Page 28 of Realm of Nightmares
No, of course she wasn’t certain. But he’d disappeared without a trace, and she was tired of it. Tired of him always promising to never leave her and then doing so, nevertheless.
Maeve straightened. “I need to speak with him.”
He considered her, his gaze darkening.
“Please,” she pleaded. “It’s important.”
“It’s obvious they have some issues they need to work out.” Laurel sauntered closer, planting one hand on her hip. “Just tell her.”
Aed’s mouth pressed into a firm line, but he relented. “The Nightweaver can usually be found in an apartment above the tea shop, the one with the deep red shutters near the main road. It’s on the fourth floor, you can’t miss it.”
Maeve knew the place. She’d walked by it on her way to training at the House of Death.
She dipped her head and spared Laurel a grateful smile. The female fae simply rolled her eyes to the carved ceiling above them.
“Be careful,” Aed called out as she slipped through the curtain. “And stay vigilant.”
Maeve heeded his words as she slipped out of the theater into the chilly air of night.
Moonlight splashed upon the rows of shops closing for the night, casting long shadows onto streets. In the distance, lively music poured out from a tavern, filling the air with a thrumming beat and raucous laughter. She navigated her way through the thinning crowds of people, keeping her cloak wrapped tightly around herself. The road curved and she rounded the corner, spying the tea shop just a few paces ahead.
There was a row of skinny stone stairs leading up the side of the building to Rowan’s apartment. She hoisted the hem of her gown and started climbing, taking each step with care so as not to twist her ankle. Knee-high boots didn’t quite match her dress, so she’d chosen a pair of ridiculously high heels for the evening, a decision she was now coming to regret.
Her feet were killing her.
She made it to the fourth floor, pausing in front of an aged wooden door with a bronze knocker. Bracing herself for what she knew would be a heated discussion, Maeve knocked once. Loudly.
Seconds ticked by and there was no answer. She thought perhaps he’d ventured into one of the local taverns instead of going home. Knowing Rowan, he could be anywhere. Maybe back at the library waiting for her. She debated turning around and heading that direction instead when she caught the scent of him.
Mountain sage. Wooded moss. Night jasmine.
Willing her spine into a steel rod, Maeve reached for the doorknob. It was cool to the touch, and she gave it a little turn, expelling her breath on a rush of air when she realized it was unlocked. She nudged it open and stepped right into an illusion.
It was the one from before, the one Rowan had shown her.
The Dawnbringer and the Nightweaver, entwined in an intimate embrace, the orb of twilight flaring above them—the binding of their souls. She watched as they held onto one another, as the aura surrounding them melded together, while the world around them seemed to weep in despair. Together, they sacrificed their soul bond to create life. Beings emerged from the orb, the first fae to walk the realms.
Crestfallen, Maeve staggered back. Agony sliced through her, as though she could feel the depth of their anguish. It was so painstakingly similar to the musical from the theater, except somehow this was more real. Hopelessness pervaded her, and she longed to cry out, to beg them not to give up. Torment ravaged her. Her heart skittered, and her palms slicked with sweat. Harrowing grief that was not her own left her trembling, so that her knees quaked and her vision blurred. Somewhere, in some deep, long-forgotten part of her soul, she was met with a reckoning.
The Nightweaver spoke, his voice deep and captivating as they were pulled from one another by the hands of fate. “I’ll find you, Medb. In another life, in another realm, I’ll find you.”
Maeve gasped and the illusion evaporated.
Rowan was in front of her before she could catch her breath. Fury etched his face with hard lines. She’d never seen him full of so much rage. So muchloathing. Lavender eyes burned hot, his glower made all the worse by the single tear that slid down his cheek.
He pointed to the door behind her. “Out.”
“Rowan, I’m sorry.” She backed up, overwhelmed by the nearness of him. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. It’s just, you left the theater and I—”
“Stop speaking,” he warned, his chest heaving.
No. They weren’t doing this anymore. They weren’t going to pretend nothing ever happened between them, that he didn’tdiefor her, that they never meant anything to each other. They would have this conversation, and they would have it now.
“No.” She glared up at him, refusing to back down. “That illusion, the Dawnbringer and the Nightweaver. It’s—”
“Get thefuckout.” Rowan shoved her backward, and she stumbled, catching herself on the railing as the door slammed shut in her face.
“Us.” Her harsh whisper filled the small space between herself and the door. She inhaled a ragged breath. “It’s us.”
