Page 48 of Throne of Dreams
The Hagla was moving so fast, much quicker than she remembered that day in the Fieann Forest. Its impenetrable shadows curled around the trees, swallowing them whole. They slithered along the forest floor, devouring the flowers and logs, coating the world around her in the raw grip of empty night.
But Maeve would not let it defeat her. Not this time.
“Finley!” a male fae cried, reaching for the small child who was crawling along the damp grass on his hands and knees, trying to escape. The Hagla was upon him, upon all of them. A wall of nightmares.
Maeve raised her golden sword and screamed. The sound that erupted from her was not of this world. Her wings burst from her back, fueled by magic and fury. Vengeance steeled her heart as she flew toward them. Fingers outstretched, she snatched the boy by his shirt and hauled him into her chest. He threw his small arms around her neck and the scent of his fear set her on fire. Using her wings as a barricade, she shielded the family from the Hagla’s onslaught.
Shadows were everywhere at once. Cold seared her skin, stole all the way into her bones. Fear licked around her like white-hot flames. In her arms, the boy whimpered and cried, but she didn’t let go. She held him to her fiercely, the way a mother would protect her babe, and she summoned her magic.
Her shimmering bubble appeared, surrounding them. Saving them. Its strength alone far greater than anything the Hagla could throw her way. Its shadowy fingers tried to claw their way in, swarming and snaring, but the bubble didn’t yield. It didn’t break.
Maeve smoothed the boy’s hair back from his face, gently pressing her palm to his cheek to calm him. Then she handed him off into his father’s waiting arms.
“Thank you.” The fae male cradled his son against him, his eyes filling with unshed tears. “I owe you a life debt.”
But Maeve ignored him.
Gaze narrowed, focused solely on the dark fae whose death would belong to her, she lifted her glaring sword of sunlight, stepping out of the shield and into the shadows.
“I fear nothing.”
Its cold breath sank into her, trailing along her neck and down her hair. But Maeve didn’t waver. Thousands of voices scraped past her ears, whispering promises of nightmares, terrors, and when she didn’t tremble, the darkness smiled.
Maeve lifted her chin out of spite. “I fearnothing.”
Her soul answered in response. She shoved one hand through the seething shadows, through Tiernan’s violent storm, and brought down the sun. Brilliant and blinding, she harnessed her magic, empowered her sword, and slashed her way through the Hagla. She ripped and tore, penetrating, ruining the desolate darkness.
The Hagla recoiled against her sword. It hissed and shivered, snaking its way around her ankles, trying to consume her with grief and despair. It wanted to drown her in torment. Images of Rowan dying flashed into her mind. All the swords slashing through the sky like lightning, then puncturing his body while he protected her. All the blood staining his shirt, pants, and feathers. The way he flashed her a broken, bloodied smile. The Hagla wanted to use her memories against her, wanted to watch her waste away until she was nothing more than a shell of a soul.
“You will not take them.” Maeve spat the words out and struck true. She aimed the tip of her sword into the heart of the darkness. Through the soul of eternal night.
There was a wail, a blood-curdling shriek so painful it caused the trees to shudder. The rise of power consumed her, lifting her hair from her shoulders. A sudden gust slammed into her, a painful sensation of having all the air pulled from her lungs until she could no longer catch her breath, until her throat tightened and squeezed, and then…the Hagla was gone.
There was no darkness.
No shadows.
No cold.
Maeve gasped, and her chest rose and fell rapidly, heaving from exertion. She wiped a few errant curls away from her sweaty, sticky face and rolled her shoulders back. Cautiously, she kicked the only thing closest to her—a plain gray rock. It bounced twice and then rolled across the flattened grass before coming to a stop. Nothing happened. Nothing responded. There was no rise of dark magic. No crushing of shadows.
The Hagla was dead.
“Fucking fae,” Maeve muttered and decided to check on the family. She turned on one heel and froze.
Everyone,everyone, was staring at her.
Unease filtered through her, but she quickly waved away the shimmering bubble of protection surrounding the family, freeing them from its ward. They stood there, gaping at her, and without warning, every single one of them fell upon their knees before her. Even the young, injured boy.
Maeve stumbled back a step.
It started like a slow wave. A movement. The swell of acknowledgment spread, the shocking revelation of what she’d done was reflected at her in every pair of eyes she met. Beyond the family, the Spring fae stared at her in awe, disbelieving. But the only one she looked for, the only one she longed to find, was Tiernan.
He stood toward the back of the forest, surrounded by deformed trees and the dead body of a fallen giant. His face was a mask, calm and cool, like always. But there was an emotion swirling in his eyes, one she couldn’t read or understand. To his left stood Lir, with the High Army of Niahvess at his back. To Tiernan’s right was Merrick, with his band of scouts. They all watched her, observing her like she was a fictional character from one of her stories. Like she wasn’t even real.
Maeve carefully trudged over to them, offering a small smile to any fae who met her gaze, but her focus was solely on Tiernan. He was bruised and bleeding a little, but he was alive. And it was all that mattered. She stepped over a bundle of broken branches and kept her eyes focused on the High King of Summer. He kept her steady. Kept her breathing.
Some of the fae murmured as she passed by. Others whispered, their voices soft and reverent. But she heard what they said—what they called her.
