Ceridwen gasped.
And Merrick, who was casually leaning back in his seat, toppled out of it, landing hard on the stone floor.
Lir slammed both of his hands upon the table and lurched forward. “Youwhat?”
It was the most emotion she’d ever seen from him. She reared back, and Tiernan’s arms came swiftly around her waist.
“It was an accident.” She swallowed down the knot of guilt clogging her throat. “I lost control.”
“I’m not mad, my lady.” Lir ran a hand over his face, easing back into his chair. “I’m fucking impressed.”
“Is that when you went into the Stygian Spine? When the goddess of life found you?” Brynn asked, hooking an arm under Merrick and heaving him from off the floor.
“No.” Maeve shook her head, preparing for the inevitable. “I went into the Stygian Spine later. To get to Diamarvh.”
“Seven hells,” Brynn muttered, her toothpick dangling from her bottom lip.
Saoirse’s scowl only deepened, confusion clouding the blue of her eyes. “Diamarvh?”
“The home of the Wild Hunt,” Lir clarified.
Saoirse’s mouth fell open.
Merrick dropped back into his seat, scrubbing both hands over his face. “Sun and sky, Maeve.”
She tried to smile but it was strained. Unnatural. “I spoke to Dubhan, the Lord of the Wild Hunt.”
Rowan bowed his head, already knowing what was coming.
“They will not aid us.” As soon as she said it, her mouth ran dry, like it was filled with ash and dust. “The tides of fate are not in our favor.”
If she could erase the grave looks of despondency from their faces, she would. If there had been a single spark of hope among them, she’d smothered it. Extinguished it completely. She was supposed to be the strong one, the brave one. Full of resilience and fire. But she didn’t even have the courage to look in the faces of those she loved most because she knew what she would see reflected back at her. Disappointment. Dread. Defeat.
“We will win.” Tiernan cut through the uncertainty, his resolve unyielding. “We are reaching beyond the borders of Faeven for assistance. We will not fall. Not again. Not so long as I breathe.”
Murmurs of assent circulated but they lacked vigor. Doubt plagued them all.
Brynn rapped her knuckles on the table. “I’m confused. Did Danua help you reach Diamarvh?”
Maeve shook her head. “No.”
“Did Rowan?” Saoirse asked.
“No,” Maeve repeated the word, quieter this time.
“Maeve is more than capable of handling things on her own.” Rowan toyed idly with the cuffs of his sleeve.
“Maeve.” Ceridwen tilted her head, her hair falling around her like liquid sunlight. “What exactly did the goddess of life say to you?”
“Very little.” She remembered the encounter clearly. Danua spoke in riddles. She gave no direction. No encouragement. “It wasn’t so much as what she said to me, but what she showed me.”
“A vision, then,” Ceridwen confirmed.
Vision. Illusion. They were one and the same. But Maeve knew what she saw, what fate awaited her, all of them, even if the goddess of life claimed it could still be altered.
“Astora.” Tiernan’s voice whispered past her ear. “What did you see?”
“I saw death.” She didn’t want to describe it, didn’t want to relive that harrowing experience ever again. But she could not allow any of them to think this war would be without sacrifice. “I saw a battlefield littered with bodies, where blood soaked the spongy earth. Where ash fell from the sky like rain and the smoke from dying fires hung thick in the air. I saw all of your deaths.” Her voice broke then, cracking beneath the emotion crushing her chest like a boulder. “I saw the end.”
