Page 33 of Throne of Dreams

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“Do you not find it strange that Garvan is only a High Prince? That even Aran, the Dorai, only holds the title of High Prince?” She inspected her dagger-like nails, then her glossy black eyes shot back to Maeve. “How odd the magic and power of their father, ofyourfather, has not yet passed to either one of them.”

Maeve stilled. Was it possible? If there was any truth at all to what this merrow queen was saying, then there was a chance. There had to be a chance. “Are you…that is, are you implying that—”

“Dorian, the true High King of the Autumn Court, lives.”

“How do you know?”

The merrow’s fierce gaze flashed. “You doubt me?”

“Of course not,” Maeve answered readily, not wanting to give Queen Marella any more of a reason to drown her. “I’m just…curious.”

As always. Another facet of her life that almost always got her into trouble.

Queen Marella swam back to her throne and seated herself, her long black tail sparking and capturing all the light in the small space. “He resides deep within the Autumn forest. It’s rumored he is unwell. The loss of your mother did…unspeakable things to him. Drove him mad, some might say.”

The merrow queen believed her father was still alive. If Dorian lived, he would be the key to overthrowing Garvan, to uniting the Four Courts, to allying them all against Parisa.

Strange, unsettled silence descended upon the great cove.

“Is there more?” Maeve asked, prodding the merrow queen even further. “Surely you didn’t trick me and nearly drown me beneath the sea just to talk to me about Dorian.”

Queen Marella coiled the jet-black strands of her hair around one slightly webbed finger. “What do you know of the Aurastone and Astralstone, High Princess?”

“Not as much as I should,” Maeve admitted. She’d yet to read the book Rowan had given her, the one full of information regarding the twin daggers.

“Mm.” It was a non-committal noise. Or maybe one of disappointment? Maeve couldn’t be sure. Queen Marella’s face was unreadable, a mask of odd indifference. “I gave the Astralstone to the High King of Summer many years ago in exchange for protection. The Astralstone, though powerful, must be wielded with a certain type of…care.”

“Has the High King of Summer not held up his end of the bargain?” Maeve asked.

“He has, and I believe he always shall. However,” the merrow’s eyes darkened to round orbs of obsidian, “the High King of Summer has no control over the High Prince of Autumn, or his doings, or how he treats his citizens.”

Understanding hit Maeve with such force, she stumbled forward a step. Broken shells slid beneath her boots. “You swore allegiance to Autumn.”

Queen Marella nodded once.

“And now Garvan has turned on you?”

“Yes.” She drew out the word, so once it again it seemed to slide from between her lips. “Garvan has taken to hunting the merrows. While some will argue it’s for sport, there are those of us who know better. Once captured, he skins them alive, using their scales for trade to increase Autumn’s ever-dwindling coffers.”

Scorn boiled through Maeve’s blood. Her fury raged. He was a bastard. A vile creature who didn’t deserve to breathe within the realms.

“Never again,” Maeve swore her own vow, “never again will he harm you in such a way.”

The queen’s head tilted, and she eyed Maeve coolly, unblinking. “You would stand for us, against your own kin?”

“The High Prince of Autumn may share my blood, but I will never pledge an oath to him.” She bristled and crossed her arms, indignation only growing hotter inside her. “I would swear my loyalty to Aran before I knelt before Garvan.”

The merrow queen nodded. “You have much to prove, Maeve Ruhdneah, if you are to take your throne.”

“Indeed I do.”

She snapped her fingers, and two male merrows appeared on either side of the sphere.

“Remember, High Princess, your Aurastone will always prevail.”

Maeve opened her mouth to ask what the queen meant, but before she could speak, the male merrows darted into the sphere. Water poured in on either side, freezing cold, nearly sweeping her feet out from under her. Each male snared her by the arm and Maeve sucked in a final breath as they propelled her through the sea.

She broke through the surface of the water, sputtering. On a gasp, she heaved herself onto the stone steps of the verandah leading to Niahvess. Her chest ached as though a boulder had been set atop her. Her throat burned like it had been set on fire. Every breath was painful.