Page 114 of Void of Endings
Maeve looked around and spied Tiernan off to her right, watching her from a distance. He was dressed in full armor now, with his arms crossed over his chest, his face masking his emotions.
She tilted her head, curious, then cocked one hip to the side. “Lir, why are you telling me all of this and not Tiernan?”
His one silver eye flicked to the High King in question, then back to her. “I report only to my queen.”
Lir bowed again, then strode away, leaving Maeve more confused than ever.
A second later, Tiernan took his place, offering his arm. “It’s getting late. We should try to rest.”
She tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, leaning into him. “Did you tell Lir to report to me?”
“The Commander of the Summer Legion is capable of making his own decisions.” A ghost of a smile played across his lips. “I trust his judgment.”
“Tier,” Maeve chided, swatting at him. “That’s not an answer.”
His response was nothing but a halfhearted shrug meant to silence her as he pulled open the cloth covering the entrance to their tent. A cushioned mattress was already unrolled on the ground and piled with a gray fur blanket and two pillows. Other than that, it was fairly empty, save for some rations of food and a few other necessities. Tiernan stretched out on the makeshift bed, decked in his full armor for convenience. The second his head hit the pillow, he closed his eyes.
“You should come lie down,” he murmured.
“I will,” she whispered back, “in just a moment.”
Tiernan’s breathing had already grown easy and deep. His chest rose and fell in slow succession, and he had one hand tucked behind his head, the other flat over the hilt of one of his swords. War or not, it honestly amazed her he was able to fall asleep so quickly.
If only she could be so lucky.
Though exhaustion tugged at her, she imagined it would be some time before she succumbed to a dreamless sleep again. If ever.
Unable to rest, Maeve slipped out of the tent, back into the chilly night. A handful of guards patrolled the war camp, their gazes vigilant, their faces hardened to chiseled stone. Theynodded to her as she passed. She debated sitting near one of the dying fires when a glint of silver caught her eye.
And a tiny, almost insignificant ember ignited in the shadows.
Maeve stalked over to her closest friend on the other side of the camp.
“Saoirse,” she admonished, her gaze flicking to the tightly rolled papers pinched between her fingers. “I didn’t know you smoked.”
Saoirse was dressed in black and silver leathers, her braid of moonlight bound tightly with a midnight velvet ribbon. Two daggers were strapped to each thigh, and twin swords were sheathed at her waist. She’d lined her startling blue eyes with kohl, so they glittered like orbs of sapphire. A rosy pink orchid with golden tips was tucked behind her ear. Feminine yet lethal, she leaned back against a tree, and gazed up at the cloudy night sky through the overhang of sprawling branches. Taking another long drag, she inhaled, then blew out a puff of smoke. “Only before a fight.”
Maeve propped herself up against the tree beside her.
“Can’t sleep?” Saoirse asked.
“It’s impossible.” She picked at some of the rough bark digging into her back.
Saoirse brought the cigarette up to her lips once more, and the ember at its tip burned bright. “I know.”
Maeve dug the toe of her boot into the soft earth, tracing the shape of a sun. “Do you think we’ll win?”
Saoirse flicked the cigarette to the ground and snuffed it out with her heel. “I think we stand a fair enough chance.”
That wasn’t quite an encouraging response, but Saoirse had never been one to sugarcoat the truth.
“When I was a little girl, my mother would tell me stories about the faeries to the north. Their epic battles always blurredthe lines between history and legend.” Saoirse crossed her arms, angling herself against the tree’s trunk once more. “There was one story in particular that I’ll never forget.”
“Oh?” The only stories Maeve knew of were the ones written in books, the ones she would read while staying awake into the early hours of the morning at the library in Kells. “Which one is that?”
“It was a story about a faerie queen with a human heart. She was valiant. Otherworldly. And loved fearlessly. It was rumored she fought in the deepest part of the ocean, through the darkest of forests, and the pitch of night. Her love for her kingdom was unfailing, and even when she thought all hope was lost, when she was sure her enemy would emerge victorious, her heart continued to beat. Strong and true. Out of love.”
Saoirse pushed off the tree and wandered over to a nearby evergreen bush where a lone orchid bloomed, as though the lifeblood of magic was slowly trying to return to Suvarese. The flower was a brilliant blue, almost an exact match to the color of Saoirse’s eyes.
