“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
Tiernan pulled her into him, inhaling deeply, then together theyfadedback to the courtyard.
But there would be no time for a joyous reunion, not when Parisa was ready to ravage the Four Courts. Not when the dark fae were teeming with insatiable bloodlust.
Casimir had returned as well, though he looked more exhausted and worn than Maeve had ever seen him. He lounged against a palm tree as Brynn tended to some of his wounds. Ceridwen stood nearby, her features icy, likely still furious at Merrick. Lir was speaking with Saoirse, whose blue eyes were once again shooting daggers at Casimir. And the Furies shifted and swarmed like clouds of impending doom.
Tiernan approached Rowan first. He said nothing, merely clamped a strong hand on his shoulder, and nodded once.Rowan bowed slightly as a look of understanding passed between them.
Rowan had told the truth. Despite the accusations Merrick had made against him, he’d done exactly as Tiernan had directed, without hesitation.
Maeve pressed her lips together, and an odd twinge tugged on her heart.
Merrick strode up to Tiernan, his smile brief and fleeting. He bowed stiffly before both of them. “I’ve been in touch with High Queen Ciara and High King Dorian, as you requested, my lord. They are aware of our plans to move quickly into the Spring Court and will offer all of their support.”
Tiernan nodded, giving Maeve’s hand a light squeeze. She laced their fingers together tightly.
“Parisa dropped the veil of dark magic she was using to shroud the Spring Court.” Tiernan glanced over at Maeve, then addressed everyone. “But I have no doubt she won’t hold true to her word much longer.”
If that was the case, they would need to protect Niahvess.
“Tethra and Dian will secure Summer’s borders,” Maeve announced, nodding toward two of the Furies.
They bowed in unison. “Yes, my queen.”
“Balor.” She motioned for him to come forward. The Fury glided closer, and the air around them cooled. His glowing eyes illuminated the hollowed skeleton of his face. “Welcome home. I offer you my deepest appreciation for all you’ve done for myself and my family.”
He dipped his head, and threads of darkness unfurled around him. “It was my honor, my queen.”
Maeve looked toward the western sky, to where the fates of all those she loved would be determined. “If we don’t attack her first, she’ll come for us.”
She didn’t want to think about the ruination Parisa would wreak upon Niahvess. That bitch of a fae would destroy all that was good and beautiful. She would slaughter, wreck, and ruin. Maeve would not stand for it. She would not see her city fall to the likes of such vile magic, nor would she allow her people to suffer at the hands of a heinous monster.
Tiernan lifted their joined hands and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “The decision is yours,astora.”
She blinked and shook her head. “Mine?”
“You are just as much a part of this Court, as it is a part of you.”
Maeve glanced around the courtyard, looking into the eyes of her friends. Of her family. A familiar sensation clutched at her, and the boulders of guilt piled upon her once more. This was no easy feat, no selfless task. Whatever choice she made, their blood would be on her hands.
Parisa would know they were coming to deliver defeat.
She turned to Tiernan, gripping his hand. “Together?”
His eyes swept through her soul as he said, “Together.”
Maeve lifted her chin, and the cold hand of fear caressed her mottled neck. “Send word to all three legions of Faeven, we move into position tonight.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Niahvess descended into a kind of organized chaos. Tiernan watched as groups of warriors bustled back and forth across the courtyard, hauling packs of supplies and bundles of weapons. The siphoning devices to withdraw the venom Parisa created were distributed among the ranks. Swords with nightshade-dipped blades were sharpened and ready, shields gleaming with the Summer Court’s crest lined the far stone wall, and there was nothing but an ocean of cobalt and gold armor as far as the eye could see.
The archers were all armed with iron-tipped arrows. Lethal and deadly, they were strong enough to vanquish a dark fae with one well-aimed mark. Brynn inspected the archers, sweeping across the courtyard in long strides. Every so often she paused to disperse a jar of salve or ointment to the healers who were sorting their arsenal of medicinal wares.
Ceridwen stood like a beacon through the trenches of warfare preparation. Her hair was twisted back into a snug plait and bound with golden ribbons. Though she was silent, she tracked every move, carefully watching each warrior’s expression. Any time there was a shift in demeanor—a spark of worry or apprehension—the gentle rush of her magic infiltrated thecourtyard, soothing nerves and calming minds. There was one in particular, however, she seemed intent on excluding.
Every so often, she sent a scathing look of reproach in Merrick’s direction, undoubtedly still pissed at the hunter from their earlier quarrel. But Merrick was no fool. He didn’t dare meet her gaze in return, carefully avoiding any eye contact, while pretending to peruse the battle map Aran had given them.
