Chapter One
Maeve’s blood burned, hot and acidic, like all the fires from the innermost circle of hell. Every breath was sharp, a piercing inhale that left her lungs raw and scalded her throat. Magic coursed through her veins, filling her with the desire to seek, defend, and destroy. Impatience gnawed at her, scraping the corners of her mind.
Only hours had passed since her return to Faeven, but she could no longer stand on this balcony and be idle.
She had to do something. She had to save him.
Tiernan Velless. The High King of Summer. Hersirra.
Lir had told her as much, tried his damnedest to remind her of who she was, of her life before the Ether. But Lir was only one person, a glimpse of her past, and the stories he told weren’t enough to revive the memories lost to her.
But Tiernan…he lived in her soul. She could feel him, she could hear his voice throughout her dreams and every waking hour, calling to her. Asking her to remember. His face was a blur, a smear of colors washed away by spilled ink.
Her hands coiled around the smooth stone railing, tightening until her knuckles were white, and her fingers ached. She glanced down, her gaze snagging on the ring she wore. Theround stone shone back at her, twinkling in the sunlight, reflecting the deepest shades of blue and violet. Mounted in a setting shaped like the sun, its dazzling beauty was a harsh reminder of all she stood to lose.
Maeve took a breath, inhaling the sweet scent of plumeria surrounding her.
But something was missing.
Hewas missing.
The witch thread on her wrist, the mark of twin mountain peaks with a star bursting between them, scalded her skin. Aching. She clamped her hand over it, then squeezed her eyes shut.
Harsh, tormenting images entered her mind’s eye with ruthless clarity.
She saw them. Tiernan and the one named Merrick. Dark splotches of crimson muddled their filthy clothing. Hair matted with dried blood clung to their swollen and bruised faces. Both of them were on their knees, their limbs chained in the metal teeth of iron. A gathering of trooping fae stood around them, and one in particular captured Maeve’s attention. He was eerily tall. Gangly. Unsightly. The leader.
He was speaking to Tiernan and Merrick, but his words were too distorted for Maeve to understand, the distance between them making it nearly impossible to interpret.
The leader jerked his head and another fae stalked up. He swung his leg back, then kicked Merrick hard in the chest. He toppled over, unable to catch himself with his wrists bound behind his back. The cracking of his ribs echoed off the mountains sloping up behind them.
Maeve ignited. Her magic churned, combusting with an all-consuming rage that threatened to sear through her like an inferno.
The image only intensified as the one she thought to be the leader loomed over Tiernan.
No.
The leader’s boot collided with the underside of Tiernan’s jaw. His head snapped back, blood spilling from his mouth, splattering over the sodden ground. He rocked backward, but regained his balance, and glared up at the bastard who struck him with a pair of piercing twilight eyes.
Maeve hissed. She seethed. She roared.
In a fury, her wings tore from her back, the dense scent of magic coating the air. So thick it was almost suffocating. Her power swelled in a riot of flames. She would aim for the western mountains, where the land seemed covered in a haze of fog, obscured from the light of day. She would follow the witch thread to him, to them both, and she would destroy anyone who stood in her way.
Spreading her wings, she prepared to launch into the skies.
“Maeve!” a familiar male voice called from behind her.
She spun, chest heaving, and found Lir bursting through the door behind her. He hesitated, one hand lifting as though to reach for her, the other holding on tightly to the door.
He watched her. Gauged her. “Wait.”
“I have waited long enough. I have waited while everything was stolen from me. My memories. My life. The very air I need to breathe.” Her mate, but those words were a whisper through her heart. “I am going to take back what ismine. I will not rest until he is returned to me.”
This time, Lir moved toward her. “My lady, you cannot?—”
“I can.” She spread her arms wide. “And I will.”
Glamour coated her as aubergine leather armor embellished with rose gold stitching in the form of vine-like roses fused to her body. Fastened to her thigh, her Aurastone glowed like the brightest dawn. Wind billowed around her, pulling her hair backand plaiting it into a braid held in place by ribbon. She opened one hand and a sword appeared. The hilt was gold, comfortable against her palm. Its blade was incandescent, engulfed by radiant beams of sunlight. The weapon was familiar to her, a part of her, one she’d wielded multiple times over. Not once had it failed her.
