Page 102 of Crown of Roses
“You will obey me,” Carman snarled, and the handful of soldiers closest to her stepped back, retreating away from her. “Together, we will invade Faeven once more. Together, we will take back what I am owed. I brought you back. I gave you life!”
Dian laughed, and it caused the granite beneath Maeve’s feet to shudder and crack.
“Foolish woman,” he scoffed, and he shook his head in mockery. “You did not give us life. She did.” He inclined his head to Maeve. “And therefore, we answer to her.”
“No!” Carman shrieked. She coiled her bone-thin fingers into fists. “I will not have my sons answer to a faerie!”
“I’m not fae!” But Maeve’s voice was lost in the collective disturbance that rushed through the soldiers. Their suspecting gazes slid from one another before latching onto her. The one holding onto her arm threw her down and the loud crack of bone meeting granite echoed in her ears. Someone cried out in agony as she slid against the wet balustrade. She thought the horrible sound might’ve come from her. The burning sensation of the healing fae magic was almost too much. Her shoulder was on fire. Throbbing pain blinded her, her vision swam, and darkness crept in from the outskirts of her line of sight. It threatened to drag her under, to take her into the oblivion of her subconscious.
“Maeve!” Saoirse’s scream ripped through the fury and she charged forward. One soldier reached to stop her, but she cut him down without a second thought. Two more attacked. She swung and parried in a devastating display of stealth and grace. Blood colored the ground a murky shade of rust. But she was far outnumbered.
“Saoirse, no!” Maeve sought purchase on the slippery stone, but her stomach heaved when the nauseating crack of metal and bone sounded in her ears.
The beautiful warrior crumpled to the ground; it took four of them to bring her down.
“Saoirse!” Maeve tried to crawl to her, to see if she was still alive, if she was still breathing, but the toe of Carman’s boot met her cheek. Maeve’s head snapped to the side and hot blood poured from her mouth.
“Wretched girl.” Carman grabbed a handful of Maeve’s hair, and her dagger-like nails tore into her scalp. She dragged her up off the ground and angled Maeve’s head back. Cold drops of rain cleared her eyes, washed away the wave of dizziness. Icy metal chilled her flesh, and the bite of a blade’s edge pressed to the base of her throat cleared her mind. “I should kill you for what you’ve done.”
“I haven’t done anything!” Maeve protested, knowing this moment, when Carman was filled with rage, would be her only opportunity.
Maeve didn’t waste another second. In one fluid movement, her fingers curled around the hilt of her Aurastone and she tugged it free. Her elbow jerked back with purpose and she plunged the dagger into Carman’s heart. Her mother clenched, her frail husk of skin and bones trembled. The blade poised at Maeve’s neck fell away, clattering to the ground. Rancid fumes poured from Carman. Curls of fetid green vapors exited through her nose, her mouth and ears, and from the gouge in her chest. She shriveled to the ground, writhing like a snake, until her garbled breaths ceased, and what was left of her decaying body turned to ash.
“She murdered the queen!” someone shouted, as Maeve watched the rain rinse away the stains of blood from her Aurastone.
“Seize her!” cried another voice.
“You,” a fearsome snarl cut through the increasing fray of soldiers, “will never touch her.”
There was an audible snap, and the accompanying bellow was almost inhuman. Maeve whipped around and clamped one hand over her mouth, but nothing could hide the horrific scene in play before her. Dian ripped both arms off one of the guards, leaving gaping holes filled with shredded cartilage and tendons seeping from either side of the man. Acidic bile surged in her stomach and clawed at her throat. She heaved once. Twice. She fought the urge to vomit, but the scent of blood clogged her nostrils, and then the screaming started.
She stumbled back, away from the carnage and chaos, until her back met the balustrade railing behind her. She gripped the frozen metal, held on while her fingers burned. Saoirse’s body had yet to move, and blood pooled beneath her fallen form.
Her mind was a wreck of irrational thoughts, torn into a million illogical explanations. Her gaze shot from the bowl of blood to the three brothers murdering soldiers like they were rag dolls, to the jagged slash across her palm. The same wound her blood curse had already healed. But it didn’t make sense, none of it made sense. In all of the books she read…there was never even a discussion of necromancy. It was thought to be folklore, myths from the days of before. She stared down at her open hands, to where the gash from Carman had healed, revealing no injury at all. It was impossible. Something was wrong. She shouldn’t hold that kind of power. Her fae blood was not a blessing. It was a curse.
She was a monster. A danger to all around her. Yet somehow, she’d brought three grown men back from the dead. Her blood was the key to giving them life. Carman hadn’t been strong enough to do it on her own. All along, she’d needed Maeve, but she hadn’t known it at the time. Carman had wanted to kill her. But how…
Rowan’s voice drifted through her thoughts—something he said before they started the journey to Faeven, when they were standing within the walls of the throne room.
“The anam ó Danua is unrivaled. It is the one true source. The lifeblood of fae magic.”
No.
“Time to go,” a familiar voice whispered in her ear.
Casimir.
“Go,” she repeated, numb to the notion that she’d just slaughtered her own mother in cold blood. That her best friend lay on the ground, dying. “Where are we going?”
“Away.”
Away. Yes. She needed to get away from here. Far away. She was a murderer. Treasonous in every aspect of the word. It didn’t matter if Carman was going to kill her first. The soldiers of Kells would never bow to her now. They would never respect her. She’d slain their queen in cold blood, and considering she used the magic coursing through her to bring three fearsome warriors back from the Ether—the land of lost souls—she would never trust them enough to ensure they wouldn’t assassinate her in her sleep.
“Come, Maeve.” Casimir took her hand. “Before it’s too late.”
“But…Saoirse.”
“Leave her.”
