Page 22 of Crown of Roses
Saoirse fiddled with the new, vibrant orange flower tucked behind one ear. The dahlia had been lost during the Hagla’s attack. “Thank him for what?”
“For saving me.”
“Maeve.” Her friend dipped her head low, so their conversation was only shared with each other. The beautiful planes of Saoirse’s face were solemn. “Casimir came out of the forest without you.”
She blanked. “What? Was it you?”
Saoirse jerked her head in the direction of the rocks. “It was Rowan, the fae you just tried to kill.”
Chapter Nine
Twice now, it seemed Casimir had left Maeve to die.
Twice now, it seemed Rowan had saved her life.
Maeve mustered up what was left of her diminished dignity and trudged through the sand, careful to avoid any more of those swirly shells. She stood near Rowan, not too close, but near enough she could feel his gaze roving over her. She owed him a life debt. Not so much for the centipede, but for her survival against the Hagla.
Small waves lapped against the shore, the pretty water constantly grasping for more of the warmed sand, like lovers desperate for a kiss. She watched as her shadow, stretched out before her, was joined by another. Restlessness coasted over her and skated down her spine. It was annoying, the way he managed to slide beneath her skin. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, then clasped her hands together and stared down at the silver cuffs on her wrist. The only barrier from herself and the dark power lurking inside her.
Perhaps she was not so different from Rowan after all.
Maeve wrapped her arms around herself to ward off the chilling thought.
“Don’t tell me you’re getting nervous now,” he mused and nudged a rock with his boot.
“I’m not nervous.” Her voice lost most of its biting edge. But it was true. She wasn’t nervous. Not really. Just unsettled. “I’ve never been past the Moors before. I’ve never seen the world outside the borders of Kells.” She shrugged, and drew circles in the damp sand with the toe of her boot. Books offered her a glimpse into cultures and worlds other than her own, and she’d admired the few maps her mother had in the library, but the rest was left up to her imagination. “I don’t know what to expect.”
“There are Four Courts in Faeven. You’ve read about them in those books of yours.” Rowan ran a hand through his hair, left it mussed in different directions. “Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter. But after the Evernight War, a plague settled across our realm. For forty years the terror reigned, and spread, and destroyed. It devoured our lands. Poisoned our streams. Obliterated our people. Until finally, Danua herself came down from Maghmell and purged away the eternal night. She poured her soul into the earth. Together, we were able to rid Faeven of darkness. Of evil. Of violence.”
He looked down at Maeve. Dark lashes framed his lavender eyes. “But the Courts are not as they once were, and it may be difficult to determine friend from foe.”
The histories she’d studied growing up told stories of regal fae and Courts anointed by seasons, arrogance, greatness, and immortality. She’d read about the plague, the darkness that nearly incapacitated the Four Courts. If not for the goddess Danua stepping in to save them, Faeven would’ve fallen forever.
“Tell me.” He faced her then and his cape of shadows swirled, but never touched the ground. “What do you know of Faeven?”
She tried to remember all the books she’d read over the years, all the pages she’d pored through before Roth had rendered her unconscious and left her in the cage. “I know all fae have magic, but it isn’t equal among the race. Some fae are far superior.”
Rowan ran his thumb along the small cleft in his chin. “The Archfae are among the most powerful of the faeries. Every fae within the realm of Faeven swears his or her allegiance to an Archfae of their choosing. The Four Courts are not decided by the magic one possesses, instead, it’s a matter of loyalty.”
Interesting. “And the Archfae are…?”
“Few of them are High Kings and High Queens respectively. With some princesses and princes thrown into the mix.” He shifted, his gaze on the horizon separating them from another world. “Other Archfae serve their High King or High Queen, and none of them are to be crossed.”
“So many rules,” Maeve muttered, and Rowan laughed.
“You’ll learn quickly enough.”
“Which one is yours?”
The question seemed candid enough but Rowan blinked. “What?”
“Which Court?” she clarified. “Which Court was yours before you ended up in Kells?”
Shadows haunted his beautiful eyes. “My Court is Spring.”
“You must be excited to return home.”
Rowan stretched out his arms, examined the cuffs bound to his wrists, the ones that looked so similar to hers. “That’s an understatement. I imagine your mother is expecting my return after this little adventure. I’m afraid I have every intention of disappointing her.”
