Page 82 of Realm of Nightmares
He twisted open the top and pulled off the lid. The jar was filled with a pale yellow balm, lightly scented of lavender and citrus. Saving enough for Aran’s back and leg, Tiernan scooped out some onto his fingers and rubbed the salve over his arm.
Bursts of heat spread through the torn muscle and broken bone, healing them completely. He winced as tendons mended, as bones fused back together. Tiernan flexed his arm, examining how impressively fast the salve had remedied the break.
Aran gaped at the jar. “What’s in that stuff?”
“I have no idea.” Tiernan handed it to Aran, and he slathered it on his leg and back. Instantly, the ripped tissue repaired itself and the slashing gashes sealed completely, not even leaving behind a scar.
“Brynn should market this.” Aran held out the ointment, tossed it once into the air and caught it. “She’d make a fortune.”
“You can tell her that as soon as we get home.” Tiernan grinned, hoisting his straps of daggers and banding them across his chest.
Because now it was a guarantee.
It didn’t matter how much longer it took them to climb the Golden Plains, the most dangerous part of the journey was behind them. They’d survived the Ice Straits and the Kethwyn Woods. They’d swam through a river of blood housing the memories of the dead. Everything else was easy.
They would make it back to Faeven, back home.
Aran started up the steps once more. Thankfully, his limp had vanished. “How much further, do you think?”
Tiernan shook his head, wiping the back of his hand along the sweat gathering at his brow. The barest of smiles turned up his lips. “You don’t want to know.”
ChapterTwenty-Five
“What do you want, Dawnbringer?” Laurel drawled while dipping a flaky biscuit into a pot of warm chocolate.
Maeve discovered the defiant fae in the opulent dining hall of the House of Death. Her amethyst hair was held in place with a band of crystals, so it fell freely down her back. She was dressed in the deepest shade of blue velvet, the gown swept off her ivory shoulders and was bejeweled with tiny diamonds that mimicked hundreds of shooting stars.
Shifting in her simple attire of leggings and a sweater, Maeve found Laurel’s dress to be rather formal for the early morning hour. Then again, the only times she hadn’t seen her looking devastatingly regal were when she was fighting something or someone.
Laurel blew on the cup of steaming tea in her hands, her gaze narrowing over its fine rim as Maeve took the seat directly across from her. She scowled down at her plate of biscuits, clearly annoyed at being interrupted.
No time to waste, Maeve reminded herself, sitting up straight. She leaned forward, crossing her arms on the table. “I need you to tell me how to get to Diamarvh.”
At this, Laurel’s head snapped up. The piece of biscuit she’d broken off sank into the chocolate. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not.” She glanced around the dining hall and without asking, a plate of warm lemon scones drizzled with melted white chocolate appeared in front of her along with a cup of dark and delicious coffee, made perfect with two lumps of sugar.
“Thank you,” Maeve murmured to no one in particular. The House of Death had a peculiar way of knowing exactly what she needed.
She stirred her coffee, the clinking of the spoon against porcelain soothing. Calming. She lifted her gaze and found Laurel observing her with acute scrutiny.
“I must speak with the Wild Hunt,” Maeve continued, preparing for the argument she knew would follow. She took a sip of her coffee. It tasted of roasted hazelnuts and cinnamon.
Lauren leaned back in her seat, the interest in her breakfast suddenly lost. “What the hell for?”
Any answer she gave would be kept simple and concise. The less attention she drew to herself, the better. Asking for Laurel’s assistance was a risk in itself, one she could only hope would pay off in the future.
"I need their help.”
The female fae studied her a moment longer. Then she tilted her head so the gray, hazy morning light set fire to the darkness of her eyes, causing them to sparkle like a dozen black diamonds. Laurel took another sip of her tea, and without taking her eyes off Maeve, she said, “No.”
Maeve blinked. “No, what?”
“No, I’m not going to tell you how to get to Diamarvh.” She strummed her fingers idly along the back of the chair.
“Why not?”
Laurel rolled her eyes to the decadent chandelier hanging above their heads, a flicker of annoyance illuminating her dark gaze.
