Page 22 of Throne of Dreams
She stomped up to him in a flurry of indignation with her fists planted squarely on her hips. “What iswrongwith you?” Accusation lit her tone and if her words had been created by fire, he swore they would’ve scorched his skin.
“Me?” Tiernan asked, calmly sitting up and showing her the respect she deserved, while also quietly hoping she’d relax a little. He’d never seen her so worked up.
“Knock it off, Tiernan.” She paced, stalking back and forth before his hearth in a whirlwind of tempered rage. She looked like she was trying to use her magic on herself, to soothe her mind and calm her thoughts, but she was failing miserably. Her face was flushed pink. Each time she blew out a shaking breath, she would squeeze her eyes shut. But whenever she opened them again, flames of frustration still ignited them. She condemned him by shoving a finger into his chest. “Would it kill you to just be nice to her every once in a while?”
He sat up, stretched out his legs, and set his guitar to the side. “I am nice.”
“Oh, bullshit.”
Tiernan laughed. Ceridwen never swore.
“It’s not funny, Tier.” She huffed out a breath. “War is coming. Parisa has been too quiet behind the borders of Spring, there’s still the Scathing to deal with, and the Furies, and goddess above, if Garvan finds out about Maeve—”
The slim thread of control Tiernan held onto snapped. He shoved up from the couch, and the doors leading to his shared balcony with Maeve flew open, his fury evident.
“You think I don’t know this?” Tiernan bellowed. “You think I don’t know war is coming, that we have a shit ton of enemies to face? You think it’s not on my mind every hour of every day?”
Ceridwen’s eyes, a perfect match to his own, widened in shock. Her entire body had gone utterly still—he’d never taken that harsh of a tone with her.
Tiernan blew out a ragged breath and ran his hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, Ceridwen. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”
He dropped back down onto the couch and propped his elbows on his knees, letting his head hang to relieve the weight of the realm from his shoulders. There was a gentle push of magic, a soothing sensation that coasted over him and eased the mounting stress from his bones. “Thanks, Cer.”
She carefully lowered herself next to him and kept her hands folded neatly in her lap. Ever graceful. Ever elegant. Just like their mother had been before she was taken from them.
Ceridwen smoothed her gown, fiddling with a bit of lace on the hem. “There’s something on your mind.”
Everything was on his mind. He did not want to relive another Evernight War. He didn’t want to watch his people suffer, he didn’t want to lose good warriors, and he didn’t want to watch the throes of war take innocent lives. He wouldn’t be able to handle it if anything happened to Ceridwen, or Merrick, or Lir, or Brynn. And he would destroy the soul of anyone who dared to even look at Maeve the wrong way.
“I will die before I let our Court fall again. But Summer alone cannot stave off Parisa’s so-called Dark Court. We need allies.”
She nodded in solemn agreement. “We’ll find them.”
“There are too many unknowns. We don’t know what lies within the depths of the Scathing. We don’t know what Parisa is planning.” Tiernan leaned back and let his head fall against the comfort of the cushions. “And the Furies haven’t been seen since Carman’s death.”
Ceridwen tapped her nails together, and the rings on her fingers sparkled in every color of the rainbow. “Didn’t you say the Furies answer to Maeve?”
“I did.”
He expelled another deep and drawn sigh. It wasn’t his finest moment, but he’d allowed himself to slip into Maeve’s mind in those first few days after Lir returned with her from the Spring Court. He saw her memories of what happened in Kells and felt the distinct sting of betrayal she suffered when Casimir turned her over to Parisa. He watched as she brought Tethra, Balor, and Dian back from the dead, watched as they destroyed the soldiers who attempted to harm her.
“When the Furies were in Faeven before, it was under Carman’s rule.” Acid roiled in his stomach as he remembered the terror they’d left in their wake. It was almost unthinkable to ask for their help, but they were running out of options. “And since Maeve brought them back from the dead, asking them to aid us would be an asset.”
He met his twin’s gaze. Her face had gone deathly pale. She shook her head, and her golden hair tumbled down her back. “No, Tiernan.”
He reached over and squeezed her hand. He needed her on his side for this, for everything they would face. “It might be our only choice.”
Her bottom lip quivered. “But at what risk?”
“At the risk of losing everything.”
She dropped her head onto his shoulder. “What of the Wild Hunt?”
“It’s possible they’ll answer to her as well. If she calls them back.” Gods, he didn’t even want to think about having that conversation with Maeve. She’d likely rip his head off.
Beside him, Ceridwen shuddered. “It’ll be dangerous.”
“She won’t have to do it alone.” He wouldn’t allow it. But if Maeve could use the magic of theanam ó Danuato bring back the Furies, then certainly she could call upon the Wild Hunt for assistance. Locating them would prove difficult. They were the eternal warriors, neither living nor dead. They moved with the storms, foretold of wars and strife, and existed within planes not of their own. “I’ll help her, Cer. I promise I won’t let her suffer alone.”
