Page 119 of Void of Endings
She looked.
And the end of the world stared back at her.
Their numbers had depleted. All across Suvarese, the legions of the three remaining Courts were being overwhelmed. Summer had suffered significant losses, the dead outnumbering the living. Autumn, separated by the river, had been pushed back into the mountains. Winter still held the ground there, but the dark fae had them surrounded. There was no way out. They were losing.
Fate was not on their side.
“I could tell you that he will live, but I find it difficult to lie.” Rowan’s voice softened. Not by much, but at least some of his anger had ebbed. Wet, dark teal hair was plastered to the side of his face, and a long gash cut across his cheek. “But on this I can swear—if you die, this world dies with you.”
Maeve opened her mouth, but he silenced her with a shake of his head, spraying droplets of rainwater on her.
“We’re going to cross that river. We’re going to rip that gemstone off her fucking neck and then kill that bitch.” Hesnared her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes. “Do you understand?”
Shaken, Maeve nodded.
The witch thread continued to thrum. Faint and barely there. It was as though the cool hand of death had wrapped around her wrist and was threatening to release her at any moment.
But so long as she could feel it, Tiernan lived.
Rowan dove to the ground, moving through the air with immeasurable speed, then deposited her as close as possible to the river’s blood-soaked banks as possible. Parisa’s encampment was more visible now on the other side of the Rainbow River, but a few scattered trees and those damn hills kept her just out of reach. From Maeve's current vantage point, she could see something glowing beyond Parisa. It was hideously green and pulsed with tainted magic. Whatever it was, it was dangerous and not of this world. Dark fae surrounded Maeve and Rowan on all sides, but they had to find a way to get the rest of the Summer Legion across the river, otherwise they would be fighting Parisa on their own.
“Maeve!” Rowan shouted over the chaos of battle, stealing her attention. “Are you ready?”
Their gazes met.
He grabbed her hand.
And the Nightweaver and Dawnbringer collided.
Time slowed as sinewy shadows unraveled, and the darkness unfurled around them. Prisms of fractured sunlight morphed into beams of radiance, wrapping around the shadows, merging into one force of reckoning. The tendrils of power, the convergence of light and dark, of life and death, crawled over every surface, diminishing every vile being in its path to dust. On a breath, Maeve inhaled, drawing upon the deep well of magic coursing through her veins. The faint scent of Spring—bergamot, jasmine, and fresh rain—filled her senses. The landwhispered to her of its lore, of its hopes and dreams, of its secrets as a cool breeze caressed her cheek.
In the next beat, the dawn and the night wove together in a seamless expanse of otherworldly decadence.
Then Rowan released her.
He pulled his Astralstone, she pulled her Aurastone, and together the forces of destruction and creation, the sacrifice from centuries ago, was untethered.
Maeve lunged into the turmoil, fighting with the valiance of one who knew the life of every remaining soul depended upon her.
The Aurastone cut through the air like a song, a crescendo of lethal grace whose tune she recognized in her soul. She twirled and spun, each strike becoming another chord in the symphony of her ruination. The war became a dance, one where she knew every move, every step, as though she had done it all before.
In another life.
Rowan surged forward, his movements calculated and precise. The Astralstone plunged and impaled with wicked satisfaction, a vigorous display of ferocious revenge. He stalked through the wreckage like a predator, waves of aggression rippling around him. Methodical, exacting, and brutal. With each fall of his blade, another enemy was annihilated.
Whereas Maeve was the ballad, Rowan was the cataclysm.
Exhaustion tugged at her, ready to drag her into the emptiness of misery. Her muscles burned, screamed at her for reprieve. Something silver flashed across the pale gray skies as dawn approached, like a streak of fading moonlight. Maeve shook her head once, then stumbled slightly, losing her balance.
“Don’t you dare quit on me, Princess.” Rowan took hold of her arm, yanking her upright. “Not today.”
Together they stood their ground, their combined magic leaving a trail of death as they cleared a path for the SummerLegion. From the other side of the river, warriors donning scarlet and gold, silver and navy, clashed with the swarming darkness.
Autumn and Winter.
She blinked as Aran raced across her line of sight, his sword wreaking havoc, leaving a trail of devastation in his wake. Their gazes locked from across that godsdamned river, and in his eyes she saw the reflection of all she stood to lose. Her family. Her home. Malachy joined him, blood and filth coating nearly every inch of his armor. They fought against a slew of creatures, each one more terrifying than the last. Beasts with mangy black fur and curved horns protruding from their disfigured heads.
Puca.
