She was worried about him.
“Well, then.” Cormac eased back and nodded toward the pen. It scratched along the surface of the parchment, inking letters along in elaborate script. The words Dawnbringer and Nightweaver appeared, entwined together with ink of black and gold. “Shall we begin?”
Maeve sank further into her seat, unable to move. She rubbed her lips together, sending Rowan a hasty glance.
He squeezed her hand, then stood. “I’ll go first.”
Her heart skittered, pounding against the increasing tightness of her chest.
“Close your eyes, Nightweaver.” Cormac’s voice was calm, and Rowan did as he was instructed. “Now?—”
“Wait!” Maeve jolted forward, gripped by the irrational fear that this would somehow end them both.
Rowan peeled one eye open, his brow arched in question. “Yes?”
“Is it going to be painful?” The question spilled from her.
“Not in the least.” Rowan offered her a reassuring smile. “Completely harmless.”
“Have you done this before?” she asked, trying to delay the inevitable.
“A time or two.”
Maeve opened her mouth to ask another question, but Rowan bent down and pressed one finger to her lips.
“The sooner we get this over with,” he said, his voice cloaking her like velvet, “the sooner you can go home.”
Unsettled and slightly defeated, Maeve sat back. “Okay.”
Cormac cleared his throat, his brown gaze fixated on her. “Are we ready?”
Rowan straightened and closed his eyes again. “Yes.”
Magic spread through the small space, the heady scent of orange blossom and cedarwood expelling the damp, stale smell of the shop. Cormac closed his eyes as well, and a strange, blue hue floated around him, almost like an aura. Tendrils of the glowing light danced toward Rowan, encircling his head. Maeve grabbed the cushion of her seat, her nails digging into the aged leather to keep herself from grabbing him and running out ofthere. Rowan remained utterly still as the luminescent magic washed over him.
Her gaze slid to Cormac, his brows furrowing, then lifting as he searched through the memories of Rowan’s mind.
“That’s the one,” he mumbled, and the feathered pen swiftly scrawled something across the pages of the open book.
Maeve peered over, anxious for a glimpse of what was being written, of which memory Cormac had decided to take. But the inked words were unintelligible. Nothing more than a series of lines and strange shapes that reminded her of runes.
Suddenly, a blot of ink bled onto the parchment. The pen stopped moving and the light faded away. Cormac’s magic withdrew.
Maeve stared at the book, her gaze finally sliding to Rowan, only to find him staring down at her.
She searched his face, her eyes sweeping over him rapidly for any sign of injury. But he appeared fine. Perfectly normal, even.
“Your turn, Princess.”
Maeve stood, the pitch of nervousness causing her palms to sweat. She scrubbed them hastily against the leather of her armor.
“Which memory did he take?” she whispered, knowing full well Cormac could hear.
“I don’t know.” Rowan shrugged, a small laugh escaping him. “I suppose it doesn’t really matter.”
“There’s nothing to fear, Dawnbringer.” Cormac tried to calm her, but the creaking of his voice reminded her of groaning ancient oak trees and the snapping of branches. “Now, it will take some time for you, since we’re restoring the vast majority of your memories. I should warn you, this will not be a quick process. You willfeel. You will experience. You will live every moment of your life in its entirety all over again. Do you understand?”
Maeve nodded, but her mouth was dry. Papery and sticky. A tremble of doubt slicked down her spine.
