Page 45 of Realm of Nightmares
Because it didn’t matter if the Dawnbringer and Nightweaver had sacrificed their bond to start a new world, her soul was her own. And she’d given all of it, along with every piece of her, to someone else.
A distinctive splash caught her attention and Maeve glanced out over the sea just as the merrow queen surfaced.
Inky hair spilled around her shoulders, and moonlit waves lapped at her waist where bits of coral and pearl encrusted her upper body. Her bluish lips pulled back into a slightly terrifying smile, revealing a row of tiny, pointy teeth. Glossy black eyes gazed at them, glancing back and forth between her and Rowan without blinking.
Maeve had almost forgotten how unnerving it was to be in Queen Marella’s presence.
“Nightweaver.” She inclined her head, her voice husky and thick with the trace of the ocean. Her watery, glowing eyes latched onto Maeve. “Dawnbringer.”
Rowan strode toward the water’s edge. Gentle waves licked his boots and splashed at the hem of his pants. “Queen Marella, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”
“I have something for you, my lord.” She lifted her arm from the water, her skin glistening as she opened the palm of her webbed hand, and the Astralstone appeared. Its hilt was wrapped in sleek black leather and the blade was nightfall, stars, and galaxies incarnate—a rainbow of midnight. She held it out to him. “I think this belongs to you.”
Rowan accepted it, carefully turning it over in his hands. Power emanated from him, and Maeve stumbled back a step. The Astralstone pulsed with incandescent shadows before he sheathed it at his waist. A twinge of familiarity needled its way through her at the sight of the dagger.
“Your gift is much appreciated, Your Grace.”
Queen Marella dipped her head in acknowledgement. “I only wish I could deliver it under better circumstances.”
“What do you mean?” Concern lined Rowan’s brow, and the wind picked up from off the coast, the gusting of it so cold and brutal it stole Maeve’s breath.
She moved closer to Rowan. If the merrow queen had any sort of news, she wanted to hear it, too.
Queen Marella’s round, mirthless eyes focused on Maeve. “I’m afraid the situation in Faeven has become dire.”
Dire? Trepidation caused Maeve’s throat to close. Her fingers curled into fists so that her nails bit into the skin of her palms. She stepped through the shifting sand, moving closer toward the water, but Rowan’s hand shot out, blocking her from venturing any further.
“Dire?” he repeated the word smoothly. “How so?”
Marella glanced out over the horizon behind her, where storm clouds gathered and darkness brewed. “Rumors of the sea claim the land is dying.”
“Dying?” Maeve’s voice cracked and Rowan gripped her shoulder. “What’s happened?”
“The cause of it remains unknown.” The merrow queen sank lower into the water as the waves tumbled against the shore, growing in power. “Some claim it’s the work of Parisa.”
Parisa.
Maeve shuddered, bracing herself against the wind barreling into them. It cut through her sweater, chilling her bones, tangling her hair, and pulling it loose from the braid. Another shiver coursed down her spine, and she clamped her jaw tight to keep her teeth from chattering.
Thunder cracked in the distance, and Maeve’s heart lurched.
“We should return to the House of Death.” Rowan’s gaze was focused on the horizon, where an incoming storm lashed the seas and lightning cracked open the skies. “Thank you for the information, Your Grace.”
“Fair winds, Nightweaver.” Queen Marella’s eyes slid to Maeve and she blinked once, slowly. “Dawnbringer.”
Then she disappeared beneath the surface as an angry wave slashed against the shore, smothering the glimmering sands beneath a wash of frothy foam.
Maeve and Rowan trudged back to where themabvstaliswaited impatiently, tossing their heads so their manes of silver fire glowed even brighter. They snorted, stomping their hooves, as though they too were eager to return to the safety of the House of Death.
Once mounted on the backs of themabvstalis, they set off back the way they came. Except now the storm was catching up to them. Bitter wind slammed into them from behind, and Maeve curled into herself against the onslaught, her sweater offering her no more warmth than a scrap of silk. Icy sheets of rain slanted down from the darkening heavens, soaking them, plastering strands of Maeve’s hair to her cheeks and neck. She blinked, swiping at the fat raindrops clinging to her lashes and forehead. The forest of clouds that had once been circulating near the peaks of the mountains drifted down, settling around them like a blanket of fog.
It was thick, so dense Maeve found herself squinting, unable to see more than a few feet in front of her. Each step themabvstalistook was intentional and resolute, yet Maeve detected the faintest trace of caution. The untethered steed who had so freely gallivanted across a flowering field was now the epitome of its name, a true death stallion. Every sound caused its vigilant ears to twitch, every play of shadow drew its keen, opaque gaze.
Maeve twisted the reins over the back of her hand, then under her palm, tightening her grip.
The wind howled and the trees trembled. Leaves scattered, falling to the earth in a sodden mess, and another crack of thunder echoed, the sound of it like two mountains colliding.
More terrifying, however, was the harrowing yowl that followed, piercing through the shrieking wind, and striking a bolt of fear straight into Maeve’s heart.
