Page 28 of Throne of Dreams
She pulled up just before she hit the water, sending sea spray shooting out in either direction so the salty mist clung to her cheeks and lashes. She flew back to Aran, where he watched from above, his broad smile beaming with pride.
“Well done.” He flew alongside her. “You’re a quick study.”
She grinned, the sibling bond between them strengthening. “I have a great instructor.”
They flew for what seemed like an eternity, an endless flight of exhilaration and freedom. Aran showed her a handful of other moves. He taught her to dodge, to avoid, to keep herself safe in the sky until he was certain she could handle air maneuverability on her own.
Maeve glanced over at Aran. The warm breeze tousled his rich auburn hair. His smile met his eyes in wonder and amazement. Maeve had never seen him so carefree, so untroubled, so full of life.
“How long?” she asked, angling herself sideways beside him. “How long had it been since you had your wings?”
“Too long,” he whispered, his voice strangled. “I forgot what it felt like to have the wind sift through my feathers, to feel the rush of exhilaration the second I was bound for the sky. It’s been years. There’s nothing like it. Nothing.”
Minutes bled into hours and eventually they landed back on the deck of theAmshir. Maeve’s feet barely touched the ground before Aran swept her up into another embrace.
“Whatever would I do without you?” he murmured.
She angled her face up to him. “I imagine you’d be a faerie pirate.”
“I still might be,” he chuckled. But then his smile faded, and he looked to the sinking sun in the west. The hour was growing late. “You should return to Summer. We wouldn’t want to anger the High King.”
A fresh heat of annoyance simmered just beneath her skin. “I don’t answer to Tiernan.”
“Neither do I.” Aran stretched his wings, preparing to fly back with her.
“It’s okay.” Maeve waved him off. “I can go on my own.”
He frowned. “Are you certain?”
“Of course. You’re not anchored far from shore, and I just spent hours flying with you. Besides, I had a really good instructor.” She was grateful for the practice with Aran because she’d have to get used to her wings somehow, and crash landing in water seemed a far safer experiment than on hardened sand, rock, or mountain.
His head tilted to one side. “She’d be so proud of you.”
She. Fianna.
“Our mother.” Maeve’s heart clenched, like it had been pierced with a knife. “Will you tell me about her someday? About both of them?”
The parents she never knew she had.
“The next time we meet,” he promised, “I’ll tell you everything.”
“I’d love that.” She stood, reaching for him. “One more thing.”
His auburn brow arched in question.
“The compass you wear,” she nodded to where it hung from his neck with knotted silk cord, “it doesn’t point north.”
“It doesn’t, no.” Sadness crept into his features, and she wished she’d never even mentioned it. He lifted the compass and ran his thumb across the smooth, sparkly glass. “It points to Autumn.”
To home.
The unsaid words hung between them.
Aran pulled her into a hug, and as much as she didn’t want to let go, she knew she had to return to the Summer Court. He waved goodbye as she took flight from the aft of theAmshir, calling upon her wings to carry her back to Summer.
* * *
Maeve glidedamong the wisps of clouds. She refused to think about how she was basically hanging over the ocean, even if the waves below her were nothing like the terrifying ones that crashed against the Cliffs of Morrigan. She wasn’t in a cage, she wasn’t trapped. She was free. Her wings were her own and she had to believe in them, to trust in them to return her safely to the Summer Court. She wouldn’t tumble to her death and drown out here. There was no wicked sorceress threatening to plunge her to her doom, to hold her underwater until she could no longer breathe. A tremor of unease prickled her skin.
