Page 95 of Throne of Dreams
Maeve hovered near him, her Aurastone in her hand. “Give her to me, Garvan.” They were above the terracotta rooftops of the palace now, with the courtyard far below. “She’s not a part of this and you know it.”
“But you are, dear sister.” He swung the fae back and forth as she struggled in his hold. She would rather fall to her death than be used by him. “And for some reason, you care about everyone.”
“You’re wrong,” she hissed the words, and he blinked at her venomous denial. “I don’t care about you at all.”
“Your insults are pathetic.” His laugh was bitter and laced with malice. “Ready for our game, little wild one?”
Her jaw clenched and her grip around the hilt of her Aurastone tightened, poised to strike.
Garvan hoisted the girl up, hanging her between them in the air like a lure. “Answer me in truth, and this wretched little creature’s life will be spared.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Then decay will spread throughout her deplorable body. I’ll kill her from the inside out. Her veins will turn black, worms will carve their way through her organs, festering and feeding until there’s nothing left. The agony of it will be insufferable. Her screams will echo to the furthest corners of the Four Courts.” Clouds crawled across the light of the moon, dousing him in vicious shadows. “And by the end the rot of her own blood will suffocate her to death.”
Maeve fought down the urge to retch.
He was vile. Grotesque. And deserved all the pain he would endure beneath the tip of her blade. “You’re heinous. A disgrace to the faerie race. And I will make you pay for your crimes against the innocent.”
His mirthless smile peeled back over his teeth. “So, you agree?”
He jerked the female mercilessly and a loud popping sound reverberated in Maeve’s ears. The fae screeched in anguish as she hung from an awkward angle, her shoulder dislocated by his blatant cruelty.
“Fine!” Maeve shouted and flew closer. “I’ll play your stupid little game. But do not harm her again.”
“Good.” Garvan regarded her, angling his head. “Now tell me, do you indeed possess theanam ó Danualike Parisa thinks you do?”
Goddess above, of course that would be his first question. Maeve’s teeth ground together. “Yes.”
His wings beat and he shifted, taken aback. “Interesting…and what of the Hagla? There are rumors you were the one to destroy it.”
She lifted her chin in defiance. “I did.”
The fae female began sobbing.
“You’re hurting her!” Maeve’s accusation didn’t faze him.
He shrugged, uncaring. “So what? I never said I wouldn’t hurt her, just that her life would be spared.”
Flames exploded from the tips of her fingers and smoke curled around her like venomous snakes.
Garvan chuckled. “Temper, temper. Last question…”
Maeve held her breath, her gaze darting down to the female whose face was pinched in despair. “What is it?”
“Are you in love with the High King of Summer?”
Maeve blanched.
That wasn’t at all what she was expecting him to ask. “What?” Her voice sounded hoarse, like she’d suffered too long in the cold.
Garvan’s face remained impassive. Unreadable. “You heard me.”
Love. Was she in love with Tiernan? She didn’t even know what true love felt like, not really. She knew she held love in her heart for Saoirse. And not so long ago, for Casimir. But that was more of a deep affection, a sworn loyalty. Nothing of the romantic kind. Then Rowan had come along. Rowan…she’d loved him, hadn’t she? She’d warned herself not to fall for him, told herself over and over not to trust him, but in the end, hadn’t it been the breaking of her heart that destroyed her when he died?
Did she feel the same for Tiernan now?
Garvan swung the fae back and forth like a pendulum. “Time is ticking, sister.”
