Page 113 of Throne of Dreams
Twelve guards, outfitted in the black and gold of Kells, rushed to surround them. They were outnumbered in bodies, but not in strength. Maeve knew she and Tiernan alone could take down the lot of them. The trouble was these were not just ordinary soldiers. They were faces she recognized. Names she knew. Men she trained with daily under Casimir’s guidance.
She lifted her chin, refusing to cower. “Your queen was a monster.”
The same soldier—Berne—called out, “As are you, fae bitch.”
Thunder cracked, so loud it sounded like the earth had split open once more. The ground trembled beneath the might of its rumble, the force of it enough to shatter cliffs and crumble boulders. Tiernan glided forward, the tip of his sword aimed at the soldier’s throat.
“Mind your tongue. Before I cut it out and feed it to your men.”
The soldiers laughed. Either too foolish to believe him, or too broken to care.
Berne turned his attention back to Maeve. He was a rotund man with a red beard and ruddy skin. Lines of weariness haunted his eyes. He sneered at Maeve, daring a step closer, and Tiernan met his stride with one of his own.
“Carman was right when she said you would never learn your place. You weren’t worthy of the throne then, and you aren’t worthy of it now.”
Tension coiled through her, pulling so tight it threatened to snap. “I’m not here to take her throne. I’m here to get rid of the plague on this land.”
“A plague you brought upon us!” he fired back, and his soldiers edged closer. “You’re nothing but fae filth. Didn’t she used to keep you in a cage?”
Maeve’s gut clenched at the memory, and the soldier jeered, his men laughing in response. He knew he’d hit his mark.
Lightning splintered across the sky, violet and raging. Thunder exploded in ear-splitting cracks as Tiernan’s storm brewed and churned above them.
But the soldiers had a death wish. Berne took another step toward her, his lip curling in disgust. “I’ve heard stories about you, fae bitch.”
Another soldier ambled forward. Coghlan was his name. He was as pale as the moon, with hair the color of night. He smiled, his teeth crooked and yellowed. She’d seen him before on the training grounds, though he looked far worse for wear now. “Word travels through the realms. I heard you were tortured, cut up with a blade so badly that not even your precious magical blood could heal you...tell me, did you scream? Did you beg for mercy?”
“Shut your mouth,” she hissed.
“Is that what all those pretty little tattoos are covering?” he asked, smirking. He nodded to Tiernan. “Is he the one who tattooed you?”
Another one laughed. “I bet she spreads her legs for him, too. Filthy little whore.”
Maeve didn’t hesitate. She didn’t think, she didn’t prepare. She pulled her sword of sunlight, and as a battle scream ripped from the back of her throat, she launched herself at the offending soldiers. Tiernan was right beside her, his movements nearly a mirror image of her own. Back-to-back, they fended off the attacks of the soldiers. She would fight them and made sure they knew, right before the life left their bodies, that they died at the hand of a warrior.
Sword after sword clanged and rattled, crackling with a fissure of energy as a storm raged overhead, and she hated it. She hated she was killing men she once fought alongside. Each swipe of her sword, each cut of her blade, was like a dagger being thrust into her own chest.
She kicked and spun, eliminating one opponent, ready to strike down another, when a fiery streak of heat caught the back of her thigh. It was a direct hit, and she gasped as the blade ripped into her flesh. She fell hard, hands slamming into the dirt of the barren forest floor. She rolled over and through the haze of battle, she saw Berne looming over her, his sword poised to pierce her heart.
The toe of his boot slammed into the side of her face, shattering her cheek. Blood spurted from her mouth and she screamed. Pain burst from the back of her skull, splintering before her eyes until she saw tiny black stars. From somewhere, she heard Tiernan roar her name. Berne heaved his sword back, ready for the killing blow, but then the ground erupted beneath her. Shadows of darkness engulfed them all. Cold stole into her bones and froze her heart. Through the terror of screams filling the air, she heard three distinct voices laugh with the promise of death.
The Furies had arrived.
ChapterThirty-Three
Tiernan was blown back by the explosion of magic.
“Maeve!” he shouted her name over the screams. The last thing he saw was her being struck down by that fucking soldier, but then darkness descended upon them, destruction ripped through the chaos of battle, and death lingered in the wake of it all.
Darkness. Balor.
Destruction. Tethra.
Death. Dian.
The intense shroud of night cleaved, and Tiernan witnessed the Furies ravage the soldiers, tearing them limb from limb, unleashing the might of their wrath upon those who dared to harm Maeve. His gaze stole across the ground, finding her, mouth pouring blood, gaping up in terror as Balor ripped the spine from the soldier who kicked her in the face. Horror and dirt were streaked across her features, and he bolted to her side. With one hand, he hauled her to her feet and clutched her to him.
“Don’t look,” he murmured, holding the back of her head firm and keeping her face buried against his chest.
