Page 121 of Void of Endings
The hot pink streak in his hair vanished, replaced with strands of snowy white.
His gaze latched on to something behind Maeve and she turned, tracking his line of sight.
She clamped one hand over her mouth as Ciara swayed, her body buckling on the opposite bank of the river. One of the Puca had run her clean through with a sword, twisting it, wrenching it from her stomach to her heart, while a sadistic cackle erupted from his driveling mouth. He ripped his weapon free with barbaric vigor, then lifted his leg, kicking her square in the chest. Ciara staggered backward, her crown tumbling to the ground. It bounced once. Twice. Diamonds scattered like drops of crystal and ice. Blood seeped through the silver of her armor, so vivid and bright it was as though Maeve could see Ciara’s magic draining from her body.
Malachy moved with unrivaled speed, diving to catch his queen before her body toppled into the river’s current. She crumpled, lifeless, into his arms.
Winter and Autumn’s legions shuddered, splintering and cracking beneath the pressure of battle. Their lines would not hold for long, not with both the High King of Autumn and the High Queen of Winter now dead.
“Maeve!”
She whipped around at the sound of her name and found Tiernan sprinting toward her, the hard lines of his face set with determination. He struck down every dark fae in his path, slashing and scouring, destroying anything that stood in his way. Beads of rainwater and drops of blood sprayed from his armor and sword as he tore through death and mist to reach her. He impaled, he razed, he demolished for her, leaving a trail of dead bodies behind him as his magic amplified and the storm of Summer rained down upon them.
The second he was within arm’s reach, Maeve grabbed him. Her fingers curled into the leather armor covering his chest, and she dragged him against her. Pinning him in place with a furious scowl, she glared up at him. “Don’t youeverscare me like that again.”
Tiernan winced. “Apologies,astora.”
Even covered in blood, soaked from rain, and caked in mud, he was still so godsdamned beautiful. So much so that she could’ve kissed him.
Then Lir was screaming. Howling. Raging. He was running toward the river’s edge, vaulting over the dead, his arm reaching out for something on the other side.
Maeve turned, her boots sliding against the sodden earth as she sought out the cause of his fury. Her heart stilled. That slash of moonlight from before hadn’t been lightning. On the hilltop, where Parisa maintained the high ground and her stronghold, was a warrior dressed in all black, with a braid of silver that shone with the glow of midnight moonbeams.
“Saoirse,” Maeve breathed, disbelieving.
She’d been captured.
Maeve couldn’t move, couldn’t think. All thought emptied from her mind as she stood frozen with fear. It kept her rooted in place, filled her with irrepressible panic. She was trapped, locked in that horrid cage once more, unable to break free as the world around her fell apart. Soon enough, the branch supporting her would snap, and the cage would fall into the ocean, taking Maeve with it. Those angry waves of damning guilt, of excruciating trauma, would pull her down into the darkest depths of an unforgiving sea, and she would drown.
Parisa stood on the damp ground, a sickly green glow emanating from her. Thevirdis lepatitehung from her neck, swinging like a pendulum against her black velvet robes. A portal of darkness churned behind her, flaring with flames fromthe innermost circle of hell. Horrid screams pierced the air, nightmares seethed and clawed their way through the blackened fires. It was a gateway to the Sluagh. The purgatory. The realm where the most malevolent of creatures were banished.
More terrifying, however, wasn’t the portal from which the dark fae continued to emerge and wreak havoc upon the Spring Court.
No, it was the fact that Parisa’s hand was twisted into Saoirse’s braid, and she jerked her closer to that blazing entrance. She raised one of her dagger-like nails, slicing from the apple of Saoirse’s cheek all the way to her chin. Crimson spilled down her pale skin, running over her mouth, dripping down her neck.
Saoirse didn’t flinch, but her sapphire eyes burned hot with hatred.
Parisa’s lips curled back into a sinister smile as she licked the tip of her nail, swallowing Saoirse’s blood.
Maeve’s stomach convulsed, bile scalding the back of her throat.
“Mm.” Parisa’s voice echoed across the battlefield. Her sneer widened. “Tastes like victory.”
A plume of hideous green vapors swirled at her feet, and Parisa pushed Saoirse into the scorching portal of the Sluagh.
“NO!”Maeve screamed, flinging one arm out. “Saoirse!”
Her magic roared, frenzied and frantic.
Don’t you dare!Maeve issued her command to the god of death.Don’t you dare take her from me!
Aed’s rich voice infiltrated her mind.I can only do so much, Dawnbringer. I can’t give her back.
A wail, a grievous keen of sorrow ripped from some broken place inside of her. She reached out, willing her power to her control, summoning the full wrath of creation. Vengeful and snarling magic rose within her, rattling her bones like a cagedbeast. It tore through her, unhinged and ravenous, desperate for release.
Threads of power siphoned from her, flares of blinding sunlight skittered across the expanse, crackling and hissing as they neared the portal. Her body trembled as her magic delved into the pitch of dark flames, searching for a warrior with the heart of a poet, whose braid was a beam of incandescent moonlight.
She would pull her back.
