And this time, she did not need saving.
“Your friends will come to resent you,” Parisa spat, and it froze to her lips. “Your mate will come to hate you. In time, you will wish you had died here, on the bloody battlefield behind you. But not even the god of death will hear your pleas.”
Maeve tilted her head to one side. Slowly, she unsheathed her Aurastone, lifting it. She ran one finger along its shimmering blade. “That’s where you’re wrong.”
Parisa faltered, and her eyes widened, frost spreading along her spidery lashes.
“The god of death willalwaysanswer me.” Maeve flicked her dagger in her hand, then walked through the fire. “And he is far more merciful than I.”
She glanced over at Tiernan. “Destroy it.”
“As you wish,moh Ríenna.” Tiernan raised his sword high, bringing it down with all the fury of a storm. Green smoke unfurled from thevirdis lepatitebefore the core of it cleaved, cracking in half, and the stone went dark.
“No!” Parisa raged, only to fall silent as Maeve treaded closer.
“A good man loved you once.” She poised her blade, driving it into the ice formed across Parisa’s chest. “This is for him. For Garvan and Shay. For my father. For Saoirse. And for every soul you’ve sought to destroy.”
And then, Maeve carved out Parisa’s heart.
Black blood oozed from the gaping wound. The ice melted as Parisa’s lifeless body shriveled, crumpling to the ground in a pile of velvet and dust. Maeve pierced the bulbous organ with her Aurastone, then yanked it free. Parisa’s heart blackened andturned to ash in her hand. She opened her palm, letting the slight breeze whisk away the charred remains from her skin.
Silence befell the Spring Court.
The remaining dark fae evaporated, their screams lingering after their bodies left the world.
A strong arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her in close.
Tiernan.
He pressed a kiss to her temple, and she leaned into him.
Parisa was dead. The dark fae were banished back to the Sluagh. Though the expense was significant, the war had been won.
Faeven was safe. Her home was safe. Her family was safe. Recovery would take time, years even, but she would find a way. She would mourn, then prevail. She would live.
Maeve once thought her heart was her greatest weakness. Now she discovered it to be her greatest strength.
Love always wins.
Chapter Thirty-Six
When the next sunset painted the heavens crimson and blush pink, they buried Brynn at the base of the Vista, where she would forever have the best view of Niahvess. Palm trees swayed over her grave, and the river that spilt into dozens of canals kept the flowers fully bloomed. Aeralie stayed behind long after they sang a strain in the old language, while silent tears slipped down her cheeks.
Tiernan felt Brynn’s loss keenly, though he imagined it was far worse for Aeralie.
Dorian was returned to Kyol, where they constructed a granite headstone for him and Fianna, along with matching smaller ones for Garvan and Shay. Each one was carved with an image fashioned after their likeness, the expanse of their lives engraved beneath their given names. Maeve stayed in Kyol with Aran for a few days so they could mourn and grieve their loss together. Granted, Tiernan had lost both of his parents, but Maeve had lost her two brothers as well. Though he knewthe pain would never truly go away, he held onto hope that eventually she would find solace in knowing they waited for her.
Once she returned from Kyol, his wife gave the silver-haired warrior a proper burial.
Maeve gathered every log herself, and bound them with twine until her knuckles cracked and bled. She built the raft, carefully covering it with a stack of fallen palm fronds despite there being no body to burn. Tiernan watched from afar because she had not asked for help, and he supposed she didn’t need it. So, he stood to the side as she placed two silver coins atop the raft, keeping watch as the scent of orange blossom and cedarwood perfumed the air. An orchid the color of Saoirse’s eyes bloomed from the fronds, its petals unfurling toward the setting sun. With a flick of Maeve’s wrist, tiny flames ignited, and she wrapped her arms around herself as the floating pyre drifted out to sea. It coasted on the waves of the Lismore Marin, faint plumes of smoke swirling up into a bleeding sky of orange and red.
Maeve stood on the shores of Niahvess long after the pyre vanished from sight.
They never learned who crossed Saoirse into Faeven after she fled Kells, the bargain she made had died with her. Whoever it was wanted his identity kept secret, and he’d succeeded.
Days after the war, it was just the two of them on the balcony where they dined, sitting in silence. Maeve’s gaze was focused on the horizon, Tiernan’s gaze was focused on her. She was stunning, beautiful and radiant in a gown of scarlet silk that draped off of her shoulders and fell around her in waves. Her golden pink hair was in long, loose curls, tumbling freely. He leaned forward in his seat, reaching out to brush a fallen strand from her face. Tucking it back behind her ear, he glamoured some flowers, weaving them into her hair, just as he’d done the first day he met her.
Tiernan leaned back in his chair and opened his arms, summoning his guitar. He strummed a few chords, a soft and gentle melody, a tune he knew he’d written for her. Then gradually, he began to sing.
