Page 67 of Crown of Roses
When she failed to answer him right away, Saoirse cut in. She tapped the book in front of her. “So your magic then, your gift, is one of sight. And auras, and emotions. It sounds rather personal, to be so intimate with someone you barely know.”
Ceridwen didn’t even blink. She didn’t appear to be affronted by their accusations, or even angered by their blithe assumptions. Rather, she looked perfectly calm. “Or perhaps it gives me greater knowledge of them, that which I can use to my benefit.”
Saoirse inclined her head. “Touché.”
“What about the High King?” Maeve blurted out. “What sort of magic does he possess? Other than reading minds?”
Saoirse balked. “He can read minds?”
Maeve’s mouth fell open. She hadn’t intended to say it, but there was no going back, now that it was out in the open.
“Has he read yours?” Casimir demanded.
“Once or twice,” Maeve admitted.
A low, guttural sort of growl escaped him. And for a brief moment, Maeve worried he might do something drastic, like go after Tiernan, or attempt to kill him. Something that would jeopardize their position within the Summer Court.
“It was nothing.” The lie left a bitter taste in her mouth.
Ceridwen did not meet Maeve’s eyes. She adjusted the bangles on her wrist and pretended to smooth away wrinkles from the front of her silk gown. “Tiernan’s magic is his own.”
Casimir rapped his knuckles on the table. “He’s capable of far worse.”
Saoirse’s head snapped up. “What could possibly be worse than sneaking into someone’s mind and hearing their innermost thoughts?”
“It doesn’t exactly work that way—” Ceridwen started, but Casimir gave her no time to finish.
“Do you want to tell them?” His voice was quiet, like the sound of death on the battlefield. “Or shall I?”
Ceridwen straightened and a second later, Tiernan appeared right beside her in a crack of thunder that caused the bookshelves to tremble. Maeve jumped up, and Casimir shot in front of her, one hand already on the hilt of his sword.
“Nice trick,” he muttered, refusing to remove his hand from his weapon.
“I’ve been known to make an entrance a time or two.” Tiernan’s lips curved into a cruel smile.
It would’ve been much easier to take him seriously, or at least feel mildly threatened, if he wasn’t dressed like some sort of ridiculous woodland creature. His golden chest was bare and broad, save for a band of burgundy that fell from his shoulder to his hip. Sinewy, corded muscle defined his arms and abdomen, and Maeve was pleased to discover she’d been correct about his tattoos. The shimmery swirls crawled along his neck, across his chest, and down part of his bicep in a distinctive pattern of suns, moons, and stars. A cape of dark red fur was pinned around his shoulders, and black feathers were stuck in his wild and messy hair. His brown leather pants were etched in faint golden suns, and a belt displayed both of his swords.
Her brow quirked. “Do you have a date with a rabid raccoon tonight, my lord?”
“I have somewhere to be,” he answered calmly, ignoring her jab.
Saoirse looked to Ceridwen. “You weren’t invited?”
She lowered her lashes and looked away. “I prefer not to participate in such…festivities.”
“What is it?” Maeve asked, now intrigued that Tiernan would be attending, but his twin would remain behind. “Like a giant party?”
Casimir laughed but it was hard. “More like a giant orgy.”
“And how would you know?” Maeve asked, her curiosity piqued.
He ignored her assumption with a roll of his shoulders. “I’ve heard things.”
Saoirse snorted and Maeve debated on pestering him for more information when Tiernan cut in. “It’s a little classier than that.”
Casimir’s lip curled. “Not by much.”
Tiernan ignored his insolence. “I’m sending two of my best scouts to the human lands to determine the situation in Kells. If the Scathing is as bad as you are suggesting, then we may need to act sooner rather than later.”
