Page 116 of Throne of Dreams
“On your guard,” Tiernan murmured, withdrawing his weapons.
The Furies surrounded Maeve, each of them taking up a position, protecting her from all angles.
Footfalls sounded against the solid flooring, growing louder with each passing second. Murmurs echoed down the hall just beyond the throne room and a rise of voices reverberated off the walls with alarm, the sounds of those readying for battle. A moment later, the carved wooden doors of the throne room burst open, and three soldiers barreled into the space, armed with their swords drawn.
One soldier had hair the color of moonlight.
“Drop your—” The silver-haired warrior faltered, her eyes widening. Her breath expelled from her in a rush. “Maeve.”
“Saoirse?” Maeve darted out from between the barricade of Furies and sprinted across the throne room, her boots sounding in time to the rapid pace of Tiernan’s heart.
Balor made to chase after her, but Tiernan’s arm shot out, holding him back. “Leave her.”
“Saoirse!” Her voice broke.
“Maeve!” Saoirse rushed forward, running into Maeve’s open arms. The two beauties crashed into one another, falling into an embrace so strong, it brought them both to their knees, each one holding the other as though nothing, not the skies nor the seas, could ever tear them apart again.
* * *
Maeve’s heart nearly burst.
Saoirse was alive. She was flesh and blood. Still as strong as ever. Tears stung at the corner of her eyes, but she blinked them away, willing herself not to cry.
Saoirse pulled back, grabbing both of Maeve’s hands and holding them in her own. A withering pink dahlia was tucked behind her ear. “I told Merrick to keep you far away from here.”
“You know how I feel about being told what to do.” She bent her head over their joined hands and kissed the top of her friend’s hands.
A broken smile fractured Saoirse’s laugh. “But, how? And why?” Her sapphire gaze slid to Tiernan and the Furies, her brows raised in question. She held Maeve back at arm’s length, taking in the handful of tattoos that were visible beneath her arm. Most notably the one in the shape of a rose on her battered cheek. “What’s happened since you’ve been in Faeven? And why are you bleeding?”
“There will be time to explain all that later.” Maeve rose, bringing Saoirse to her feet. “We’re here to destroy the Scathing.”
“It’s too dangerous.” She shook her head and wisps fell free from her silver braid, framing her face. “Many have entered and none have returned. I don’t know what sort of evil dwells there, but it’s a place not even the light of the sun can reach.”
Determination fired through Maeve, hot and fast, as she remembered the numbing burn of Fearghal’s blade while he carved her up in the dungeon of Suvarese. “I do. I know the evil that lurks beneath its surface.”
Saoirse blinked, mouth parting slightly. “And you know how to defeat it?”
“Yes.” Maeve tossed a glance over her shoulder at Tiernan. He nodded in support, her eternal champion. “And I’m not leaving here until I do.”
“Alright.” She looked back at her own soldiers, faces Maeve didn’t recognize, and adjusted the strap of daggers hanging from her waist. “When do we leave?”
“Now.” Tiernan’s low timbre echoed up into the domed ceiling. “The sooner the better.”
Saoirse lobbed her sword over one shoulder, ever casual about war. “Very well.” She faced her soldiers. “No one leaves the castle until I return. And in case I don’t…Finnigan, I leave you in charge.”
The soldier righted himself to attention and saluted Saoirse. “Understood, Captain Doran.”
Maeve jabbed her friend lightly in the ribs. “Captain now, is it?”
She winked. “Somebody had to take over since Captain Vawda abandoned his post.” Her brow furrowed, and Maeve blanched at the mention of Casimir’s former title. “Where is he, anyway?”
“You and I have a lot of catching up to do.”
There was no way to ignore the wrath emanating from Tiernan, but Maeve would tell Saoirse all that she endured another time. Her past was a burning memory in the back of her mind, one she didn’t care to dwell on too often. Especially not right now. So instead, she linked her arm through Saoirse’s, and they started down one of the vaulted corridors that would lead them to the Ridge.
Together they headed toward the stone steps with Tiernan and the Furies following closely behind. Where once moss and emerald blades of grass crawled along the roughened stone, there were now only smears of grime and ash. The closer they drew to the Scathing, the more the air seemed to throb, ripe and dense with malicious intent. The quiet that dwelled within the Moors was even worse here, and though Maeve attempted to keep herself composed, her breathing grew shallow. Life had been snatched from the very earth, a demise so great it left Maeve’s skin crawling with a sense of impending doom. Of dread.
“What happened…after?” Her whisper sounded harsh against the onslaught of complete nothingness.
