Page 50 of Void of Endings
“Your sister forgave your brother in the last few moments of his life.” Dorian placed a hand on Aran’s shoulder, squeezing lightly. “Perhaps in time, you can do the same.”
With that, the High King turned, leaving Tiernan and Aran alone in the throne room.
He wanted to go find Maeve and apologize for everything. He would beg for her forgiveness. Vow to never make such a heartless mistake again.
But then he saw the look on Aran’s face.
The High Prince’s eyes were vacant. He looked crestfallen. Soulless.
Tiernan inclined his head. “You look like you could use a drink.”
“And then some,” Aran muttered.
“I know a place.”
“Say no more.”
It took very little convincing to drag Aran into Niahvess. Tiernan brought him to the Merrows Lair, a tavern he frequented in his youth with Lir and Merrick. He shoved open the doors and was instantly assaulted by the smell of stale alcohol andspraedaghroot. Puffs of pink smoke floated in the air and other than a handful of Summer fae hunched over the bar, the place was damn near empty.
Though he shouldn’t have expected much else, the sun was barely to its highest point in the sky.
Tiernan strode up to the bar. The three fae brooding over their beverages blinked at his arrival, bowed, then quickly scooted further down the bar.
“Your Highness.” Eggard, the owner of the Merrows Lair, was a burly fae with a scraggly beard and eyes that twinkled. He dipped his head. “It’s been some time, my lord. What’ll it be?”
Tiernan glanced over at Aran, who somehow managed to look forlorn and bemused all at once, then raised two fingers. “Whiskey. Better make it a double.”
Maeve stoodon the shores of Niahvess, with ropes of fire and smoke swirling around her. She blasted the crashing waves, relishing the way they hissed and recoiled against the flames. Her magic swallowed her, fueled her. Sparks of fire fell around her like rain, scorching the soft pink sand. Summoning her sword of sunlight, she lunged into the first attack against her imaginary opponent. The steps replayed in her mind, skill after skill drilled into her from Casimir’s relentless training.
Dodge. Attack. Parry. Attack.
Attack. Attack. Attack.
Sweat dripped from her brow into her eyes and she blinked away the sting of saltwater. Twirling her sword overhead, she reared back, the blaze of her weapon slashing through the thick humidity. She sprinted down one end of the beach, then tucked the sword behind her as she dove forward in a flip, kicking her legs through the air.
Her chest heaved with each strike.
A flurry of emotions churned through her, but she smothered them. Locked them away. She no longer had time tofeel. She couldn’t be weak. Not ever again. She refused to allow herself to be the reason they failed.
Every so often, Cahira would expel a cloud of frost or a sprinkling of snow to cool her down, but Maeve continued to push herself. Eventually, the wolfing tired of watching her cut down invisible opponents. She huffed, whined once, then sauntered back toward the palace to escape the heat, leaving Maeve to fight her own inner demons.
Picking up the pace, Maeve exerted herself with fierce accuracy until her muscles throbbed, until she thought her heart would burst. She swung and stabbed, eliminating the threats she imagined in her mind. Pain. Fear. Doubt. Guilt. She would destroy them all. Until there was nothing left.
Rowan once told her that her mortal heart would be her downfall.
Maeve laughed, a dissonant sound swallowed by the crashing waves.
Never again.
She whirled once more, kicking up sand that clung to her flushed cheeks, and came face-to-face with Ceridwen. Her golden hair spilled around her like sunlight and the sleeves of her turquoise gown rippled lightly in the warm breeze. She smiled, her ruby lips curving.
“Hey, Cer.” Maeve lowered her weapon, sucking in a ragged breath of air. She shifted, planting one hand on her hip. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough.” She held out one hand to Maeve. “Walk with me?”
Maeve dismissed her sword, her body slowly relaxing as Ceridwen’s magic floated around her. It eased the tension threatening to snap her muscles in half and soothed theswell of emotions patiently waiting to devour her. Maeve took Ceridwen’s hand, and the torment agonizing her gradually ebbed into nothingness.
They strolled down the shoreline, hand in hand, the tranquility of Ceridwen’s magic temporarily keeping all of Maeve’s inner demons away.
