“We all do what we must.” She loosed a shallow breath, twisting her fingers together in her lap. “Especially in times of uncertainty.”
He nodded once. “If you require anything for your next attempt, let me know.”
“I will.”
He debated on bringing up the journal he’d seen on her desk but decided against it. She already bore the weary signs of exhaustion.
Another time, perhaps.
With that, he took his leave, walking through the corridors of his palace to calm his thoughts.
Tiernan reached for hissirra. “Maeve.”
He waited.
But there was no response.
* * *
Maeve couldn’t remember ever attendinga theater before.
She wasn’t even sure what she should wear, but after her encounter with Aed and Laurel, she deemed a corset and leggings highly inappropriate. Following her brief trip into the lingerie shop, where she bought a black silk nightgown, she discovered a clothier and purchased the first dress she found that suited her needs—formal, but not too extravagant.
The gown, though simple, was sumptuous. Made of silver satin, it moved around her like liquid smoke. The front cut down deep in the center, all the way to her navel, and a starburst of tiny gray pearls dotted the hem. The gown was sleeveless and sleek, not quite warm enough for the chill in the air, so she grabbed a cloak as well. It billowed around her like shadows of the night.
She’d even applied kohl to her eyes and painted her lips a shade reminiscent of the dark red center of thecoghlahblooms she’d seen during her one trip to the Winter Court. Before she left, she tucked her Aurastone safely away in a sheath strapped to her thigh, then glamoured it invisible.
Maeve could only hope her appearance would be suitable.
It didn’t take long to find the theater, and she arrived right at sunset, though such a thing didn’t really exist in the Ether. The sky was always ominous, veiled with clouds or the threat of more rain.
Sucking a breath, she walked into the theater and couldn’t help the gasp that escaped her.
The inside was dark and decadent. Pristine pearl-gray marble floors stretched out before her, leading to twin staircases that curved upward on either side of the room. The walls were papered black, embossed with the outline of nightshade florals and serpentine lines. Vases of crushed glass held overflowing bouquets of ivory flowers and dangling from the center of the room was a breathtaking chandelier. Twisted silver in the shape of branches and oak leaves spread out like a canopy overhead, while the midnight ceiling reflected tiny bursts of faerie fire that twinkled like stars.
Though her outfit blended in seamlessly with everyone else who roamed about the theater, a sliver of discomfort crept over her. Every set of eyes focused on her, scrutinizing her. Souls whose fates had not yet been decided, otherworldly beings, and immortals of all kinds. It made no difference. They all looked at her as though they knew she was not like them, like they could sense she didn’t belong in this place.
A swath of decadent shadows appeared before her and from them stepped the god of death, with Laurel on his arm. Aed was magnificent as always—his silvery-white hair hung loose around his shoulders, the tips blackened like they’d been dipped in ink. His suit was the color of storm clouds, excessive and elaborate, with a blossom of belladonna pinned to his lapel. Laurel was just as lovely as before, wearing a gown in a bewitching shade of violet overlaid with black lace. Her long nails were painted to match, her lips a hue of deep purple. But it was Maeve who Aed watched and when his silver eyes swirled with appreciation, she flushed in spite of herself.
“Your Grace. I must say, you look absolutely captivating.” He bowed and she curtsied in kind. “Don’t you agree, Nightweaver?”
Maeve’s breath left her in a rush, and she turned around.
Standing behind her, as though made from shadows and darkness, was Rowan. He adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves where gems of smoky quartz winked back at her. The tip of one scar was just visible from beneath the collar of his shirt and hair swept over one half of his face.
He stared at her, his eyes saying more than he could ever convey.
“Nightweaver.” Aed cleared his throat with an intentional cough. “I asked you a question.”
“You’re drooling,” Laurel said with a snort. “At least act like you’ve seen something enchanting before.”
Rowan shot Laurel a scowl, then gently grabbed Maeve’s hand, brushing the faintest of kisses across her knuckles. His words were a whisper meant solely for her. “You’re moonbeams and stardust. The beauty of the night.”
A twinge twisted low in her belly. Not quite butterflies, but something that left her conflicted. Her emotions were a torrent, a tidal wave of uncertainty and doubt. His compliment both pleased and tormented her. It was a sensation she couldn’t discern. He released her hand, and she twisted the ring—the promise—on her finger.
Maeve and Rowan fell in line behind Aed and Laurel, following them up the iridescent gray staircase. Again, she couldn’t shake the feeling that everyone was watching her.
She stepped a bit closer to Rowan, keeping her voice low. “Why is everyone staring at me?”
