Page 80 of Throne of Dreams
Until he stopped moving completely and jerked his head toward the entrance of the lagoon. “My lady.”
Maeve sucked in a few gulps of the sea-tainted breeze and looked to where he nodded. On the outskirts of the cove stood Ceridwen.
She wore a gown of ruby to match her lips and golden suns were pinned to the silk pooling around her shoulders. She stepped forward and though her smile was bright, her eyes darted between Maeve and Lir and nervous energy crackled between them.
She clasped her hands in front of her. “I thought you might be here.”
Maeve wiped her brow with the back of her hand. “I took a break from the library.”
“I can tell.” Ceridwen’s smile softened, and this time it reached her eyes. “Watching you train is rather inspiring.”
“Care to pick up a sword and join us, my lady?” Lir asked, the faintest tease in his voice.
“Oh, I could never.” A wicked gleam flickered in Ceridwen’s eyes, and she gestured to the belt of jeweled daggers wrapped around her waist. “You know I prefer to be more…up close and personal.”
Lir barked out a laugh. It was rough, but genuine.
Maeve’s gaze dropped to where the High Princess fidgeted with the beading trimming her gown. “What is it, Ceridwen? It’s not like you to be so uncertain.”
Her dusky eyes slid to Lir once more, but the fae commander gave nothing away. “Are you coming to the welcome party tonight?”
Ah. So, Tiernan sent his twin to do his dirty work for him. Such a typically male thing to do. Maeve peered up at the hole gaping through the ceiling of the cove, where the sky was already painting itself in shades of magenta, teal, and periwinkle. She sheathed her sword, calming the flames. Then she piled her curls on top of her head, twisting them into a messy, lopsided bun. Tiny hairs clung to her damp skin. It wouldn’t take her long to freshen up and show face at the Sunatalis celebration, but she much preferred to make Tiernan squirm.
“No.” She inspected her nails, thinking maybe she’d venture into the Pleasure District for a proper manicure. “I don’t think so.”
Ceridwen waited, but when Maeve offered no further explanation, she asked, “Did something happen?”
“You could say that.”
Her gaze narrowed. “Was it Tiernan?”
“Isn’t it always?” An uncomfortable twinge of guilt harbored inside the heaving walls of Maeve’s chest. It wasn’t Ceridwen’s fault her brother was a dick.
“He wants you to be there,” Ceridwen urged, casting a glance toward where the palace waited just beyond the glamoured cove. “They’ll be asking about you.”
“Let them ask.” Maeve would not be swayed to act like nothing happened, to carry on like she hadn’t walked in on him with another female wrapped around him. “Perhaps the High King should’ve thought about that before he invited Ciara into his bedroom.”
Color flared up Ceridwen’s neck and bled into her cheeks. “He didn’t…”
“He did.” Maeve called on her magic, summoned the gentle lapping waves of the lagoon, and created a new sword, one that mimicked the sleek, curved blades of Lir’s scimitar. Hers, however, had a hilt of gold and a blade the color of the Lismore Marin. “You can tell the High King I’ll make an appearance at the ball tomorrow night. But I will not be by his side, and I won’t partake in any other…festivities.”
The explicit meaning was implied, and Ceridwen ducked her head at the same time Lir blew out a low, calculating whistle.
Ceridwen nodded, resigned. “I understand.” Without another word, shefadedout of the glamoured cove.
Maeve eyed the sword she’d created. The one made from sea foam, crystalline waters, and magic. The one she would gift to Queen Marella of Ispomora as a means of protection against Garvan. She held it, turned it over in her hands, ran two fingers along the smooth, flat edge of the blade. Perhaps she would create more weapons. Enough to outfit all of Summer’s warriors. Enough to destroy Fearghal.
Lir returned his swords to their sheaths and strode over to her. “What’s on your mind, my lady?”
“I figured out how to defeat the Scathing,” the words tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop them.
He stumbled. The poised, steel-faced Commander of the Summer Legion actually tripped over his own two feet. “Have you told the High King?”
She cut him down with a look. “I tried.”
She knew the second he pieced it all together. A scowl formed across his brow and the corners of his mouth pinched in displeasure. “You were going to tell him when you caught the High Queen of Winter in his room.”
Not exactly a question but Maeve appreciated his bluntness. “Yeah.”
