Page 89 of Crown of Roses
Merrick pulled out a chair for her, then dropped into his own. “You two should just have sex and get it over with.” He grabbed a cup of coffee and yawned. “Save us all the trouble.”
A blush bled into Maeve’s cheeks, but she refused to acknowledge the way every pair of eyes at the table zeroed in on her.
“Merrick.” Tiernan’s voice dropped an octave, and when the summer breeze whispered through the balcony, it held a distinctive chill.
Merrick looked up, cup of coffee halfway to his lips. “My lord?”
“Do you want to die today?”
“I…uh, no. Right. Sorry. Not my place.” Merrick ducked his head and took a hasty gulp of coffee. He winced, no doubt scalding his tongue. He eyed Maeve from over the rim, then winked. “But seriously. You’d be doing us all a favor.”
Brynn thumped him in the back of the head. “Shut up, you idiot.”
“I have no desire to ever give myself to the High King of Summer.” Maeve tossed her chaotic waves over one shoulder, dismissive. “He doesn’t fuck mortals. He already made that point quite clear.”
Merrick spit out a mouthful of coffee, and Brynn attempted to smother her laugh with a coughing fit.
“Right.” Lir blew out a breath, his silver eyes lit with surprise and something that could’ve been mistaken for admiration. “So, anyway. Let’s get this started.”
“The weather in Spring is erratic. Volatile. Just like it’s High Queen. There’s rarely any sunshine anymore, and that will work in our favor.” Tiernan paced. His movements were slow and methodical. His boots clicked against the smooth stone floor. “It’s mostly damp, wet, and cloudy. Moody, if you will. The Spring Court lost its luster after the demise of the High King and High Queen. It is my belief that with Parisa in power, against the will of the fates, she is gradually destroying her Court. Crossing the boundary into Spring should be done under the guise of a thunderstorm.”
Lir nodded. “What of the giants, my lord?”
Maeve balked. “Giants?”
“Don’t worry about them.” Brynn dismissed her concern with a wave of her hand. “They’re mostly legend.”
“Yeah,” Maeve muttered. “And so were the dark fae.”
“There are other ways.” Casimir’s molten gaze latched onto Maeve and she knew he was about to make an admission. Pain etched the hardened lines of his face, and shadows crowded the beautiful amber of his eyes. Whatever he was about to say, it was a secret. Something he’d never told her. Something he’d never told anyone. Something he’d carried within himself for a long time. “There are passages beneath the mountains. A series of tunnels. They lead straight to the dungeon of Suvarese.”
“How…” Ceridwen shook her head. “How do you know this?”
“I was held there once,” he revealed. “Against my will.”
Maeve covered her hand with his. “You never told me.”
“It never seemed like anything worth telling. Worth remembering.” He squeezed her fingers. “Until now.”
Casimir stared at her, and she stared back, and it was as though an unspoken bond sealed their fate. Together, they would go to the Spring Court. Together, they would slay the High Queen. She’d known Cas her entire life. He’d been her rock when she thought she would crumble. He was her lifesaver when she thought she would drown. He taught her to read, and then he taught her to fight. She’d grown from a floundering girl following his shadow, to a woman who knew his every subtlety, his every thought, his every tell, as though it was a mirrored extension of her own.
She thought she knew everything about him. She was certain he knew everything about her. And yet she’d never known the full extent of his past. She didn’t know he’d been held in the Spring Court against his will. She knew he was without a soul, that Carman held the strings of his destiny in her hands, but she never thought—never imagined—a portion of his existence had been in captivity within the boundaries of Faeven.
“So.” Brynn traced the edge of her dagger with her finger. “Say we make it through these underground tunnels. Say we actually corner Parisa. How do we kill her?”
Lir leaned forward and propped his arms on the table. “Killing her isn’t exactly the problem. She’s been stripped of her magic. The god of death, Aed, saw to it as punishment for killing the High Queen. But with her controlling the dark fae somehow, it seems she’s found an alternate means to maintain power. And that is where the real issue lies.”
“The Princess of Kells can do it.” Tiernan didn’t even so much as blink.
Maeve stared at him. “What?”
“You have the Aurastone. It’s imbued with old magic, and has been since the before. Since our creation.” He nodded to her thigh, where her dagger was strapped in its sheath. “And it just so happens, I have this.”
Tiernan pulled a dagger from one of the five strapped across his chest. Its handle was wrapped in gray leather, and upon first inspection, the blade appeared black as night. But then sunlight reflected off its surface, and a surge of colors broke free. Like a rainbow piercing midnight.
“You didn’t tell me you had the Astralstone.” Ceridwen’s lips pursed, and a fissure of displeasure left her sullen, if not slightly miffed.
“You didn’t ask.” Tiernan spared his twin a hasty glance and dropped into the chair beside her. “Besides, Rowan had it for longer than necessary. It most recently made it’s way back into my possession.”
