Page 85 of Realm of Nightmares
“I might.” Laurel’s full lips pressed together, then quirked to the side. “I’ll see what information I can find. And you’re certain you haven’t had any bizarre dreams or nightmares recently?”
“No.” Maeve kept her voice calm. Even. “Nothing.”
She wasn’t about to let Laurel be privy to that sort of information. The fae didn’t need to know that Maeve had dreams involving death and drowning, or that she woke up drenched in sweat, overwhelmed by a heart-crushing sense of dread. She didn’t want to tell Laurel she’d been startled awake in the middle of the night by the frightening image of a river of blood, so real Maeve could still smell the metallic tang of it long after she showered. Those sorts of imaginings were bound to draw suspicions, and right now, Maeve needed to be as innocuous as possible. The less attention she drew to herself, the easier it would be to head to Diamarvh without alerting Aed to her whereabouts.
Laurel arched one singular brow, pointed and high. Disbelief hardened her eyes and doubt tweaked the corners of her lips.
She didn’t believe Maeve at all. Not in the slightest.
“All right,” she spoke slowly. Precisely. Dropping into her seat, she gestured to the chair next to her. “First things first. You’re taking someone with you, right?”
Maeve sat in the offered chair, pressing her back into its wooden surface. “I planned to go alone.”
“A fool’s errand,” Laurel spat with a scowl, then recovered quickly. “But one I somewhat understand.”
The barest of smiles graced Maeve’s lips. It wouldn’t be easy for the fae to remember she had to hold herself in check in Maeve’s presence. And though there was no doubt in her mind she’d experience some sort of immense satisfaction, Maeve would regret having to stay true to her word. Splitting open the realms just to rid the world of a seemingly bitchy fae seemed like an awful waste of time, magic, and energy.
Laurel glamoured a piece of parchment and ink, then with hurried lines she started to draw. It was a rough sketch, nothing like the beautiful maps she'd seen before, but it was legible. Detailed and accurate. Inky outlines against the cream parchment depicted mountains, a vague footpath, and the edge of some dark, dangerous woods.
“I have a feeling I’m going to regret this,” Laurel muttered, angling the map against the table so Maeve could see it, too.
“Let’s hope not.” Maeve looked up and met the fae’s dark, glittering gaze. “But if I go down, at least I know it won’t be long until you join me.”
Laurel snorted, casting her eyes to the arched ceiling above them. “Lovely.”
“What?” Maeve feigned innocence. “You don’t want to spend an eternity in the afterlife with me?”
Laurel almost smiled.
Almost.
“Okay, Dawnbringer.” Laurel tapped the map in front of them. “This is how you get to Diamarvh.”
* * *
Tiernan couldn’t feelhis legs.
Every muscle and tendon screamed in agony, an ache that sank deep into his bones. Exhaustion clawed at him so the steps became a trial. His lungs burned with each breath, and a searing pain stabbed into his side any time he attempted to inhale. But he didn’t falter. He didn’t quit. They were so close to Maghmell, so close to the top of that godsforsaken staircase. Heat blazed overhead and sweat poured down his shoulders, back, and abdomen. He shoved his damp hair back from his face and glanced over at Aran.
The High Prince’s brow was furrowed in concentration, his face carved with discomfort. But at least his leg had healed and the heinous wounds on his back were no longer visible. He swiped the back of his hand across his forehead, chest heaving with exertion.
“Almost there,” Tiernan said, nodding to the last few steps.
Aran grunted. “You said that an hour ago.”
“Yes, but now I mean it.” He pointed up ahead. “Look.”
Seven. Seven more smooth stone steps and the entrance to Maghmell would be within sight.
The corner of Aran’s mouth curved into a smile, and he looked over at Tiernan, a challenge gleaming in his eyes. “Race you to the top.”
Tiernan flinched, never one to back down from a dare. He grinned. “On your count.”
“Three.”
He set himself up, fists clenching and unclenching, knees bouncing in anticipation.
“Two,” Aran said, and Tiernan’s blood started to pump faster, ready to win.
