Page 12 of Void of Endings
Rowan shifted closer to her. “I’m right here.”
Maeve swallowed down the knot of trepidation clogging the back of her throat and closed her eyes.
“On your word, Dawnbringer.” Cormac’s craggy voice drifted over to her.
She sucked in a shaking breath. “I’m ready.”
At first there was nothing, just the agonizing expectation of waiting. On the next inhale, the scent of magic filled her, accompanied by the lightest of touches across her forehead and around her ears. It was as though a soft cloth of silk had been draped across her eyes, and the hairs along the back of her neck stood on end.
Then, all that was forgotten poured into her.
Maeve stood within a glimmering orb of pale blue light. Papers with images swirled all around her, like pages ripped from a storybook. She snagged one between her fingers, plucking it out of the air, and she was in Kells.
The roughened material of her bedding snagged against the fabric of her leggings as she curled her legs underneath her. She kept her head down, unable to keep the tears of betrayal away. Her cheek stung, the imprints of Carman’s hand lingering against her skin. She opened her impossibly small hands, like that of a child, channeling the magic budding inside of her. A teddy bear took form, created from scraps of cotton and bits of thread, with buttons for eyes. Maeve clutched it to her, already knowing the makeshift stuffed animal would be ripped away from her the moment it was discovered.
Dropping the piece of paper, she staggered back, reaching for a different one.
She was in a training field, fighting alongside a girl with silver hair. They sparred with wooden swords as a man with a hoodthrown over his head watched them, calling out instructions and correcting them on their form. In a blink, the wood morphed into steel, and she and Saoirse were no longer young girls practicing the art of war, but skilled warriors bred to kill.
Saoirse yanked a daisy out of the ground and tucked it behind her ear. “It will help cover the stench of blood.”
Her smile was radiant, her piercing blue eyes alight with confidence.
But a strong, masculine voice cut through Saoirse’s charm, and this time, Maeve was matched against Casimir.
“Ready your weapon,” he demanded.
Maeve followed his order, and when she raised the sword in her hands, metal cuffs with intricate whorls were bound to her wrists.
The memory fluttered to the ground and the whirlwind of pages whipping around her intensified. Image after image slammed into her, assaulting her mind. She gasped against the onslaught, swayed as the story of her life bound itself together.
Slanting rain pelted her as the cold bite of the cage burned against her back, ready to dump her into the angry ocean below. Courage fueled her as the earth split open and dark fae attacked Kells, the Scathing opening its wide mouth, spreading decay across her homeland. The Autumn Ceilie burned before her eyes, Rowan’s touch almost a promise, yet cloyed by uncertainty.
The pages of her mind sewed themselves into a leather binding, flipping faster, and stealing her breath. Every moment, every glimpse of who she was, of who she became, forged together. Pieces of her past overwhelmed her. Flooded her. She struggled to maintain control against the emotions ravaging her, but each one snagged upon the strings of her heart, tearing through her from the inside out. Anguish. Suffering. Despair. The strength of them caused her nose to tingle and her eyes to burn as unbidden tears escaped her.
Casimir’s betrayal opened a gaping wound inside of Maeve, worsened by Saoirse falling beneath the crush of Carman’s guards. Then Fearghal’s hot breath slid along Maeve’s neck while his blade dipped in nightshade hissed across her flesh. Carving her. Breaking her. A moonless night shattered her senses as Rowan towered over her, protecting her from the rain of swords falling from the sky.
“Don’t cry for me, Princess.”
This was her tragic ballad. A tale woven from heartbreak and pain. Chapters of loss and trauma, inked with enduring agony.
Then she felt it, that warming ember of love.
Slight to start, nothing more than a spark as faces and names, as the family of her choosing, rewrote her new beginning. They ignited a fire within her, one she was willing to fight for until her death.
Eyes of twilight met hers.
Tiernan.
He uttered a single word.“Astora.”
Pulse of my heart.
A spring of eternal love welled inside of Maeve, and she choked back a sob. The last few pages of her story settled into place with a thousand blank ones ready to be filled.
Her vision blurred, her chest heaved.
Night jasmine, wooded moss, and mountain sage cocooned her, welcomed her.
