Page 79 of Throne of Dreams

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“So…” He glanced over at the book, and it opened once more, an eerie blue glow highlighting what could’ve been a ledger. “Would you like to get started? I know he troubles you.”

He…Rowan? Fearghal?

How in the hell did Cormac know that?

Beside her, Lir’s entire body went tense. His hand squeezed hers.

“Um, not today.” Maeve was relieved when the book closed once more and Lir visibly relaxed. Barely. “But if I were to return, what’s the cost for a moment in time?”

Cormac chuckled, but it was a craggy, rough noise. “Well now, that depends.”

“On?” she prompted.

“On the pain associated with the memory.” He leaned forward and rested his hands upon his knees. “Foolish mistakes and embarrassments are easy to dispose of, but memories of heartache, terror, and sorrow…those things take time.”

“Of course.” Maeve nodded slowly. He made it sound like it was the easiest thing in the world to understand. “Well, I might return.”

“You might indeed, Dawnbringer.”

Maeve stumbled backward. Lir drew his weapon, ready to slay the old fae with a single blow.

“No need for that, commander.” Cormac’s keen eyes focused on Maeve. “I’d recognize you anywhere. You’re pure radiance. There’s no mistaking your identity.”

She supposed Cormac’s words could’ve been a compliment. But she wasn’t so sure, and she didn’t want to ask. Nor did she want to spend any more time in his presence.

As if sensing her discomfort, the fae nodded to the door. “Fair winds.”

Lir didn’t waste a second. He grabbed her upper arm and hauled her out of the store. She didn’t know what to make of the exchange with Cormac. He certainly didn’t seem as horrible as everyone made him out to be, but the way he spoke to her set her nerves on edge. He acted like he knew her, like he knew the memories that haunted her very soul. She tried to shrug off the peculiar weight of foreboding that settled around her shoulders, yet it lingered as they walked down the uneven cobblestone street. She had every intention of researching as much as she could on memory keepers before she made any sort of deal with him.

Lir was painfully silent the entire trek back to the three bridges, and when Maeve couldn’t take the strained tension between them, she finally spoke. “I didn’t know fae could age like mortals.”

The look he gave her turned her blood cold. “They don’t.”

ChapterTwenty-Three

After her trip into Niahvess, Maeve returned to the glamoured lagoon, except this time she brought Lir with her. She refused to go back to the palace. Even though Niahvess helped to dull the ache in her chest, the closer she got to the palace gates, the more anxiety clawed its way through her. The more pain harbored in her heart. So, she opted to take a slight detour and train instead.

Lir, at least, was a willing participant.

“No magic,” Maeve reiterated. She worried if they fought with magic, she’d do something drastic. Like burn the entire place down. Or create a new realm, thousands of miles away, and catapult Tiernan into it. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

His dispassionate expression never changed. “Whatever you throw at me, I can take it.”

She nodded.

Swords were better. Safer. For the most part.

Lir stood across from her in the crescent-shaped cove with his curved swords at the ready. Maeve called to her sword of sunlight, and it appeared in her hands. She wielded it, raising it in front of her, and it burned like the dawn in her hands. Rolling her wrist, the fiery blade arced and wove before her. It cut through the air like the trailing blaze of a falling star. She calmed her breath, slowed her heartbeat. Lir had never been her opponent before, but she’d seen him battle against the dark fae. His speed was no match for lightning. His footwork was featherlight, like he walked on water. Every time his strike was true. He never wasted a breath, a moment, or opportunity. He never looked back.

She would have to remain on guard.

“Attack,” Lir commanded, and she launched herself at him.

Their swords met in a deafening crack of magic and metal, the force of it enough to reverberate through her whole body. She twirled away from him and struck again, but he blocked her blow in one swift movement. She parried, jumping to the side to avoid the curve of his blade as it swung above her head. Hitting the ground and rolling, Maeve maneuvered to pop up behind him. He whirled, dodging her strike.

Already, sweat slid down her temples and stung her eyes, but she didn’t quit. Together, they assailed one another like two partners trapped in a death dance. He evaded the heat of her blade. She avoided the slice of his swords. Her muscles screamed, ached, begged for reprieve, but she ignored them. She disregarded the pain, the way her arms spasmed as their weapons collided time and time again.

Beads of sweat dripped down his neck and chest, glistening like pearls against the jewel-toned umber of his skin. But whereas Maeve thought her legs would give out at any moment, that her knees would soften like the damp sand beneath her feet and send her careening to the ground, Lir moved like a ribbon of satin on the wind. Graceful, flowing. Not once did he falter.