Page 92 of Void of Endings
“Tiernan? What’s wrong?” she asked, turning slowly, mentally preparing herself for whatever monster she would face.
At first, there was nothing but an empty black pit. The gate that had once been skewered into the ground was dragged open, groaning on its slanted hinges. Then she saw them, the disjointed movements and jerky motions of figures she’d come to recognize all too well. A group of poisoned Spring fae stumbled into the arena, each of them armed with simple swords. Even from the distance spanning between them, Maeve could see their glazed, lifeless eyes. Their minds fractured by a venom meant for her, their souls lost forever because she hadn’t been fast enough to save them.
“Sun and sky,” Rowan murmured, his mouth falling open slightly.
Tiernan’s hands slid to her shoulders, squeezing. “They haven’t seen you yet. Don’t move.”
Maeve froze as the drugged fae lurched into one another with no sense of direction. Her hold on the dagger tightened.
“For every ten you kill, I’ll release one of your would-be rescuers.” Parisa’s voice rang out and the fae startled, jolting violently. “Let the games begin!”
A horn blared to life and the fae took off running, straight for her.
“No!” Maeve whipped around, clutching at the front of Tiernan’s armor. “I can’t, I can’t kill them! They’re innocent!”
“If you don’t kill them,” Casimir called to her, his voice tainted with urgency, “they’ll kill you!”
Tiernan grabbed her wrists, pressed a hasty kiss across her knuckles. “Look at me, Maeve.”
She forced herself to meet the intensity of his gaze. Her bottom lip trembled, and his eyes searched through her, all the way to her soul. He stoked the fire dwindling inside her, urging her determination to burn brighter than any star in the sky.
“Just get to ten, Maeve.” He pressed her fingers to his lips. “Ten and she’ll free one of us to help you.”
Tiernan released her, taking ahold of her shoulders, and forcing her to turn away from him. She swallowed the rise of panic as the fae charged across the arena toward her with their weapons drawn. Her heart pounded against the constricted wall of her chest, her blood pumped vigorously despite the iron locking down her magic.
“Stay focused,” Tiernan whispered, his words dancing past her ear. He kept one firm hand on her shoulder. “You are awarrior. See every movement in your mind’s eye. Do not falter. Do not hesitate.”
She nodded.
The fae were closing in on her. She could almost count the heartbeats until they were face-to-face. Their soulless eyes were wild with a ravenous kind of hunger, a desire to kill. But Maeve knew she wasn’t fighting them. No. This was a fight with Parisa. She was the one who ruined them, who left them with no choice but to think killing was their only way to survive. So long as Maeve stayed one move ahead of Parisa, she would win.
“Now, astora!”Tiernan’s voice crashed into her thoughts.“Go, now!”
Maeve ran.
She sprinted across the small thatch of grass toward Rowan’s cage. Energy pumped through her, fired through her, as she tore across the arena.
Seven of the fae followed her, their convulsive movements jarring and unnatural.
Wind slapped at her face, stinging her cheeks. “Rowan!”
Maeve jerked her head toward the roof of his cage, praying to the goddess he understood her intent. Legs pumping, chest heaving, she clamped the hilt of the dagger between her teeth and bit down.
Rowan darted toward the backside of his cage and crouched low. He shoved his arms between the bars, cupping his hands together to form a base.
Maeve jumped, stepping up into Rowan’s open hands. He grabbed her foot, securing it in his hold, and heaved her upward. A second later, she was in the air, her jaw clenched tightly around the hilt of her dagger. She caught the edge of the boards covering Rowan’s cage, the tips of her fingers grappling with the damp wooden surface for leverage. Hauling herself up, she pulled her dagger from her mouth, then wrapped each finger snugly around its hilt.
Do not falter.
Do not hesitate.
A warrior’s cry tore from her lungs and she launched herself into the mob of mindless fae. Most of them scrambled to get out of her way, the ones who didn’t met their end.
Mid-leap, Maeve swung her arm out, curving up into a devastating arc. Lightning splintered across the stormy skies as her blade ripped through the throats of two fae. The leaden thump of their lifeless bodies dropping to the ground was nothing compared to the deafening crack of her fist slamming into the earth as she landed. The ground beneath her shuddered. Her magic hovered beyond her reach, clawing at the cold iron clamped firmly around her neck, stifling her. Hindering her. Maeve’s head snapped up, and she speared the next fae who rushed for her, slicing from his navel to his sternum. Blood pooled across the front of his shirt, staining it a dark red, and his eyes rolled back into his head before he toppled over.
Three.
She lurched into a standing position and spun into the next attack, taking out a female who stumbled into her dagger. The remaining fae attempted to surround her. But even if some of these fae were seasoned in combat, they would fail against the likes of her. Maeve was born with the blood of a warrior. Carman had tossed her aside like a worthless toy, and it was Casimir who forged her into a weapon of reckoning. Those strengths, those innate qualities, those instinctive skills had only amplified once Fearghal had removed those godsforsaken cuffs.
