Page 89 of Throne of Dreams
Its ears flattened, its sharp gaze narrowed, and the fur along the back of his neck stood on end. The fox backed up, lowered its head like it was ready to attack.
“It’s okay if you are him,” Maeve spoke in hushed tones, refusing to show fear. “You’re safe with me.”
Its whiskers twitched and it took one step closer. Then another, before finally curling up onto the ground beside her.
“Do you know who I am?” Maeve asked, and those emerald eyes focused on her. “My name is Maeve. I’m your daughter.”
The fox blinked.
Alright. So maybe it wasn’t Dorian after all. She felt stupid sitting on the shoreline talking with a fox, but right now, she appreciated the company. “She still loved you, you know. Fianna. She left you and your sons to save me. To keep me as far away from Carman as possible.”
Unfortunately, it hadn’t been enough.
At the mention of the dead sorceress’s name, the fox growled, and a shiver pricked its way down Maeve’s spine. He’d recognized it. She reached out and gently patted the top of his head to settle him down.
“Don’t worry. She’s not a threat anymore. But there’s another who’s just as bad as her, if not worse.” Maeve wondered if he knew about Parisa too, if he knew about her exploits. She wanted to be the one to end Parisa. She wanted to watch the life fade from her eyes, wanted her death to be slow and painful. “But if you are Dorian, we could use your help. Autumn needs you. Your Court needs you.”
The fox nudged her hand with his little black nose. Definitely just a forest animal and not at all a respected High King. Maeve sighed.
But then the fox jumped up on all fours and his green eyes shot to the sky, fully alert.
“What is it?”
He darted toward the forest’s edge and whipped back around to face her, jerking his small head to the cover of the trees, urging her to follow.
The abrupt beating of wings echoed overhead, and Maeve scrambled to her feet, her heart plummeting to the pit of her stomach.
Garvan.
She rushed to follow the fox and the tree branches pulled back, revealing a small space to hide among some bushes and hollowed-out logs. As soon as she crossed into the safety of the forest, the branches closed in behind her, the leaves overhead thickened to a layer so dense, they blocked out any shred of moonlight, hiding her away. Protecting her. Guarding her. The fox stood watch at her feet, bunched and ready to launch itself at the intruder.
Dense magic filtered through the air and the trees shuddered, bowed, but they did not break. And they did not reveal her. She crouched down and peered through a sliver of leaves just large enough to peek out into the clearing by the lake. Piercing the night sky, with wings like blades of golden brown, was a dragon. His scales were a charred gray and smoke puffed out of his nose in long, winding tendrils. His eyes were amber, the pupils tiny black slits that reminded Maeve of a cat.
She’d read about dragons in some of her books. They were the fire-breathing beasts that once used to rule the skies and mountains. Not a soul had seen one in the flesh in years.
He soared high above them, those observant eyes searching for something.
Then he swooped down, his wing shredding the air like a blade through satin. He clambered up a stone rock near the lake, kicking up earth and leaves in his wake. Chest swelling, his nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply, and Maeve shrank inside her skin. Smoldering clouds of gray surrounded him, hiding him away from her view, and when the mist cleared away, Maeve clamped one hand over her mouth to quiet her gasp.
Casimir.
He tossed his hood back and stood upon the rock, looking out over the lake. He wasn’t facing her and though the distance between the forest’s edge and that of the lake was not far, she could see how his clothing was worn. Tattered. Scars littered his back and arms, the work mimicking those of her own. Blackened and bulging, the scars of a blade marred his flesh, as though he’d been cut open, then roughly stitched back together.
He shoved his hand through his dark hair, pulling it back from his face, then turned. “I know you’re here.”
Maeve’s body convulsed at the sound of the voice that was once a balm to her heart. Her throat tightened and she held her breath, unsure why the burn of hot tears suddenly threatened to spill down her cheeks. The last time she’d seen him, he’d broken her out of the dungeon beneath Parisa’s palace, even though he’d been the one to sentence her to the torture she’d endured. But he’d come back for her. Despite it all, he’d come back. He’d wrapped her bleeding, battered body in a blanket and ran. Then he’d handed her off to Rowan for safekeeping. Rowan, who’d died trying to save her.
Sweet goddess above. The memory of that night came crashing back in all its horror and anguish. The permeating metallic scent of her blood. Fearghal’s hot breath along her neck as he whispered into her ear all the ways he was going to hurt her. Casimir taking her away, rescuing her, and Rowan…gods,Rowan.
There’d been so many swords and so much blood. His wings had been mutilated, his body punctured over and over.
She pressed her lips together and stood, slowly.
The fox, alert to what was happening, nipped the hem of her dress with his teeth and tugged, desperate to keep her within the safety of the forest.
“I can smell you, Maeve.” Casimir sounded exhausted. Empty. “Please come out.”
“You stay here.” She patted the fox on the top of his head and though he watched her with pleading eyes, he released her. “I can handle him.”
