Page 68 of Throne of Dreams
Brynn dropped back down onto the sofa, defeated.
“So,” Merrick drawled. “Sunatalis?”
Tiernan ignored the ache taking form at his temples. “Still happening. As far as I know, everyone on the invitation list plans to attend. I imagine this year will be the one when Garvan and Shay decide to grace us with their presence.”
Merrick tugged on the collar of his shirt. “And the Winter Court?”
Tiernan met his gaze. “Confirmed.”
Lir, who’d been decidedly quiet during the previous outburst, straightened in his seat. “That will be another problem.”
“I’ll handle it.” Tiernan waved off his concern. “Anything else?”
When his commander, hunter, and healer didn’t respond, he nodded sharply. “Good. We’ll tackle everything else as it comes to us. Right now, I have to go meet Maeve for training.”
He was already twenty minutes late and would likely have to endure a verbal lashing from her as well.
Tiernanfadedfrom his study to the strand of shoreline where they usually met to practice, but when he arrived, he found the beach empty. Except for a note scrawled into the pale pink sand. By the looks of it, she’d either used her finger or her toe.
I waited.You’re late. If you need me, you know where to find me.
Tiernan chuckled,rolled his eyes to the sunny sky, thenfadedto the library.
ChapterTwenty
Maeve waited for ten minutes for Tiernan to show up to their scheduled training. The one he demanded of her. Then another five before she finally gave up and flew back to the palace. She passed a few Summer warriors, some servants, and she said hello to Deirdre as she was strolling by with a bundle full of glittering decorations in her arms.
She stopped by her room and grabbed Aran’s book of fairytales and the book Rowan had given her on the Aurastone and Astralstone, then made her way to the library. If Tiernan really wanted to train, he would have to come to her.
Maeve nudged the door open and stepped inside.
Its resplendence set her heart racing. Shelves upon shelves were brimming with books. Above her head, the mural shifted from an image of the Summer Court with its floating Crown City to that of mountains, forests, and mist. The way it moved and changed of its own accord was nothing short of disconcerting. She’d never asked if the ceiling of the library was sentient; she’d always assumed it was magic of some kind. But now, she wasn’t so sure.
Her footfalls were soft against the hardwood floor, and the toes of her boots followed the inlaid spirals of the sun. She scanned texts at random, with no direction or sense of purpose. There were worn bindings and spines with titles in a language she couldn’t understand. Her fingers grazed the edges of the tomes, lightly brushing over both linen and leather. She didn’t really know what it was she was looking for…dark magic, maybe. Or something.
She ventured further into the library’s vast collection, through a maze of books, when she discovered an alcove barely illuminated by faerie light. Goosebumps prickled along her flesh and a certain chill clung to the air. A row of books was positioned upon a black shelf, their spines bare, their pages untouched. A thin layer of dust coated each of them. There were no markings and no emblems, but the closer Maeve got, the more they seemed to pulse with magic. Deep and dark, like a never-ending well. A tempting lure to all that was outside the realms of the living.
It was as though death itself ran its bony fingers across the back of her neck, and Maeve shuddered.
She stepped away from the alcove. Those books were not for her. Not yet anyway.
Maeve returned to where the light from the windows flooded the room and dropped into a chair at one of the tables. She flipped open Aran’s book first, determined to distract herself. She turned the pages, bypassing all manner of creatures, both lovely and frightening, until she found the one she sought.
The Hagla.
It was created from the shadows, from the absence of light. In the before, when magic itself was reactive and capable of response, the Hagla was born from darkness. It craved the weak and destructible and fed off emotion and happiness. It thrived on nightmares and relished the suffering from the inconsolable terrors of its victims’ minds. So many had attempted to destroy it, to vanquish it from the realm of the living. But none had succeeded.
Maeve startled as words appeared before her on the page in an inky, flowing script.
Only one has ever triumphedover the Hagla. Only one has ever been able to send the shadows back into the deep depths of the earth from which they were born. Maeve Ruhdneah, High Princess of the Autumn Court, the Dawnbringer, and her sword of sunlight.
She shovedthe book away from her.
How in the seven hells was such a thing possible?
“Magic,” a rich voice sounded from behind her.
Maeve jumped out of her seat and whipped around to see Tiernan standing there. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his slate gray pants and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled to his elbows, revealing inches of marvelously tanned skin and golden tattoos.
