Page 65 of Void of Endings
A sinking sensation pitched low in his gut.
Or…
“TIERNAN!” Ceridwen’s voice ricocheted through his mind, and he keeled over, clutching his skull.
Merrick was by his side a second later. “My lord!”
Tiernan’s chest heaved.“What? What is it?”
“Come home!”Fright lanced through each of her words, filling him with a sense of growing dread.“You must come home now!”
“Tiernan.” Rowan gripped his shoulder, dragging him upright. “What’s wrong?”
Maeve. Lir.
Tiernan’s head snapped up and he met his hunter’s fierce gaze. “Return the rest of the warriors to the Summer Court at once. If Malachy needs more help, leave only as many soldiers as we can spare. Meet me back there as soon as possible.” He looked at Rowan. “You, do whatever sort of shadow magic necessary and get your ass to Niahvess.”
With his orders clear, Tiernanfadedback to his palace.
The courtyard of Niahvess was in a riot, and for one harrowing moment, Tiernan was transported back to that time not so many moons ago when he’d returned from a false alarm in the Winter Court only to find Niahvess under attack and Shay dying with his insides splayed open.
Tiernan shook the painful memory from his mind, focusing on the present.
Archers sprinted along the walls of the courtyard, firing flaming arrows that streaked overhead, illuminating the sky with fiery hues of red and orange. A dissonance of shouts and battle cries rang in his ears as groups of Summer warriors darted past him, rushing to their positions to safeguard the palace. Soldiersfadedin from the Winter Court at random intervals, their gazes disoriented briefly before sharpening, as each of them drew a weapon, and sprang into action without hesitation. They didn’tneed a direct order or command. They knew their purpose, and remained unfailing to their cause—protect Niahvess at all costs.
But despite the mayhem unfolding around him, Tiernan didn’t perceive any direct threat. There were no mass amounts of dark fae breaching his walls, there was no resounding clang of swords or clash of forces. He scanned the courtyard and only then did his gaze snag on Ceridwen and Saoirse. Ceridwen was on her knees next to someone, and even from the distance separating them, he could see the distinctive tremble of her hands. Power emanated from her, so her golden hair whipped around her in a flurry. There was a crescendo, an overflowing well of soothing magic, enough to quell an entire legion.
Which was exactly what Ceridwen did.
At once, the atmosphere around them changed, morphing from one of heightened awareness and defense to a placating sense of calm. The frenzied havoc of an impending conflict eased, and a composed stillness settled over the courtyard. Merrickfadedin, looking ready to slay a dragon. He raised his sword, lunged forward, then stumbled to a stop. His fierce gaze stole around the space and he sucked in a harsh breath, an emotion banking in his eyes when he found Ceridwen among them. He lowered his weapon, his shoulders sagging.
Shadows swirled at the far end of the courtyard, a billowing rise of darkness. Rowan emerged from them, flanked by Tethra and Dian.
The Furies looked downright murderous. Violent energy crackled around them, hissing and snapping. Their sunken faces were etched with hardened resolve. Destruction and death—the power behind their namesakes—flooded the air with ruthless tension. No doubt Rowan had informed them that their queen was missing.
Again.
Tiernan looked over at the gates to the palace, and this time, Saoirse turned. She caught sight of him and rose to her feet. Tangles of silver hair had fallen loose from her braid, and she scrubbed her palms against her leggings. The dark brown fabric came smeared away with blood.
Yet Tiernan knew it did not belong to her.
He met her halfway when she held up a hand to stop him.
“Your Highness.” She stole a hesitant glance over her shoulder. “I must warn you.”
“Warn me,” he repeated numbly. “Warn me about what? I don’t see how things could possibly get any worse.”
He looked past her, to where Ceridwen continued to kneel, hovering over someone. Though the fae’s face was blocked from Tiernan’s view, he noticed a pair of studded black boots.
Lir.
He stormed past Saoirse, avoiding her grasp as she reached out to grab him.
Lir was on the ground, his legs stretched out before him. Though his hands were pressed into the smooth stone on either side of him, it was clear the gate supported most of his weight. His leathers were covered in grime and filth, his head bent low so his twists of black hair fell in his face. His chest rose and fell in a slow rhythm, and while he looked slightly battered, for the most part he appeared to be in good health.
Ceridwen remained hunched over, her hands shaking uncontrollably. She shuddered, her breathing uneven. Like she was crying.
Tiernan placed one hand on his shoulder. “Lir.”
