Page 5 of Crown of Roses
Madam Dansha stared at her without blinking, and her peculiar manner set Maeve’s nerves on edge. She cleared away the crystal ball, and instead pulled a handful of runes from her robe. She shuffled the sparkling black stones in her palm, and mumbled to herself in a language Maeve couldn’t quite understand.
“A curiosity, you are,” Madam Dansha whispered and placed the relics on the table in the shape of a crescent moon. “Rune of Willow to symbolize a journey and survival. Rune of Apple for the force of life. Rune of Yew…endurance, and the eternal life. And Rune of Reed, well, the Rune of Reed is a symbol of divine might.”
Maeve leaned forward in her seat. “What does all this mean?”
“Your hand, please.” Madam Dansha extended her weathered hand.
“Maeve,” Saoirse warned.
“It’s fine.” She brushed off Saoirse’s warning. This was just an old woman with a knack for oddities. None of it was serious business. All of it was for amusement and fueling the constant wonders of futures, forecasts, and lucky charms.
Maeve reached out and allowed Madam Dansha to take her hand.
She flipped it over, palm up, and began tracing a wide circle around the inside of Maeve’s hand with one of her pointy nails. “Your soul has lived a thousand lives. But the one you keep now will define the rest of them. Your future, however, is…unclear.”
Maeve frowned. “What do you mean, unclear? That’s the whole reason I walked into this tent.”
Madam Dansha looked up. Her eyes had seemingly darkened to black in the dull light. “Your fate is not yet decided.”
“But do you see anything? Anything at all?”
Anything that will make me worthy of my mother’s crown?
Madam Dansha’s lips pinched together, and her skin took on a grayish tone. “I see much pain, and the trauma of your past returning to you in time.”
Maeve’s hand jerked in the old crow’s grasp. That hardly seemed like an ideal fortune. She hadn’t been expecting to hear sunshine and rainbows, but part of her had been hoping for something.
“I see your tears. Your shadows. Both life and death. A path of destruction, and one of creation.” Madam Dansha’s sharp fingernail dug into Maeve’s skin. “All of them leading back to you.”
“Well, thanks.” Maeve shifted, uneasy with the weight of the words. Her corset was suddenly too tight, too snug around her small waist and wide hips.
“Wait,” the old woman hissed. “There’s more. There is more to you than meets the eye.”
“I don’t think I want to hear it.” She yanked her hand from Madam Dansha’s increasingly tight grip, and the woman’s dagger of a nail ripped across her palm. Crimson seeped out from the cut, stark against her light flesh. It could have been coincidence, but the ground beneath Maeve’s feet trembled, and a gust of cold air caused the tent to ripple. The old woman breathed in, deeply. She sniffed the air, smelled the scent of Maeve’s blood, then snarled.
“Your blood—”
“That’s enough.” Saoirse hauled Maeve back just as Madam Dansha leapt across the table. But Maeve was quicker. She’d drawn her blade from her thigh and the old woman collapsed upon the dagger. Her eyes widened and a faint gasp escaped from between her papery lips. Yet instead of toppling over in a bloody mess, she simply turned to ash. Her body evaporated as though it was nothing more than sand and earth.
Maeve sucked in a breath and stole a glance at Saoirse. Her friend’s face paled significantly. The lantern above the table swung violently, then shattered into a dozen pieces. Outside the tent, instead of children’s laughter, screams filled the air. A strong hand grabbed her arm and tugged her backward. She whipped around, ready to fight, and came face to face with Casimir.
“Alright, ladies.” He glanced at the pile of ash, blinked once, then dragged Maeve out of the tent. “Time to go.”
Chapter Three
Maeve rushed out of the tent with Saoirse and Casimir, and ran straight into chaos.
Tendrils of smoke curled up into a dismal sky, wails of terror filled the air, and the distinctive stench of decay filled her nose. It was so thick, she nearly gagged. Shops and buildings cracked from the earth’s tremors, and their exterior walls crumbled, all while citizens rushed to put out a glaring amount of fires. Children were crying, women were screaming, and everywhere she looked, the people of Kells were alight with panic.
“What’s happening?” Maeve demanded. “Who did this?”
“Follow me and I’ll show you.” Casimir took off toward the Ridge. They climbed the partially collapsed stone steps, and once they’d reached higher ground, he pointed down to the city’s center below. “Look. Just there.”
Maeve sucked in a breath and clamped one hand over her mouth. Where townspeople were running away, soldiers were running toward what could only be described as a gaping chasm. It was as though the ground had simply split open, the realm itself broken, and a scourge plagued the land. Black ooze bled across the cobblestone streets, slowly devouring anything in its path. Leaching everything of color and life. From its center, creatures of the night spilled forth from the chasm in waves, and Maeve watched in horror as Kells came under attack.
But these weren’t enemies. They were monsters.
A dense shadow engulfed two humans, and when they screamed, it sounded like their souls were being ripped from their bodies. The shadow shifted, moving to its next victim, and all that remained were bones. There were monsters with empty pits for eyes, whose mangled bodies were littered with scales and spines. Beasts rose up out of the gaping hole, snarling and growling, with claws sharp enough to tear a human body to shreds. Demons prowled around the fountain, feasting on the flesh of the fallen, their mouths stained red with the blood of death.
