Page 15 of Crown of Roses
“Maeve,” Casimir warned, but it came too late.
The whites of Carman’s eyes turned black and the virdis lepatite crackled with such fierce energy, it caused the hairs on Maeve’s arms to stand on end. “You aren’t afraid of anything?” her mother hissed. “Is that so?”
An unexpected force slammed into Maeve and stole the air from her lungs, knocking her off her feet. A rock collided with her elbow and sent spasms through her arm. Thrown to the ground, she grappled for any kind of purchase. Small stones and clumps of mud slid through her fingers as she was dragged across the cliffside. Her head smacked a hard surface and pain exploded behind her eyes in a wash of blackened stars and dizzying lights.
Casimir lunged for her.
“Stand down!” Carman bellowed, and her power held him in place.
Without warning, she threw her hands out in front of her, and her nails protruded like talons. Suffocating power ripped into Maeve, and her body jerked and kicked in protest. The cuffs on her wrists were like fire against her skin, and she struggled to fight against the terrifying grip of power coursing through her. Carman raised her arms and Maeve was hoisted into the air, moving closer and closer to the edge of the cliff. The slick hand of fear held her in its grasp. Her heart plummeted to her gut, where it roiled with panic. Carman’s power lifted her higher, until she dangled like a limp doll, useless, above the crush of waves below.
“Mother!” Gusts of wind slapped her face, and the sting of sea spray burned her eyes. Unbidden tears slid down her cheeks and she choked on her words. “Mother, please.”
Carman smiled again, a bit more cruelly this time, and her eyes finally cleared. “I thought you said you weren’t afraid of anything.”
“This is different!” She swung her legs out. The tips of her boots just barely scraped the moss-covered ledge. “The ocean is not an enemy! It’s nature, it’s beyond our control!”
Her mother’s mouth twisted into a sneer until it looked like blood ran from her lips. “Nothing is beyond my control.”
The force holding Maeve in place suddenly plummeted down the rocky coast. A scream ripped from some hollow place inside her, and she realized in the startling flash before her imminent death, that Rowan had been right.
Her mother hated her.
Maeve plunged into the frigid sea.
Salt water filled her mouth. Choked her. Drowned her. Waves lashed her, sent her tumbling in the watery depths, and left her disoriented. She didn’t know where the surface started and the ocean began. Her lungs seized and burned. Her blood was fire and fury, and the curse that pumped through her veins yearned for release, but it wouldn’t come. It wasn’t strong enough to break through the bonds of her cuffs. She wasn’t strong enough to save herself. This was how she was going to die…at the hands of her mother.
Then she was torn from the might of the sea and her body dumped upon the sodden earth. She coughed, her stomach clenched, and she vomited seawater and bile. Each breath was a gasp, a greedy gulp of oxygen. On her hands and knees, she crawled through the muck, over the slick mossy rocks, and away from the cliffs. Her fingers wrapped around the rough stone and she hung onto it, held it like a lifeline.
“Maeve.” Casimir’s voice sounded different. Strange.
“Don’t touch her.” Carman stalked closer to Maeve and towered above her. Cold, onyx eyes glared down at her. Heartless. “You will go to Faeven. And you will prove yourself worthy of my crown. Do you understand?”
Maeve tried to swallow but her throat was raw, scalded by salt and brine. She didn’t understand. She didn’t know what her mother wanted from her. Not anymore.
“You will bring back the anam ó Danua. You will bring it to me so I can rid this world of the vile darkness threatening us.” Carman leaned closer and the scent of bitter violets clouded Maeve’s senses. “And if you can’t, if you fail, then do not bother coming back at all.”
Carman stood and Maeve sank onto the stone that supported her. “I…I won’t let you down.”
“We’ll see about that.” Carman lifted one hand and her frigid gaze cut to Casimir. “Leave her. She knows the way back.”
Maeve laid there as seconds drifted by into minutes, and the rain began to fall once more. She tipped her head back and let the rainwater slide over her battered body. Cold droplets slid down her arms and neck, over her cheeks and chest. She opened her mouth and laid there until the fresh drops cleansed her of the gritty salt, and until her mouth no longer tasted of the sea.
Maeve stole a breath. And then another. She would go to Faeven. She would find the soul of a goddess. She would save Kells from The Scathing. She would rid the world of darkness. And then, she would kill her mother.
Chapter Seven
By the time Maeve dragged herself back to her quarters within the castle, she discovered her room had been emptied. Not that she had a lot of personal belongings anyway, but every trace of her was gone. The space was bare, save for the plain bedding and pile of freshly folded towels. Her mother fully expected her not to return. Which was fine, she mused to herself. It would make her homecoming all the sweeter.
Strewn across her stiff mattress was a clean pair of woven leggings, a blouse, a corset, and a pack filled with a few essentials for traveling. There was a fur-lined overcoat, a rough-hewn blanket, some rations, and a few pins for her hair. The corner of Maeve’s mouth twitched. Saoirse must have packed for her. She headed into the bathroom, and carefully placed her dagger—the Aurastone—on the stone counter, then peeled off her ocean-soaked clothing. Her thighs were raw from chaffing against her wet pants, and her hair stunk of saltwater.
She switched on the overhead spout and lukewarm water sputtered, then shot out at full blast. The burst of water was harsh against her skin, and she winced when it pelted the tender flesh of her legs. The amenities at this end of the castle were not so luxurious. Maeve had never taken a bath before, though she’d heard stories of its wonder. Things like bubbles and milk, lavish scents, and water so hot it would turn her skin pink. She decided then, once she returned from Faeven with the anam ó Danua, that her reward would be a proper bath.
Water poured over her, rinsed her of the sea, and took with it a few harbored tears. It was better to release her emotion now, to give into the fact that her mother wanted her dead, then to think of such things while coming under attack. She supposed she’d always known Carman didn’t care for her. Inside the castle walls, there was no such thing as love and affection. She’d never been shown kindness. Or empathy. Or support. Carman was always cold, callous, and unwavering in her irritation. Maeve tried to think back on a time when it wasn’t always like that, a time when maybe she meant something to her mother. But there was an emptiness whenever she reached for those memories, a vast expanse of nothing. She didn’t know if it was her blood curse that caused her mother to despise her so much, or if it was merely the fact that she’d been born.
Maeve squandered away the thoughts. Thinking and reflecting on them now would prove useless to her.
She scrubbed her face, washed away the last of her distress, and switched the water off. There would be no more time for her to wallow in her own pity. She was beyond such things. Perhaps she always knew her mother resented her. Despised her. But she’d been so desperate, so starved for attention, that she’d been blind to believing any of it was true.
