Page 33 of Realm of Nightmares
“Is that not the sort of vows you make, summoner? I’ve heard the stories. I know the price you force others to pay for your services.” Tiernan snared her off the ground, his fist curling into her hair as her feet dangled, kicking at nothing.
Her wails grew louder.
“Do not think me a fool to your ways, summoner.” He jerked her head back and she shrieked. “It would be far too easy to end you right now.”
“P-please!” She clawed at his wrist. Her efforts were useless. She was nothing against him.
“Answer me,” he growled.
“I can’t!” Her voice pitched.
“You can’twhat?”
“I can’t summon him.” Her dark brown gaze sparked with fear. “The god of death answers to no one, except…”
“Except who?” He demanded.
She gasped, wincing as he gave her hair another painful tug. “Except the goddess of life. To her, he will always respond.”
Tiernan dropped the summoner, and she scampered away from him, burying her face in the folds of her rumpled gown.
Danua.
The goddess of life.
He clenched his knuckles twice for good measure. Gradually, the storm ebbed and his mind cleared.
If Danua could summon Aed, then Tiernan could have an audience with him and demand Maeve’s return. Especially if he could sway Danua to his side. Maeve possessed her soul, after all. Certainly, Danua would want to see Maeve returned to Faeven.
A hand fell on his shoulder, jarring him from his thoughts.
“My lord?” Merrick asked, placing a small sack of coin on the counter, payment for the inflicted damages.
Tiernan faced his commander and his hunter. He knew what had to be done, the price that needed to be paid.
“I must go to Maghmell.”
ChapterEleven
Maeve couldn’t remember how she ended up at the House of Death.
One moment she was curled up on the ground of a darkened alleyway and in the next, she was lying on a plush bed covered in black satin sheets as a healer tended to her numerous wounds. The fae took her time, slowly peeling away the shredded remnants of her silver gown. She removed the long pieces of silk, all sticky with blood, and tossed them aside. Ointments were spread over some of the deeper lacerations to accelerate the healing process, and heavy magic permeated the air as the fae’s power flowed over and through her.
The healer wiped her hands on her apron, then grabbed a nightgown. “Arms up.”
Maeve obeyed and the healer helped her dress. The nightgown itself was plain, nothing more than soft, ivory cotton with a hem that just grazed the middle of her thighs.
“Now,” she said, tidying the bun at her nape. “Let me see that finger.”
Maeve held out her left hand and tried not to retch at the sight.
Bone was exposed, the visible muscles and tendons hung loose like pieces of thread. Her ring dangled somewhere between her knuckle and the part of her finger that was barely attached to the joint.
“Heavens above,” the healer muttered. “I’m going to need to suture that back on. If we’re lucky, it won’t leave a scar.”
She turned away and started rummaging through her bag of supplies. The healer was petite and plump, with kind eyes and a demeanor reminiscent of a mother or grandmother. While she sorted through the brown leather bag at her feet, muffled voices carried on just outside the bedroom door.
Maeve strained to listen, not at all surprised when she heard Laurel’s sultry voice challenging Aed’s rumbling demands. Their words were indistinct, but every now and then a flare of anger pitched Laurel’s tone. It was unclear what they were discussing, but Maeve had no doubt it had something to do with her.
