Page 63 of Crown of Roses
“What about Casimir?” Saoirse asked, drawing the uncomfortable attention away from Maeve.
Casimir’s head snapped up at the sound of his name.
Ceridwen’s perfect smile faltered. A slight, almost imperceptible shift. “Casimir doesn’t have an aura.” She lowered her lashes. “Because he does not have a soul.”
Casimir gave Maeve three more days of recovery and then she met him in one of the courtyards to train.
It was the last thing she wanted to do. Already too much time had passed since they left Kells and ventured to Faeven in hopes of finding the anam ó Danua. There was no way of knowing how badly the Scathing had spread across Kells, if there was anything left, or if anything could be salvaged. Saoirse was concerned the Scathing would spread through the Cascadian Mountains to the south, and then down into the neighboring kingdom of Cantata. The threat was very real. And though they’d already been gone for over a week, it felt as though they’d gotten nothing accomplished and weren’t any closer to saving the human lands.
Thus far, the entire trip had been nothing more than a death trap from which they’d narrowly escaped. A harrowing journey that seemingly dumped them in the Summer Court and left them there with no way out.
The glint of Casimir’s sword cut through the air above her head, jarring her from her thoughts.
“You’re distracted,” he mocked, twirling the hilt with one hand.
“No,” she snapped. “I’m thinking.”
“Same thing.” He lunged toward her and their swords clashed, the rattling clang of metal echoing in the courtyard. “Thinking can get you killed. There’s only action and reaction when it comes to war.”
Maeve blocked his next strike. “You’re wrong. Preparation before battle is key.”
She whirled away from him, but he matched her step for step. Hand-to-hand combat was second nature to her, especially when she sparred off against Casimir. She moved with him, relied on muscle memory to lead her, depended upon the knowledge he drilled into her over and over. It was like a dance when she trained with him, an intimate study of one’s partner. Though it hadn’t always been that way. There were many times he sent her back to her quarters in Kells bloodied, broken, and bruised. Today, however, the sun was blazing down upon them and even their shadows seemed to lag with the heat of the day. Sweat slid down her legs, and the cotton dress she wore clung to her skin, so every motion, every jab, was sluggish and leaden.
Casimir struck again, but she dodged the blow. She ducked low, rolled against the soft ground, and popped up behind him. Tangled wisps of messy hair fell from her ponytail and stuck to her dampened skin. She shoved them back from her face and stole a breath of the sticky air.
“Tell me what’s on your mind, Your Highness.” He stalked closer. Predator to prey. “What’s gotten you so distracted that you’re out of breath and panting?”
His taunt made her simmer with fury.
“I am not panting.” She swung hard and the clattering sound caused a few Summer fae guards to stop and stare. Even Saoirse, who was paired off with Brynn, paused to watch them. “The only thing on my mind is getting out of here, finding the soul, and saving Kells.”
She ground the last word out, braced herself against his attack, and kicked her leg up high. The snaring of fabric caught in her ears, but her foot collided soundly with his chest and sent them both stumbling back.
“And how do we do that, now that Rowan abandoned us?” There was an edge in Casimir’s voice, and he barely gave her a chance to catch her breath before he pounced on her again.
“I’ve been thinking about what Ceridwen said.” Maeve spun away and switched hands. Her right arm was on fire from the weight of the sword. She was far from competent with her left hand, but at least she was proficient enough to give her dominant arm a break. When she was young, Casimir worried her slight frame would make her an easy target. He insisted she learn how to use a sword as well as daggers, so she obliged. And she was grateful to him for it. “Parisa is ruled out because the soul was torn from the Spring bloodline after she murdered her mother. From what I’ve read, that happened after the Evernight War, but before the plague of darkness. And we know Ceridwen doesn’t have it.”
“Do you think she would admit it if she did?” Casimir asked and he swung low, forcing Maeve to jump out of the way.
“I do.” She left herself open, and her ripped skirts tangled around her ankles.
“So, that leaves Autumn and Winter,” he mused, casually slicing his sword through the open air between them. “And if the anam ó Danua is only blessed through a maternal bloodline, then all we have to do is find a female Archfae in either Autumn or Winter, and hope the gift was given to one of them.”
“Exactly.” Maeve kept her eyes focused on the slash of his blade. They paced one another in a slow, cautious circle.
“Easier said than done.” Casimir watched her, and their eyes met in a silent contest. “And do you have any suggestions on how we do that?”
“Oh!” Maeve stood straight. “I found a book in the library, and it traces the lineage of all—”
Fire cut across her left shoulder when his sword met its mark. It was just a nick, but sharp enough to shred the cotton sleeve of her dress and slice through to her skin. “Damn it, Cas. That hurt.”
He tapped her sword with his own. “Always pay attention.”
She launched herself at him, but Casimir snared her by the wrist and twisted her arm behind her back. “Anger leads to foolish mistakes, Your Highness.”
Maeve grunted and tried to wrangle herself free from his hold, but then she froze. Tiernan was there, leaning against one of the palm trees, watching her struggle with a smile plastered across his infuriatingly handsome face. Behind him stood Merrick and Lir. Since they were no longer required to babysit the mortals, it looked like they were allowed to resume their normal duties; which, she assumed, were respected positions within the Summer Court. She looked past Tiernan and caught Lir’s silver gaze.
She gave a small wave. After all, he did burst into her room and save her from those terrifying fae. And he’d let her fight, instead of locking her away in a room somewhere, even if it almost got her killed.
