Page 99 of Crown of Roses
“We’ll see.” He ducked his head. “You may change your mind when you realize what I am.”
“It doesn’t matter. But you’re right, we need to return to Kells so I can…do what must be done to Carman. So you can have your power restored.” She pulled her shoulders back, determined, and ensured her Aurastone was at the ready for when the time came. Her gaze drifted out over the endless horizon, where it was so dark, there was no way to determine sky from sea. “How will we get back to Kells?”
He shifted and lifted his face up to the inky night sky. “I called in a favor.”
Maeve followed his gaze, and though her eyes could see nothing but charcoal clouds and a sprinkling of stars, it was from over the crashing waves she heard the cut of a solid mass through thin air. Wings. Big wings. Diving down toward her through a swirl of silvery mist was the most incredible winged beast. It possessed the body of a dragon, and its scales were glossy and black. Three heads protruded from its massive form, each one of them reminiscent of an eagle with golden beaks and curved horns. Its fiery wings flapped, then coasted closer, while its tail thrashed soundlessly through the cool breeze. It turned and swooped lower, hovering just above the rocks and sea, and it was then Maeve noticed a rider sitting atop of the creature.
She stepped closer, moving through the densely packed sand. The three eagle heads spun as one, keeping a sharp eye on her every movement. Maeve didn’t even dare to breathe, lest she startle them. The shadow of night fell away with a wave of the rider’s hand, and he was suddenly illuminated in a crackling glow of crimson. A pair of emerald green eyes focused on her.
“Aran?”
He nodded curtly. “At your service, Maeve of Kells.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I told you.” Casimir gently took her by the elbow and steered her to where the sand met the sea, where Aran sat upon the beast whose three sets of eyes focused solely on her. “I called in a favor.”
“Indeed, you did,” Aran agreed. But when he said it, the words sounded wrong. They were laced with spite. “We must go. It will be dawn by the time we arrive in the human lands.”
He held out his hand, and Maeve accepted, letting him pull her up onto the winged creature in one fell swoop. Casimir hoisted himself up behind her. In three beating bursts, the beast pitched skyward, and Maeve locked her arms around Aran’s waist. They soared in a sea of mist, and the scent of magic—of orange blossom and cedarwood—permeated the air around them, intensifying with every swoop. Midnight clouds drifted past them, and Maeve swore if she reached out, she could touch the stars.
“Aran?” Maeve leaned forward so he could hear her over the breeze rushing past them. “What is this thing?”
He turned his head, and the outline of his handsome face was illuminated by starlight. “This is Effie. She’s a trechen.”
“She’s, um…” Maeve’s fingers coiled into the soft fabric of his cape when Effie dipped downward. Her scaly body prodded against Maeve’s leggings like cold metal discs, sharp and distinct. “She’s lovely.”
Effie squawked and shook one of her three heads. The pale feathers of her eagle heads glinted and ruffled, poking up like daggers along the length of her necks. Aran tossed another look at Maeve from over his shoulder. “She thinks the same of you.”
Maeve opened her mouth to ask where he found her, or where she came from, but a glow of brilliant orange sparked from the coastline of Faeven, like little balls of light. “What’s going on down there?”
“That’s Niahvess,” Casimir said from behind her, his voice devoid of any emotion.
Aran stiffened. “It burns.”
Maeve smothered her gasp. Ceridwen was down there. Ceridwen, and Lir. And Brynn and Merrick. And fine, even Tiernan. She couldn’t just abandon them, just leave them. She had to do something. But Casimir sensed her growing alarm, and his hand came down firmly upon her shoulder.
“Kells and Carman first.” His whisper skated past her cheek. “Then we return.”
She nodded, but an uneasy lump settled between her chest and heart. Guilt. Kells, she reminded herself. And Carman. She had to take care of her home first. And then she’d come back. Then she’d return to help Faeven. Or at the very least, to help the Summer Court. But as they headed south, toward the human lands, Maeve couldn’t tear her gaze away from the beautiful Crown City of Summer, alight with fire and smoke.
The scent of burning wood slowly faded, and was replaced with the stench of decay. Maeve could smell the rot, pungent and acrid, even though Kells had not yet come into view. In the east, the sky was already beginning to lighten, the deep purples and midnight blues of night gradually giving way to the soft, pink rise of dawn. But there was a heavy bank of gray clouds forming over the Gaelsong Sea, and though she kept quiet, her mind screamed. It was a horrible sign. An omen of things to come.
Effie soared downwind and finally, Kells came into view.
At least, what was left of it.
Her heart shattered at the sight, and a thousand shards cut through her. Pierced her soul. Her city. Her home. There was nothing left, save for the castle atop the Cliffs of Morrigan.
“Cas.” She inhaled sharply and behind her, his entire body tensed. She knew he saw it, too. The absolute destruction of everything they loved, succumbed to a plague greater than them both. The Scathing had wrecked all of Kells. The scenic city center, with its brightly colored shops and gurgling fountain, was now nothing more than a crumbling black ruin. Every building was corroded; the plants and flowers were shriveled up and leached of color. It covered the docks, leaving a trail of perishing life in its wake. The Moors were already falling victim as well. The outer barrier of trees surrounding the forest was withered, their branches bare, their trunks bowed over to the breaking point.
Aran guided Effie down, closer toward the balustrade that jutted out over the sea. The entire castle looked dark and devoid of life. There were no guards on outer battlements, and none in the adjoining courtyards within the mighty walls. There was no laughter or music. No steady thrum of voices rising up from the city and carrying on the wind. An eerie hush wound its way through the grotesque remains of the streets, save for the scampering of vermin and other unfavorable creatures. It was as though the hand of death had left its mark throughout Kells.
Effie circled lower, and her fiery wings cut through the early morning like ribbons of fire. She swept down to the balustrade, to where the stone banister curved into miniature arches. Roughened granite pavers spiraled out from ivory pillars to Carman’s empty throne room, but when Effie swooped lower and hovered above the terrace, Maeve noticed a figure dressed all in black approaching them. A silver braid tossed over her shoulder.
Saoirse.
“Saoirse!” Maeve waved frantically, and nearly toppled off Effie.
