Page 44 of Void of Endings
Maeve scrambled across the bed and into his lap. His arms came around her without hesitation while she straddled him, locking her hands tightly around his neck. She buried her faceinto his bare chest, listening for his heartbeat, matching its rhythm, letting his steady breathing guide her.
“The vision?” he asked, his voice rough with sleep.
“Yes.” Maeve clutched him, fearful that if she let go, she’d fall right back into that dreadful dream. “I don’t know how to change it.”
“We’ll find a way. I’ll do whatever I can to help.” Tiernan adjusted his hold on her, drawing her in closer until the warmth of his body surrounded her. “If you’ll let me.”
Maeve nodded, but seeds of doubt had already taken root in the back of her mind. She didn’t think anyone could help her. Not anymore.
Chapter Twelve
Maeve stood in the throne room of Niahvess surrounded by members of Summer, Autumn, and Winter. Two days had passed since her fight with Tiernan, since she’d gone to Kyol on her own and taken Garvan’s life. She’d spent most of them training in an effort to avoid overthinking, but now, with everyone arriving to go over the details of their battle plan, Maeve was alone with her thoughts. She stood off to the side, watching as they greeted one another like old friends, and feeling like somewhat of an outsider. As though she didn’t quite belong.
A large wooden table was placed in the center of the room with enough chairs for everyone in attendance. The sun was just making its ascent into the sky, but there was no excessive spread of delicious food or boisterous laughter to lighten the ever-present weight of tension. It was solemn and morose, much like her mood. To keep herself busy, she fidgeted with the crystal beading of her violet gown while quietly observing all those around her with Cahira dozing at her feet.
Dorian was there with a handful of Autumn guards and Aeralie, who smirked at something Brynn said before kissing her soundly on the lips.
Maeve smiled when Brynn blushed at the adorable display of affection.
There was an interesting air between Ceridwen and Merrick, an awkward tension Maeve couldn’t quite pinpoint. Like an undercurrent of reservation, as though something had happened between them. The stolen glances were painfully obvious, as was the way they stood near one another, yet each refused to acknowledge the other’s existence.
Maeve shook her head, reminding herself to ask Ceridwen about that later. Because right now, she was avoiding all eye contact with Ciara, the bitchy ice queen. But when Maeve caught the eye of Malachy Brannon, a flush spread into her cheeks. She clearly remembered her interaction with the Commander of the Winter Legion. He’d readily danced with her during the Sunatalis celebration, then graciously allowed her to use him as a means of making Tiernan teem with jealousy.
Not her finest hour.
Malachy strode over to her, his eyes glinting. He flashed her a dashing smile before capturing her hand and brushing a light kiss across her knuckles. “My lady, I must say, it is an absolute pleasure to see you again.”
“Commander.” She curtsied, grateful when he released her hand because she could feel the heat of Tiernan’s gaze burning into her back. “It’s good to be home.”
He looked down, his lips lifting at the sight of the sleepingfaolan. “She’s cute.”
“This is Cahira.” At the sound of her name, the wolfling woke, sniffing the air.
Her pale blue gaze latched onto Malachy. She studied him for a moment, as though debating whether or not he posed a threat, then curled back into a ball of white fur.
“Frostfaolanare rare. We have a few in Ashdara, their magic is exceptionally useful.” Malachy inclined his head, lifting onebrow. “If you’re ever interested, I’d be more than willing to help you train her.”
Maeve beamed at the proposition, even though she doubted Tiernan would let her spend any time with the Winter general alone. Even if it was for training. “That’s a lovely offer, Commander. I’ll consider it.”
He nodded, his gaze sliding to his left as Saoirse approached them. Malachy returned to his post at Ciara’s side, though the Winter queen made a show of pretending she hadn’t knownexactlywhere he’d gone.
“Can we talk?” Saoirse jerked her head to a corner of the throne room, out of earshot of everyone else.
“Of course.” Maeve nodded, following her best friend to where their conversation would be more private and not put fully on display for everyone to witness. She was mentally preparing herself to tell Saoirse everything that happened in Kyol, including Garvan’s death and about the book her mother had written, when Saoirse rounded on her.
Saoirse pointed an accusing finger in her direction. “You need to stop this.”
Great.
All Maeve needed was for someone else to tell her how all the events leading up to now were her fault.
“I’m aware.” She rolled her shoulders back, ready to stand her ground. “I don’t need a reminder that the outcome of this war lies heavily on my shoulders.”
“No.” Saoirse’s sapphire eyes darkened. “I mean these disappearing acts. You can’t keep running off to go take care of shit on your own while leaving the rest of us to wonder if you’ll live or die.”
A spark of annoyance simmered low in Maeve’s gut. First Tiernan, now Saoirse. She bristled. “I can take care of myself.”
“That’s not the point,” Saoirse countered, fisting her hands on her hips.
