Page 112 of Throne of Dreams
They stood just outside the Moors. Or rather, what remained of it.
Everything was swathed in a coat of darkness. Clouds boiled across the sky, blocking out the sun, stealing any shred of warmth. The blustery wind stung her cheeks and burned her nose, and though the bite of autumn was still weeks away, the trees were already dead. Stark and bare, the branches shuddered silently against the stiff breeze. The leaves had fallen and died ages ago. There was no lush greenery, no gorgeous flowers with overly perfumed blooms, no beauty left at all. It looked as though life itself had been sucked from the land until all that remained was a hollow husk.
The Moors were dying.
Decay lingered across what once was a vast forest. Where tall trees once sighed and swayed, offering shade and respite, now there were only deteriorating trunks and scattered leaves. Bushes had shriveled up, marked by the scourge of the Scathing. A permeating stench of rancid earth and rot clung to the air as well. Tainted ground spread as far as the eye could see. Nothing had been untouched. Nothing had been spared. There were no animals. No call of birdsong or even that of an owl. There was just a deafening stillness. So quiet, it seemed to have settled into the bones of Veterra, the silence of it all was almost grating.
Kells, it seemed, had been marked.
By the hand of death.
An emotion bubbled up in the back of Maeve’s throat. She tried to swallow it down, to no avail. She gasped, sucking in short breaths of air as she absorbed what remained of the world that was once her home. Her fingers curled into her armor, and she clutched her arms around herself tightly as she struggled to get air. Her chest heaved, and her lungs refused to fill. Whatever this sensation, this grip held over her, it was crippling.
“Tiernan.” She gasped his name, and his arms swiftly hauled her against him. Panic. She was having a panic attack. This used to be her home, the remnants of her former life. Her childhood was spent here. The Moors were her refuge. Her haven. And now there was nothing.
“Tier,” she cried.
“Breathe,astora.”He gripped her chin and angled her head up so she faced him. His velvety voice slid into her mind.“Breathe. Take a breath in with me.”
Her body quaked as she struggled to inhale.
“Now let it out slowly.”
Her soul shuddered.
“Again,” he commanded softly, and she did what he demanded of her.
Slowly, her heartbeat steadied and instead of short, panicked breaths, she could draw air and fill her lungs completely. The ache in her heart eased. Just slightly.
“We are here to end this, Maeve.” Tiernan ran his thumb along her jaw, caressing her skin. “We are here for what remains of Kells. For all of Veterra. For you.”
“It’s so much worse than I thought.” The words tumbled from her mouth, and she wiped away the fallen tears with the back of her hand. “I wasn’t expecting—”
“Neither of us were.”
Maeve gazed up at him. There was a sharpness to his voice, though it wasn’t directed at her. A severe line marred his brow as he took in their surroundings. Not even he had thought it would be so bad. He slid his hand into hers and together they started walking headfirst into the fray.
The devastation of the Moors was nearly unrecognizable.
“When the Furies invaded Faeven with Carman,” Maeve began, but she couldn’t keep her voice from trembling, “did it…”
He nodded solemnly. “It looked much like this.”
Maeve didn’t want to believe it. She didn’t want to believe that what happened to the Moors was because of the Furies. This was the fault of the Scathing. It had nothing to do with Balor, Tethra, and Dian. They were simply the byproducts of a spell gone horribly wrong.
As they walked further into the Moors, the sky overhead seemed to darken. The world around them grew quieter, if such a feat was even possible, so the only sound to be heard was that of their own breathing. Tiernan traced small circles onto the back of her hand with his thumb. The movement was hardly noticeable, but it offered her comfort.
She could do this.
Shewoulddo this.
I am the Dawnbringer.Maeve’s free hand lingered over the hilt of her glowing sword.I fear nothing.
She froze and beside her, Tiernan’s body instantly went on alert. He drew both of his swords at once, the blades blackened with a sheen of glossy violet. Nightshade.
“Well, well.” A masculine voice cut through the dead quiet of the Moors. “If it isn’t the fae bitch who murdered our queen in cold blood.”
Maeve spun to her right and Tiernan whirled to the left.
