Page 12 of Crown of Roses
Once she knew she wasn’t being followed, she darted up a set of gunmetal marble steps, careful to stay on the tips of her toes to avoid the clicking sound of her boots. A large wooden door with a brass handle stood before her. She heaved it open and slipped into the one place she knew no one would bother looking.
The library.
It was overwhelming in the best way possible. The walls reached up to a massive domed ceiling where windows showcased the night sky full of stars and the remnants of smoke. Paintings hung along the back wall and all of them portrayed images of death, destruction, and darkness. They were riveting—so lifelike, Maeve often wondered if they weren’t somehow captured in time. The library was illuminated with iron chandeliers that dripped down from the ceiling like skeletal hands, and golden lights filled the space with warmth, despite the cold nature of the library. Shelves upon shelves of books filled the walls from floor to ceiling, though most of them were untouched, their bindings and pages covered in a thick, grimy layer of dust.
She often slipped away here as a child, usually after returning from time in the cage where she was left alone with her nightmares. Or sometimes after being on the training field with Casimir, being too bloodied and broken to lift a sword. This had been her safe space growing up, the one place she could learn, the place she could come when nowhere else seemed to want her. She went to the library for stories, to get lost in adventures within unknown worlds. As she got older, she came for other things like lessons in war-fighting and stealth, how to outmaneuver and understand an enemy, and more recently, the art of seduction.
Though she had to admit, the latter had proven to be rather useless.
But now, Maeve came to refresh her knowledge. She needed to understand Faeven on a deeper level, she needed to know what she was up against. She found herself in a familiar section full of texts bound in worn leather and embossed with silver lettering. She skimmed through the shelves, searching out ancient books of myth, lore, and legend. Long ago, those stories were nothing more than fairytales to her. Now, however, she realized there was perhaps some truth to them after all. Minutes dragged by into hours while she poured over information. Most of which had been passed down over generations through song, story, and the written word. She read about the history of Old Laic, a fae language, which had all but disappeared over the course of hundreds of years. It was rarely used, and even now, there were only phrases left. As far as she could tell, it had died out from conversation long ago.
Which she supposed was a good thing. At least that meant she’d be able to understand the fae, if and when they came face to face.
The mere thought of coming across another one of those faceless creatures that crawled out of the Scathing caused Maeve’s skin to pebble with goosebumps. Sure, the ones who ravaged Kells were hideous, but Rowan, despite his devastatingly good looks, was equally as terrifying. At least, the books piled around her and propped open in her lap claimed as much to be true.
According to legend, some fae resided in Faeven and belonged to the Four Courts or other faerie realms; many of which seemed to exist only through time, and magic, and other powerful means. Other fae, however, like the ones who attacked Kells, were the banished ones. The dangerous ones. She flipped through the gossamer pages of the book in her lap, and trailed her finger along the inked words. Faeries were capable of great magic, and were graced with speed and beauty. But not all fae were created equal. Some possessed little magic, while others, the Archfae, were the most powerful. They were also the most lethal. They lacked human emotion and found the existence of mortals to be a curious wonder.
Nowhere in the book did it say what sorts of magic the fae were capable of, and Maeve found she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to know.
She stifled a yawn, continuing to close one book and open the next, determined to learn as much as possible before the journey to Faeven. The books she held grew heavier and the words on the page blurred together. She blinked, cracked her neck, and forced herself to keep reading. Her muscles ached from the fighting in Kells and exhaustion was creeping in, threatening to drag her under into the bliss of sleep. She turned the next page.
The Evernight War was brought on by the dark fae. They attacked their own and they swarmed and overran the cities of Faeven. When the war was finally over, a devastating plague spread across the realm. The Four Courts fell, too weak from their own civil war to fight against the assault, and slowly they succumbed to the threat. Until the goddess Danua came down from Maghmell and purged the land of darkness.
Maeve almost felt bad for the fae.
Almost.
She settled back against one of the shelves on the floor and the last thing she filled her mind with was a story of a magical being made of moonlight, starlight, and eternal night.
She wasn’t sure how long she’d been cramped on the floor of the library, sound asleep, when a prickling sort of awareness stirred within her. The kind that caused her senses to awaken, and a knot of trepidation to form in the pit of her gut. She knew it before she opened her eyes.
She wasn’t alone.
Maeve bolted upright and slammed right into Roth’s gnarled chest. He captured her with one arm and she tried to scream, but he covered her mouth with a white cloth. The pungent smell attacked her, filled her lungs, and caused her vision to swim. She swung her legs and kicked, but it was like dragging a fan through the dirt. She was losing feeling, her body weakening against a numbness she recognized.
Fear twisted through her like a knife.
The world went fuzzy, then sideways, and before it faded to black completely, she saw her mother’s smiling face.
Chapter Six
Maeve’s head was aching. The pain throbbed at her temples and the base of her neck. Her body was stiff, sore, and cramped from laying in one position for far too long. The metal of her cuffs was cold against her skin. Like ice.
She licked her lips. They were dry and cracked, and tasted of salt and the sea. The flavor lingered in the air and when she took a breath and her lungs filled with the tang of sea spray. Damp clothes clung to her already chilled skin. In the distance, a rushing sound filled her ears; the crash of waves as they rolled over rocks and back out to sea. She imagined she was swaying in time with their crests. A slow, methodic rocking, similar to how a new mother might soothe a babe in her arms. It was a lulling motion, and she thought perhaps she was already on a ship sailing to Faeven. Until she heard the distinctive creak of branches.
Terror jolted her awake. Raw and pure. Her heart jackhammered inside the tight wall of her chest and her eyes flew open. She was in the cage.
Built from mangled wrought iron, it was big enough to house a bird of prey. The wooden planks beneath her were warped and battered from years of strong winds, pelting rains, and suffocating summers. It hung precariously between two branches of an old oak tree, whose limbs had long since stretched out over the Cliffs of Morrigan. Below the cage, the Gaelsong Sea churned in anger. Its mighty turquoise waters lashed the cliffside and roared over rocks that jutted up in sharp points.
Maeve swallowed her scream and scrambled to the back of the cage. The branches groaned in agony against her sudden movement, dangling her closer to the foaming mouth of the ocean.
Tears burned Maeve’s eyes, but she blamed them on the sting of the breeze. Her fingers tightened around the cold, rusted bars, turning her knuckles white. She knew it was pathetic, but no one could see her, and no one would care. Her mother sent her here often as a child, usually as some sort of necessary discipline, and every night for weeks Maeve would dream of the vengeful sea and its desperation to drown her. Casimir taught her a great many things, and he’d taught her to overcome many of her fears. She wasn’t afraid of death. She didn’t dread the dark, or the unknown. Though she had an aversion to the creatures that brought their wrath upon Kells, not even their nightmarish figures would be enough to stop her.
But the ocean?
She was terrified of the ocean.
It was the one fear she could not conquer.
