Page 110 of Crown of Roses
Fearghal waited until they vanished from sight before he tossed her to the sticky, wet ground. “You’ve got quite a mouth on you.”
Maeve snarled. “Piss off.”
There was a flash in his eyes, perhaps a warning. Then there was nothing but endless suffering as he carved her body up like a piece of meat. Maeve’s screams were futile. No one could hear her, Parisa had made sure of it. His dagger was everywhere at once. The back of her calves. Her stomach. And when the tip of it scoured her nipple, Maeve begged the goddess to bring her death. To send the god Aed to take her away from this place. She didn’t want to live in this world. She never asked for this life. Her magic was supposed to have been a curse. She was supposed to have been a monster. Yet now, with her head lolling back and forth on the stone, and her body convulsing beyond her control, she knew she was none of those things.
She was a warrior once. A princess. Smart and knowledgeable. Quick with a blade. All those things were stripped away from her as Fearghal sculpted her with measured brutality. Eventually, the savage sounds coming from her were lost to the blinding pain. Her tears dried up, and the salt of them burned the slice along her cheek. And when he finally ceased creating the horrific swirls and whorls on her flesh with his blade, and he strode out of her cell without a backwards glance, Maeve softly sang a lullaby to keep herself from shattering.
“Beyond the shores, o’er the sea,
There’s a land where magic blooms and grows.
But n’er will be, the power of the thee,
Until comes back, the one whom she chose.”
At some point, Maeve managed to roll from the repulsive floor to the thatch of hay. It offered her little comfort, a slight warmth, but it was far better than the solid ground. There was scarcely anything left of her clothing, save for a piece of her blouse hanging off one shoulder and a swath of fabric around her waist. Cold seeped into her bones, and it numbed the fire ravaging her as the healing property of her magic sought to save what was left of her lacerated body.
Blood continued to drip from a number of her wounds, and the ones her magic healed were ugly and red, rigid and hideous. They reminded her of the scars across Rowan’s chest and she wondered if he, too, suffered this same kind of abuse. Then again, his scars were not so…detailed. The ones littering Maeve were precise, intricate, and done with convoluted care.
She gazed up at the worn ceiling and let her eyes drift close.
She would live another day, and in the morning, she would refuse to aid Parisa again.
I will not yield. I will not break.
A shuddering breath heaved from her and she was already drifting off into what she prayed would be a dreamless oblivion when a very distinct clanging noise startled her awake.
She bolted upright and scampered to the far back of the cell. “Who’s there?”
A shadowy figure stepped inside with a bundle wrapped in his arms. “It’s me.”
Her heart sank, but her determination swelled. “Go away, Casimir. You’ve done enough already.”
His low voice coasted over her. “I’m here to help you.”
She opened her mouth to object when he wrapped a soft, thick blanket around her shoulders. “What are you doing?”
“I told you.” He scooped her up off the ground, swaddled her like a babe. “I’m getting you out of here.”
Maeve didn’t relax in his arms. She couldn’t. That trust was forever broken. “Why?”
“Because it wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
“Oh, really? Please, tell me how you thought this was going to work out, Cas.” She bounced lightly against his solid frame while he ran down what seemed like an endlessly pitch-black tunnel. “Did you honestly think I was just going to sit back and agree to let Parisa use me however she saw fit? Did you think I wouldn’t fight? Did you think I’d just give up?”
He turned sharply and she sucked in a breath when his hand put too much pressure against one of the cuts on her leg. He instantly loosened his hold but kept her in his arms, and continued to sprint down winding corridors.
“I don’t know what I thought, Maeve.”
There wasn’t enough light to read his face, and she was still in too much pain to try and understand the inflection in his tone.
She opted to remain silent. Suddenly, cold droplets of water began to fall on her lashes and cheeks. She gazed up to what she assumed, or hoped, was the sky. But there was no moon. And no stars.
“Are we outside?”
“Yes.” He was quiet. Too quiet.
There was another sound, a rustling of leaves, and Maeve’s breath hitched. They weren’t alone.
