadows and smoke.
Maeve barely had time to breathe before the dark fae were upon them. She crouched low and as the first one attacked, a creature with jutting fangs and fire for eyes, Maeve darted upward and tore her dagger through its midsection. It howled, then crumpled into a pile of dust.
Okay, she had to strike true with her Aurastone. Little cuts and slices weren’t going to work if she wanted to destroy them on the first attempt. Every thrust and stab would have to count, every strike would need to be intentional. Her aim couldn’t falter.
Another one ambled toward her at a full sprint. She dodged the first blow, ducking to the ground, but its gangly claws snagged and got caught in her hair. Maeve hissed as pain tore through her scalp. Her body jerked in the other direction, and she cut her dagger through the air, chopping off the dark fae’s arms from the elbow down. The creature yowled as blackish blood poured from its missing members. The stench was unbearable; it smelled of decaying flesh, of charred magic. But being dismembered wasn’t enough to keep the dark fae from attacking her. It opened its slimy mouth and licked its lips with a snake-like tongue. Maeve swallowed down the compulsion to vomit and closed the distance between them. She jumped high and plunged her dagger into its throat. A moment later it turned to ash, and the hacked-off arms tangled in her hair covered her shoulders with a thick layer of dust.
She cringed, but there was no time to wipe the lingering death from her, because the second she turned around, another one was coming right at her. All around the courtyard, the fae soldiers of Summer and the dark fae clashed in a battle of metal and magic. She cut and tore through dark fae, shredding their vile skin with the scorch of her dagger. The Aurastone burned brighter with each death, its radiance illuminated in a reflection of rainbows among the darkness. Sweat dripped down her neck and back; her nightshift clung to her damp and sticky skin. Her cursed blood seemed to boil as she sundered every creature she came across. Never before had she taken so many lives, even if they were vile. Even if they were an adversary. She tried not to think about the souls she was ruining with every pile of ash and dust. There were no lost souls when she struck with her Aurastone. They simply disintegrated, vanishing into oblivion. Not even the fires of the Sluagh would claim them.
The realization tore through her gut. She didn’t want to keep a tally of those who died at her hand.
Nine.
Lir slashed through them in nearly double the time she could kill one. He moved with lethal grace, turning, dodging, and killing like a dancer in a ballroom. She supposed that was the advantage to being able to wield two swords at once, one for each hand. He could fight from a distance. He could cut two down and keep moving without looking back, without having to watch the remnants of life vanish from their eyes. But her dagger required more intention. She had to be up close to kill.
“Watch the sea wall!” Tiernan called out, his voice booming across the courtyard.
Maeve spun in the direction of the sea. A wall of white stone ran along the border to the verandah where Aran had dropped them off. Three dark fae fell on top of one of the Summer soldiers. Her broken scream struck Maeve in the heart, and she bolted in the direction of the fallen faerie. Her bare feet slid across the sticky surface of the stone and she grimaced, hating the way the metallic smell of blood permeated the air. She vaulted over one of the curving streams and drove her Aurastone into the spine of a dark fae. Black blood splattered her face and chest. She jerked the dagger upward and the cry that erupted from the creature sounded so terrifyingly human, Maeve nearly faltered. But then it was gone, turning to another useless pile of cinders.
Ten.
The Summer solider writhed beneath the assault. Her face was bleeding and contorted in pain as she struggled to regain her bearing. But Maeve had already eliminated one of the dark fae. Two versus two would be an easy win. She climbed up onto the white stone wall and a gust of wind slammed into her. Shudders tore through her but she pumped her legs and sprinted on top of the wall’s smooth ledge. It didn’t matter if the sea was on the other side, if there was nothing to catch her fall from the furious waves. She would save at least one life tonight. She would not simply end them.
“Get away from her!” Maeve shouted, her voice unrecognizable.
She jumped onto the back of one of the dark fae and forced the Aurastone into the base of its neck. Its shriek of agony was lost in the howl of the wind, and Maeve pulled her blade free. But the creature didn’t turn to dust. Instead it reached back and sunk its claws deep into her shoulder. Hot pain ripped through her. The creature’s talons shredded through her flesh like the tips had been heated over a forge and then serrated. The dark fae’s claws sank deeper, tearing through muscle and tendons. Somewhere, a guttural, ear-splitting scream echoed in Maeve’s head until her vision swam and her head thundered with a throbbing ache.
The sound came from her.
Something was wrong. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. The pain spread from her shoulder down to her elbow, and across her chest. Each inhale was a struggle, and the pounding rush of adrenaline firing inside her dwindled so there was barely anything left. The racing beat of her heart slowed to a dull thump, and her body grew lax with exhaustion. It required too much work to even lift her head. The Aurastone slipped from her grip and she watched it fall. Slowly. Slowly. It clattered against the cobblestone and she could do nothing but stare, helpless. She couldn’t fight. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t even scream again. The cuffs on her wrists fired hot, and the fae magic inside her pulsed to a fever pitch. Frenzied and frantic.
Poison.
In the recesses of Maeve’s mind, she knew she was right. She’d read through volumes of books regarding all different kinds of substances that could be used against a body. She’d studied the signs and effects for weeks after she’d caught Carman slipping crushed darmodh root into her morning tea to encourage forgetfulness. Apparently, her mother wanted her to endure full-blown memory loss. That way, every time Maeve was sent to the cage, the terror was new. Fresh. It was revolting and malicious, but eventually Maeve learned to dump her tea and switch to coffee. The bitter brew tasted slightly of earth when darmodh root was added, whereas the tea disguised its flavor well.
Her stomach revolted, and she wanted to retch.
But instead, the dark fae heaved her forward in one swift motion and slammed her down upon the sea wall’s ledge. An agonizing crack crippled her spine, and she sucked in a ragged, wheezing gasp of air. She imagined sand filling her lungs, so heavy, it was impossible to breathe. Limp and lifeless, she was splayed upon the wall, while the battle ensuing around her was nothing more than a mess of upside-down, blurry images all streaming together in an endless fog. It sounded like someone yelled her name. Something warm and sticky slid down her face and into her eyes, and blood filled her mouth. Her body was on fire. Burning. Her blood curse tried to tend to the numerous wounds, to keep her alive. How ironic the one thing she loathed should try and save her.
But the curse bound to Maeve could not cure poisoning.
There was more screaming. It was everywhere, filling the void of all sound, until there was nothing else. Her eyes grew heavy, weighted down by despair and the keen sense of knowing this was how she would die. The pause between her heartbeat was long and drawn out, a reminder death was watching. Waiting. She knew what would happen next. Her heart would slow and leave her in a haze, fogging her mind so she would forget to breathe. Eventually, drawing breath would become a struggle, until she quit altogether.
Her lungs ached, desperate for oxygen, a problem made worse by her snapped spine. Thump…thump. A hesitant pause, and longer than the last. Thump…
…thump…
Every second, Maeve slipped further into the void of the unknown. Her conscience was drowning, noises were garbled, and numbness stole through her so the pain ebbed away like the tide. It simply faded into nothingness. Just like her.
Chapter Eighteen
