It hurt to breathe.
The faint, lingering scent of cinnamon and smoke did nothing to ease his misery.
“Maeve.”
He waited. Only silence answered him.
Gods, he knew this would happen. Their bond could only withstand so much and being separated by entire realms was proving his point. The longer they were apart, the more difficult it was to contact her. Eventually, he worried he wouldn’t be able to reach her at all. This was all his fault. If he hadn’t been so determined to have his revenge, if he hadn’t been so desperate to seek a bargain with a god, then she would still be in Niahvess. With him.
The guilt was nearly as insufferable as the pain.
A gentle knock sounded on his bedroom door and Deirdre cautiously peeked in. “My lord?”
“Come in.” His voice sounded like he’d swallowed a handful of gravel.
“I brought you some toast.” She shuffled in with a platter and carefully set it down on the table by his bed. “And some tea to help with the nausea.”
“Thank you, Deirdre.” He didn’t have the heart to tell her that the sight of food made him want to vomit.
She silently stood by, but not too close, and twisted the white hem of her apron in her hands. Lines, more prominent than before, wrinkled her forehead. Shadows haunted her usually kind eyes, the skin beneath them sagging slightly and rimmed with dark smudges from lack of sleep.
He knew what she wanted. What she was waiting to hear. Her concern for Maeve worsened with each passing day.
Tiernan swore the woman had gone almost completely gray since Maeve was taken to the Ether.
She opened her mouth to speak, but he lifted his hand, silencing her. “I know what you’re going to ask.” He inhaled and his temples throbbed. “No word yet.”
Her face fell, disheartened and broken all at once. Then she straightened, gave a little sniff, and dusted her hands on her skirts. “Do you require anything else, Your Grace?”
There was only one thing he required, and he’d lost her. His lungs seized at the thought. “No, Deirdre. Thank you.”
She left him in his quarters, alone. All he wanted to do was go back to bed and pretend the last three weeks hadn’t happened. But Niahvess needed him. The Spring fae were looking to him for answers. The Furies were restless, lost without their queen. Returning to full health as soon as possible was the only option.
Tiernan reached over and grabbed the teacup, downing the liquid concoction of ginger and peppermint in three gulps.
Gradually, his body relaxed. The upheaval of his gut settled. His bedroom ceased to spin. Relaxation soothed his weary body, calmed his frantic thoughts.
Though he fought to stay awake, his eyes closed, and he succumbed to the call of sleep, to the world of dreams.
* * *
“High King.”
Tiernan turned to face the god of death.
“Why are you here?” Tiernan asked, though he wasn’t entirely sure whereherewas.
Shadows loomed and crawled. There was no sun, but also no night. It was as though they existed within a world of gray watercolors, all smeared and murky. There was no clear definition of anything familiar, just vague outlines of what he assumed to be mountains or trees. A fine rain sprinkled down from the stretch of overcast skies, dampening the air around him. Fog rose from the ground, parting around the god like a curtain. Gloom seemed to thrive here, taking on a life of its own. Even the sparse blades of grass were varying degrees of slate.
“You know why I’m here.” Aed adjusted the cuffs of his shirt, and a cape of black velvet lined with silver satin swirled behind him. “I see no need to explain myself.”
Unease stabbed Tiernan's spine. He rolled his shoulders back, refusing to cower beneath the god’s calculated stare. “You’ve come to take the power of destruction from me.”
Aed nodded once.
He eyed the god, a plan slowly taking form in the back of his mind. “Then you’ll return Maeve?”
Aed’s laughter was low and ominous. “That’s not how this works.”
