Page 101 of Realm of Nightmares
Maeve’s heart lurched, her lungs seized. Every breath came quick and shallow.
It’s not real.
She repeated the words in her head, over and over. None of this was real. It was all the Stygian Spine, an illusion cast by the forest to frighten her. To break her.
Shaking her head, she stepped back, away from the carnage. Only to realize the bodies at her feet weren’t those of the soldiers who fought the front lines of a war.
No, these were faces she knew, yet only now did their names come easily to her.
She spotted Brynn first.
Her burgundy curls were plastered to her cheek and rivulets of blood streaked her deep bronze skin. On the ground was an empty vial, the glass cracked, its cork tip just out of reach from her outstretched fingers. As though she’d dropped it in the midst of fighting. All around her arm were tiny blooms of blues and purples, a healing potion meant to save a life, its contents lost on the grassy field instead. She looked like she was sleeping on a meager bed of flowers.
Maeve’s heart dropped to the pit of her stomach when she caught sight of a waterfall of golden blonde hair. Ceridwen’s eyes were closed, her bloodied body curled into that of a male. A male whose cerulean eyes were empty, gazing up lifelessly to the slate skies above. Merrick’s hair was no longer a shocking shade of pink. Instead, it was pure white and coated in crimson. One arm was wrapped around Ceridwen’s shoulders, like he’d been trying to protect her, to shield her from something.
A strangled cry escaped Maeve, its hollow, grieving sound pitching out over the eerily silent battlefield.These were not simply her friends, they were her family. Ones she loved. The ones she would fight for.
Die for.
Torment slammed into her, making it difficult to catch her breath, impossible to breathe. Her gaze raked across the blood-stained field, where death surrounded her, welcoming her like an old friend. Her fingers curled into fists at her side, nails biting into her palms, as she surveyed the vast devastation. Her suffering was more than she could withstand. Silent, unbidden tears slid down her cheeks, burdening her with sorrow. Maeve hastily blinked them away and took a staggered step forward, only to collapse beneath the weight of defeat.
Another face she recognized, another soul lost to her.
“No.”
She shook her head violently, despair sending her to her knees. As she crawled over to him, the sob threatened to crack her shuddering exterior. Maeve reached for the warrior. For the one who vowed to protect her, no matter the cost. She cupped his cheek, angling his face toward her.
His skin was cold, icy like the touch of death. One last time. All she wanted was to see the face of the male who guarded her, protected her, and on more than one occasion, saved her. But when his head lolled to the side, Maeve clamped down on the urge to scream. He’d been mutilated, his beautiful silver eyes gouged out, his mouth still gaping open in violent agony.
“Lir.” His name on the bitter wind broke her. “No, please.”
Heartache rocked her body and she convulsed against it, even as her shoulders shook and her breath hitched.
“Not real,” she repeated, but the words had lost their resolve. “None of this is real!”
But there was no one there to hear her refusals, no one there to deny her claims.
“Do you hear me?” she cried out, throwing her head back to scream at the ruthless heavens. “This isn’t real!”
Until she sawhim.
His midnight hair was mussed, the way it might look had he just run his fingers through it. His eyes were open, vacant pools of a frozen twilight, the golden flecks of the sun completely diminished. Grime and filth mixed with blood smeared his face and neck. Numerous wounds and lacerations marred his body. One fist remained clenched around the hilt of his sword, and his other hand had fallen over his heart, where the Strand bonding them to each other marked him. Even in the aftermath of war, the gold of his tattoos shimmered faintly, like the dying embers of a fire.
Terror gripped her, sinking its claws into her, leaving her gasping and trembling. She rubbed her heart in despair, longing to feel something,anything, but it was as though the Strand connecting her to Tiernan was nothing more than a threadbare ribbon slowly unraveling until it frayed completely.
“No, no.”
She crawled across the marshy earth toward him, grabbing his face with both hands. If he was truly dead, she would’ve felt it. The Strand between them would’ve snapped, exactly as it had done when Shay died. But this…this was more of an emptiness. A void. A vast and deep nothingness.
Pressing her lips together, body trembling, she dug her fingers into the leather armor of his chest plate. Sludge buried itself underneath her nails. This couldn’t be the end. Not like this. Never like this. If she’d have known this would be the outcome, she would’ve found a way back home sooner. She would have stopped it, saved them. All of them.
“Tiernan, I need you to wake up. It’s an illusion.” She pressed her lips to his forehead, his skin was like ice. “Wake up. Please, Tiernan. Please!”
But with each passing second, his chest failed to rise. His heart failed to beat. And her magic, that ridiculous notion of creation, the absurd idea that she was the very breath of life, had never been more of a lie. It barely churned inside her, a whisper of a murmur. Mocking her. Watching her fail. Again. A tease of possibility, of what she could become were she not trapped within the Ether and locked inside an illusion that threatened to shatter her soul.
Tiernan was dead. And there was nothing she could do to bring him back.
“Tiernan, please, don’t leave me.” Maeve’s voice broke and she sat back on her knees.
