She spun toward the feminine voice calling her name, and her heart shuddered. Saoirse was sprinting her direction, her silver braid whipping in the breeze behind her, as a single purple petal fell from the flower tucked behind her ear. Just beyond her, his steps slow and measured, his presence as stoic as ever, was Lir.
“Saoirse.” Maeve loosed a shaky breath. “Lir.”
Throwing out both of her arms, a laugh broke from inside her when Saoirse lifted her into an embrace, spinning once.
“Thank the gods, you’re alive.” Saoirse set her down, then planted a kiss on each of her cheeks.
Maeve squeezed her hands once and turned to the commander. The one sworn to protect her from anything and anyone, no matter the cost.
“Lir.” She looked up into his face, biting her bottom lip to keep it from trembling. One silver eye gazed back at her, and where the other should’ve been, there was now a small golden tattoo of a sun marking his deep, umber skin.
“Oh, Lir.” Maeve choked on his name and launched herself into his arms. “I’m so sorry.”
He caught her without stumbling and held tight. Unbidden tears pooled at the corner of her eyes, and again her heart wrenched with guilt.
“Don’t cry, little bird.” Lir smoothed a hand down the back of her tangled hair. “I’m doing much better.”
“All thanks to our Brynn,” Saoirse added, throwing an arm around the healer’s shoulders. “Your talent is incomparable.”
“Speaking of incomparable abilities…” Rowan edged forward, tucking his hands into the pockets of his black armor. “Maeve suffered a wound to her back, but it will not heal unless we can get that iron collar off her neck. Brynn, can you help her?”
Brynn’s eyes widened in shock. “Yes. Yes, of course.”
She opened her palm and a leather sack full of supplies appeared in her hand. Peering at the cuff wrapped around Maeve’s throat, she carefully guided Maeve to the ground. “Have a seat, my lady. This might take a minute.”
Maeve lowered herself onto the paved stones of the courtyard, crossing her legs beneath her. Brynn knelt downbeside her and opened her satchel. She pulled out a jar of salve, an assortment of ointments, and two instruments that caused Maeve’s stomach to turn. One resembled a pair of pliers from the human lands, the other looked like a pair of serrated shears.
“Don’t worry, I know it looks intimidating.” Brynn produced a mortar and pestle from the seemingly endless bag of supplies. “But I’ve removed iron from many fae. I promise you’re in good hands.”
Of that, Maeve had no doubt, but it didn’t make her any less queasy.
She watched in silence as Brynn unsheathed one of the daggers from the band at her waist. With a quick flick of her wrist, the blade sliced cleanly across her open palm, splitting the skin.
Maeve flinched. “What are you doing?”
“Sometimes…” Brynn fisted her hand and collected the tiny drops of crimson in the stone mortar. “Blood magic is required, especially when the iron is tainted.”
Swallowing the lump of anxiety lodged in the back of her throat, Maeve nodded as Brynn continued to add a mix of herbs to the mortar. She uncorked some thick liquid substance that reeked of sulphur, and poured it in as well, then ground all of it together with the pestle.
Lir moved closer, his long shadow falling across Maeve. She glanced up at him, but he wasn’t looking at her. He scanned the courtyard instead.
She didn’t miss the distinctive way his mouth hardened into a firm line before he asked, “Did the High King not yet return?”
“No.” Merrick’s voice dripped with disdain. “Someone saw fit to leave him behind.”
Lir’s voice dropped an octave. “What?”
Ceridwen stormed forward in a flurry of rosy satin and ribbons. She barely came to Merrick’s chin, but that didn’t stopher from cutting the esteemed hunter down with a menacing glare. “That’s not fair.”
“What do you mean, it’s not fair?” Merrick’s cerulean eyes burned bright, and he pointed an accusing finger in Rowan’s direction. “He abandoned your brother?—”
“And saved our queen!”
“For himself!” he roared.
“For all of us!” Ceridwen fired back, and a strand of raging tension snapped between them.
“Easy, you two. Quarrel some other time.” Saoirse positioned herself between them both in an attempt to quell the rising tempers. Though given her stance, she looked perfectly ready to protect Ceridwen and pummel Merrick to a pulp.
