Page 91 of Throne of Dreams
“Me,” Maeve repeated weakly.
He nodded. “You have…certain abilities that others lack.”
Abilities. Like giving life and bringing souls back from the dead. Creating magic. “Do you speak of Balor, Tethra, and Dian?”
His shoulders shifted, nonchalant. “Among others.”
“But I haven’t used that kind of magic on anyone else.” Maeve shivered as the cold of Autumn sank into her. “I haven’t brought any other beings back to life. Not since the Furies.”
“Not yet,” Casimir countered.
The fox sniffed at a fallen leaf and bounded off, chasing another one as it fell from a branch. Casimir’s brow quirked in question, but he said nothing.
“Will they fight for me, Casimir?” She strode up to him then, as close as she dared. “Balor, Tethra, and Dian?”
“They will.”
“And who else?” Because there was no way in hell she would work with Queen Ciara.
“Those who roam the skies among the storms. Those who foretell of battles and strife.” He placed one hand on her shoulder. Firm. “The eternal warriors of the night.”
Maeve had never heard of them, but as soon as she returned to Summer, if she could figure out how to get back, she would go directly to the library and find out all she could about these supposed eternal warriors.
The temperature was dropping, and she clamped her hands together to keep from shivering.
“And what about you?” Goosebumps riddled her flesh. “When the time comes, whose side will you stand on?”
He looked at her, and those eyes she’d memorized since she was a child still glinted with the strength of a battle-hardened warrior. “I will fight for those who cannot fight for themselves.”
She nodded. It was enough for her. It would have to be, for now.
Maeve shuddered and her teeth chattered in the chilling breeze.
Casimir shifted his weight from one foot to the other as his gaze scanned the forest. “You should go.”
She gave him a half of a smile. “I don’t know how.”
“Call upon your magic, Maeve. Picture where you want to be in your mind.” He did not share her smile. “See it. Take it. And you’ll go.”
“Okay.” She summoned her magic, imagining the Summer Court. She recalled its warmth, its beauty, its tantalizing scent.
“I’ll see you again, Maeve.” He stepped away from her. “When the stars align.”
“Until then.” She lifted her chin as the rise of magic crowded around her, ready to sweep her away.
* * *
Tiernan struggled to remain calm.Maeve hadfadedright before his eyes, and he hadn’t been able to help her. He’d waited in the corridor, praying to the heavens she’d return, but seconds had ticked by into minutes, and still there’d been no sign of her.
Then he’d felt it.
The pulse she sent him through the necklace she wore. Wherever she was, she was safe…for now. But she could be anywhere. On theAmshirwith Aran. Or lost in another area of the Four Courts. Or even Kells.
His gut seized. He didn’t want to imagine her back there, in that mortal shithole of a realm. Unless she’d gone to Saoirse…
No. He wouldn’t think of it. She was alive and unharmed, and those were the only two things that mattered. Her necklace would alert him if something happened, or if she was in danger, so he forced himself to return to the party. To save face. He knew everyone in attendance would be watching and wondering why she hadn’t returned with him. There’d been no mistaking the might of his storm. Anyone with half a brain would know they’d argued and that he’d been on the losing end.
He strolled back into the ballroom, completely aware of the way gazes shifted and whispers floated past him. Tucking his hands into the pockets of his pants, he radiated cool composure and unequivocal indifference. He was the fucking High King of Summer. He was never flustered or thrown into a state of frenzy, even if he was, at the moment, mildly panicked. Climbing the steps of the dais, he headed straight for Merrick.
