Page 127 of Throne of Dreams
“Imagine my surprise,” he called out, “to find that the High King of Summer is in need of a favor.”
Tiernan stepped into the glow emanating from the faerie light lanterns hanging from the ship’s starboard side. “Aran.”
“Maeve.” Aran’s face twisted. He was by Tiernan’s side and on the shore in less time than it took to breathe. “What’s happened?”
The Furies closed in, and the Autumn High Prince took an abrupt step back, his eyes widening in shock.
“She expended her magic; she only needs time to recover. I’ll tell you everything.” Tiernan nodded up at theAmshir. “Perhaps over a shot of whiskey or two?”
Aran offered him a threadbare smile. “I’m sure that can be arranged.” His green eyes slid to the Furies. “Them as well?”
Tiernan blew out a breath. “Yes. The Furies answer to Maeve. They’re under her command.”
“Alright.”
Unease dripped from his tone, but Tiernan supposed it couldn’t be avoided. Bad blood still brewed between the Archfae of Faeven and the Furies. At some point, it would have to be confronted.
“Come aboard then, and I’ll get you that whiskey.” Aran turned, climbing the planks back to his ship. “You can start by telling me why my sister is unconscious.”
* * *
Maeve woketo the sound of boisterous laughter. It was jarring and she jolted upright. She hadn’t heard anything like it in quite some time.
Squinting into the darkness, she let her eyes adjust to the soft amber glow of faerie light before taking in her surroundings. She was on a bed, of that much she could be sure, and there was something familiar about the gorgeous papering on the walls. It depicted fallen leaves flecked in gold. She inhaled deeply, breathing in the scent of spiced woods and crushed berries.
Aran.
She was onboard theAmshir.
Maeve scrubbed her hands over her face. The last thing she remembered was pouring her soul into Kells. A sharp twinge struck like a chord in her heart—she hadn’t been able to say goodbye to Saoirse. She didn’t know the next time she’d see her best friend, if she’d ever see her again at all. Maeve wished she could’ve witnessed the outcome of her magic; she would’ve loved to have seen Kells brought back to life. What she wouldn’t give to stand on the Cliffs of Morrigan and overlook the city, or sneak into the Moors and swim in the hidden lake.
But all those dreams were lost to her now. If she was already on theAmshir, it meant they were sailing for the Summer Court. But Tiernan couldn’t tolerate even being in the same room as Aran, so had he left her in Aran’s care and returned to Summer without her? If that was the case, where were Balor, Tethra, and Dian? And who was laughing?
She climbed out of the bed and glanced down. She was in a crimson velvet nightgown. Her armor had been removed and cleaned and was lying neatly in a pile at the end of the bed. She held her arms out in front of her. From the looks of it, she’d been cleaned as well. She must have slept much longer than she thought.
Following the sound of the voices, Maeve climbed the steps to the small verandah on the second deck of theAmshir. The night was clear and lovely, the laughter only increasing. When she reached the final step, she stopped in her tracks. Seated at a table, taking shots, and laughing like they didn’t have a care in the world, were Tiernan, Aran, and all three of the Furies.
Tiernan instantly spun around, sensing her, and when his eyes landed on her, his smile was so wide, so full of relief, it sent her own racing in return.
The other four males followed suit.
“Sister!” Aran shouted a little too loudly and waved like he was an ocean’s distance away from her instead of only a few feet. His auburn hair swept over one side of his face, falling in a sharp angle, and he shoved it back.
“Astora.” Tiernan slid his chair back and opened his arms. “Come sit with me.”
The Furies at least had the decency to duck their heads and stand, each of them mumbling some semblance of a proper greeting.
“What is going on here?” she asked, worried she might’ve slept a little too hard and was lucid dreaming.
“Just catching up on the days of before.” Aran rocked back in his chair and it bobbled. He grabbed the table, holding onto it for purchase, then grinned up at her. “Join us!”
She inched forward and took note of the empty bottles of alcohol on the table. The shot glasses. The half-eaten sandwiches and unidentifiable liquid that had been spilled on the wooden deck. “Are you drunk?”
Aran laughed. Balor, Tethra, and Dian refused to meet her gaze.
“Areallof you drunk?”
“That would appear to be the case, my lady.” Tiernan flashed her a wolfish grin and heat pooled low in her belly. He crooked his finger, beckoning her to him.
