Page 61 of Crown of Roses
The older woman gasped. “You look…”
“Normal?” Maeve suggested.
“Almost,” Deirdre said on a laugh and set a tray before her on the bed. It was filled with fresh fruit, warm biscuits with butter, and bacon. “Not there yet, love. But the room doesn’t smell like death anymore, which is always a sign of healing.”
“Yeah,” Maeve grumbled and shoved a piece of biscuit into her mouth. “The High King gave me a bath.”
“He w-what?” Deirdre startled, and the teacup she was holding clattered against its saucer. “He bathed you?”
“Don’t romanticize it.” Maeve reached for a piece of bacon next, reminding herself to take small bites and chew slowly to keep from vomiting again. “He was just as smug and rude as ever.”
Deirdre snorted. “Let’s hope so. The day he’s in a good mood is the day he falls in love.”
Maeve imagined most creatures, human or fae, would be in a good mood if they were in love. “Is that such a bad thing?”
“It is for him.”
“Why?”
“Once the High King falls in love, he’ll lose everything.”
Maeve choked on a piece of bacon and Deirdre handed her a glass of water. The cold liquid forced the bit of food down, and she swallowed hard. “Is he cursed?”
“Cursed? Oh heavens, no, child. The High King isn’t cursed. It’s just some ancient legend from years ago. Nothing for you to worry yourself over.” She poured hot tea into the cup, but Maeve left it untouched. “Now, eat your breakfast. I hope to never see another poisoning case as long as I live.”
“You can’t really expect me to not be curious about an ancient legend, Deirdre.” She spread some of the softened butter onto a biscuit. “Isn’t there anything you tell me about that? Even just a little bit?”
The older woman cast an anxious glance to the bedroom door, then wandered closer, keeping her voice low. “Now, if anyone asks, you didn’t hear this from me. But it’s said that the High King of Summer entered into a terrible contract with the god of death.”
Aed. If speaking the god of death’s name summoned him to the caller, Maeve would’ve been no less surprised. The balmy air of her bedroom cooled, and the sun slipped behind a thin blanket of clouds. “How terrible of a contract?”
“I’ve never been privy to the specifics, but I do know the High King was once consumed with so much grief and despair, he was willing to do anything to destroy those who wronged him.” Deirdre patted the bun on the back of her head, like she’d been caught speaking poorly of her king. “And rumor has it, it was when he was at his lowest of low, the god Aed chose then to answer his pleas.”
A cold, sinking sensation gripped Maeve’s chest. She couldn’t imagine being so desperate as to enter into a bargain with a god. The god of death, no less.
“Come now.” The sweet woman corralled her toward the bed. “You’re not yet yourself and will still need a bit of healing time.”
Maeve climbed onto the bed and buried herself beneath the satin covers, when a thought occurred to her. Tiernan said a week had passed while she was unconscious, and she had no idea of anything that transpired since. “Deirdre?”
“Hmm?”
“Is everyone okay? Did we…I mean, did Niahvess suffer much loss or damage?”
Deirdre tucked a wisp of gray hair behind her ear, and the lightness of her face dimmed. “Structurally, most of Niahvess is sound. Whatever is broken can always be fixed. We lost a number of soldiers, but the dark fae suffered greater casualties. They retreated not long after you…” She hesitated. “After you were injured.”
After you almost died, she meant.
“I’ll let you get your rest.” Deirdre plucked the towel off of the bed and slung it over her shoulder. “Besides, you have some friends who are anxious to see you.”
Deirdre left her and a few moments later, Saoirse came barreling through the door with Casimir right behind her.
“Maeve!” Saoirse rushed to her side and grabbed her hand. Her sapphire eyes were wild with emotions. Panic. Fear. Relief. Bluish smudges from lack of sleep harbored under her eyes, and her beautiful face was drawn with fatigue. The flower pinned behind her ear was a vibrant yellow rose, a bright contrast to her blanched pallor. “I thought you were going to die.”
“So did I,” Maeve admitted.
“You gave us one hell of a scare, Maeve.” Casimir shoved his dark brown hair from his face. He sat down on the opposite side of her bed, and his dark gaze searched her face. “You okay?”
“I think so. Are you?”
