Page 78 of Crown of Roses
The pretty green eyes staring back at her shifted from cold and callous to something she didn’t recognize—an emotion of some kind. It was raw. Unrecognizable. But there was a distinctive shift. Then he blinked and it was gone.
Shay swooped to the ground, set her down. Her legs failed and she dropped onto her knees, clutched the damp, cool earth in her fists.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
Maeve staggered to her feet, swiped at the fresh prick of tears threatening to spill down her face. “No one.” She shook her head, stumbled backward. “I’m no one.”
Then she turned and ran as fast as her mortal legs could carry her. She swatted at branches and ignored the overgrowth as it tugged at her skirt, ripping it to shreds. She ran until sweat slid down her back, until it burned her eyes, until her lungs seized like they’d been caught on fire and filled with smoke. She ran back into the forest. Into autumn. Into the wild.
Chapter Twenty-Three
When Maeve’s body finally quit on her, she dropped onto a bed of dank leaves. She curled into herself, relishing in the wetness against her heated cheek. Shrubs of evergreen bursting with dark purple berries hid her exhausted body from view, and she released a shuddering sigh. Each inhale scalded her chest. Her knees trembled, but she couldn’t move. The misty ground cooled her skin, and she found her breath floated before her, then evaporated into the brisk night.
She pressed her palm to the solid earth, and a faint, whispering hum spread from her flesh to her heart. Magic throbbed in the air around her. Its wondrous scent of cedarwood and orange blossom was more exotic within the Autumn Court. She was filled with the rich scent of cinnamon, of a hearth, of a home. She was safe here. She could stay here. The Autumn forest would protect her.
She laid there, staring up at the towering trees above her, where moonlight flickered through the canopy of branches like spider silk. Minutes ticked by into what she could only assume had become hours. But the woods were blessedly silent, and their stillness brought her a comfort she thought she’d never feel again. Gradually, the beating of her heart slowed, and she could breathe. But she wasn’t alone. All around her, encircling her like a ring of illuminated flowers, were the faerie lights.
The same ones she’d been chasing before she ran into Garvan and Shay.
Maeve heaved herself up into a sitting position, careful not to disturb anything around her. She peered into the woods but saw nothing, only the shadows of the plants and trees that had stood watch over her. On a grunt, she eased herself up and stood, then dusted her hands against the tattered remains of her skirt. Her legs were tight and tense from being curled into a ball, and her back was sore from the hard bedding of the ground. In the darkness of night, her vision failed her and she couldn’t see, though she could hear a faint sort of humming, almost like a song. When she tried to step out of the ring of dancing lights, it was like an invisible forcefield rooted her in place.
She was trapped.
Apprehension lodged in the back of her throat. Strangled her. But she swallowed it down, and called out to the unknown.
“Hello?”
A flash of light burst through the endless darkness. Maeve threw her hands up to shield her eyes, and a shooting star exploded overhead, leaving a trail of shimmering dust in its wake. Except the star took on a shape of its own, an elegant bird with glowing wings of violet and teal. It had sapphires for eyes, its beak was translucent silver, and every feather was sleek and glossy, alight with rich hues of purple and blue. It resembled the fabled bird Maeve read about as a child, the one also in the tales from the book Aran had given her. Its tail was a mass of stars. It swooped and swirled, then perched on a branch. Its eyes sparkled with curiosity. Then it tilted its head and shimmied its feathers with presumptuous superiority. Entranced, Maeve reached out to the bird. She just wanted to touch her, to run her finger along one feather and ensure something of such beauty was real and not crafted from the finest jewels.
But the bird shattered into a spectacular display of constellations and stardust before transforming into a fae whose beauty caused Maeve’s heart to ache and a twinge of tears to temporarily blind her.
She was petite, no taller than a tree stump. Wings of gossamer stretched out with the delicacy of a butterfly. They glimmered like a thousand broken rainbows kissed by the rain. Tendrils of silver hair fell to her waist. Pale, crystalized, blue eyes were framed with dark lashes and brows. Frosty pink painted her lips. Her skin was opalescent, and she wore a gown of crushed stardust.
Maeve blinked, and the will ó wisp stared back at her.
“Well.” Her voice was like a whispered song. Light and airy. Musical. “Imagine Lianan’s surprise when she finds a…thing. Tell me, what are you?”
“I’m not a thing. I’m a princess. A human from the kingdom of Kells. My name is Maeve.” Wide-eyed, Maeve clamped her hand over her mouth. The words simply poured from her, like they’d been siphoned.
The wisp tilted her small head. “No. There’s something strange about you. Lianan knows it. She can sense it.”
Maeve kept her mouth shut. The fae had not asked a question, so she wasn’t required to answer. And she worried that if she did, she would tell the will ó wisp her entire life story.
Lianan—at least, Maeve assumed that was her name, considering she addressed herself as such—plucked a muddied red leaf from the branch she sat upon. It was larger than her delicate hand. She twirled it once, poked her finger through it, then discarded the leaf. “What is it you want, Maeve of Kells?”
“I have questions.” Maeve bit the words out, careful not to give away too much.
“Don’t we all?” Her laughter tinkled through the hushed forest. “Continue.”
The will ó wisp pulled the answer from her.
“I want to know about the anam ó Danua. I need to know if it can help me. If it can help my people.” Maeve clenched her jaw to keep from speaking again. It must be a trick, a strange kind of magic. She was trapped in the ring of faerie lights, so every word she spoke was solid truth. Blunt. Honest. She couldn’t lie. She couldn’t deceive. It was a terrible position for a human. But then she remembered the book, and what Lir had mentioned to her in the library. When in the presence of the will ó wisp, everything must be spoken in truth.
“Lianan knows all there is to know of the goddess Danua’s soul. She was there when it was given, when it blessed the Spring Court.” Her blue eyes darkened to coals. “And she was there when it was taken away.”
“Has it been destroyed?” Maeve asked, surprised she was allowed questions of her own.
“Lianan did not say such a thing.” The will ó wisp crossed her legs, placed her hands on her knees. When she looked at Maeve, it was with an air of disappointment, as though she expected more from a mortal. “Listening is an art, Maeve of Kells. Now, pay careful attention. Lianan will give you three answers to three questions.”
