Page 10 of Crown of Roses
He was fae.
His ears were longer and smoothed to a point. His face was painfully handsome and chiseled to perfection, crafted by the hands of a god. He was nothing like the dark fae she’d seen wreaking havoc upon Kells. In fact, he was the complete opposite. He was beautiful. And she hated him on instinct.
“Who are you?” The words were forced out of Lord Whorton’s clenched jaw, and the fae inclined his head.
“An old friend.”
Casimir made to start forward, ready to tear his body limb from limb for such disobedient speech, but Carman heeled him with a snap of her fingers.
“His name is Rowan.” She addressed everyone as a whole, but not once did she acknowledge the fae in question. A true affirmation to her hatred of his race. “He’s been an asset to me for a number of years.”
Maeve didn’t believe that for a minute. There was no way her mother would dare keep a fae as an “asset”. A pet, maybe. A servant, more like. And given the scars littering his chest, it looked very much like he’d been tortured a time or two.
“As I was saying,” Rowan drawled and shoved his hands in his pockets, strolling closer toward the dais. “The Scathing is not a fae, and therefore cannot be killed like a fae.”
Maeve watched as Casimir seethed beneath the composed indifference of Rowan’s disposition. He tossed his hood back and his molten eyes locked onto the offending fae. “And how do you know?”
“I just do.” Rowan’s chilled voice sank deep into her skin, and it was so cold, she felt it in her bones. “It will take more than some fancy metal or charmed stones to destroy The Scathing.” When he spoke, his lavender eyes landed on her.
Maeve sucked in a breath and Saoirse casually bumped into her. “What sort of sorcery is that?” she muttered. “It’s unfair for a creature so capable of brutality to be so devastatingly gorgeous.”
Yeah. Gorgeous and brutal. Was there ever a worse—or better—combination?
“Tell us what you know,” Roth demanded.
Rowan’s smile was cruel. Wicked. But just as quickly as Maeve was blinded by its vicious gleam, it vanished. “I know how to decimate The Scathing…and the dark fae, should the threat persist.”
Saoirse lifted her voice. “How? How do we rid Kells of The Scathing and defend the rest of Veterra?”
Rowan strolled as he spoke, effortlessly and insolent, because he alone held all the answers. “Before the Evernight War, the goddess Danua descended upon Faeven.”
Faeven, the realm of the fae. It was an island all its own, a world of magic and wonder, and made up of the Four Courts. Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter. The only way to get there was to cross the Eirelan Pass, a body of water connecting the Gaelsong Sea to the Lismore Marin. And last she checked, no one had been successful in years.
“She bestowed a gift, the anam ó Danua,” Rowan continued, weaving a story of fascination in Maeve’s mind. Yet there was something about the words, an old familiarity which caused her heart to skip a beat. “A blessing of creation. It granted its keeper a great many things. New beginnings. Infinite power—”
“What, like magic?” Roth barked out. “Our queen is the most powerful sorceress in the realm. In all of the human lands. There is no being alive who is stronger.”
Rowan chuckled, and its low rumble echoed through the great throne room, out into the darkened skies beyond. “The anam ó Danua is unrivaled. It is the one true source. The lifeblood of fae magic.”
“What is this anam ó Danua?” Casimir cut the distance between himself and Rowan. Though they were toe to toe, the fae had at least three inches on him. “What does it mean?”
The question was meant for Rowan, and Maeve should’ve kept her mouth shut. She should’ve known speaking out of turn would draw the wrong sort of attention, would bring the wrath of her mother upon her, as well as any number of harsh consequences. But she couldn’t help herself. She understood the meaning, she recognized it as Old Laic, an ancient language thought to have been gifted by the gods and goddesses of time to only those they deemed worthy. “It means the soul of Danua.”
Maeve didn’t move. She didn’t flinch under the furious stare from her mother, or when Casimir’s mouth fell open, as though he’d been slapped by her words. Not even when Rowan’s pretty eyes sifted over her, and then through her, reading her soul like a book.
“I didn’t know you could speak Old Laic,” Saoirse whispered.
Maeve glanced up at her best friend. “Neither did I.” Another flaw brought on by her blood curse, no doubt.
“She’s correct.” Rowan lifted his arm in a casual gesture to Maeve. “The anam ó Danua is the soul of the goddess Danua, passed down through the maternal fae bloodline only.”
Carman stepped off the dais and her deep red lips curved with interest. “Where do we find this soul of Danua?”
“That’s the problem.” Rowan towered over the queen but when she moved closer, his entire body stiffened. It was then Maeve knew without a doubt that the scars on his chest were from Carman. “The last known female carrying the blessing vanished during the Evernight War. No one has seen her since.”
It was a good thing she was cursed and not blessed. She wouldn’t want any gift, ever, if it meant she was somehow tied to the vile fae responsible for wrecking Kells. A curse kept anger in her heart, a blessing would only bloom hate, and hate was too difficult of an emotion to navigate. It clouded the senses, fogged the mind. It was responsible for mistakes, mistrust, and failure. But anger…anger was her fuel. It gave her reason to thrive.
“So, we have to find the soul of a goddess, which isn’t a thing but an actual being, and one that hasn’t been seen in more than fifty years?” Casimir crossed his arms and a sort of smugness settled over his bloodied and bruised features from their earlier brawl, and then the fight in the city. “And how do you expect us to do that?”
