Determined to make things right, Tiernanfadedback to his room.
The witch thread tugged him toward the balcony. He glanced toward the door connecting their rooms—the one Maeve had slammed shut—and found it cracked open. His heart warmed. Slightly. Quietly, he treaded across the floor and nudged open the glass doors to the balcony, only to find Maeve sound asleep on one of the outdoor chairs. Moonlight spilled over her, so her tattoos glittered, and her hair shone like pale pink diamonds.
He moved toward her and wasn’t the least bit surprised to find a book splayed open in her lap.
Tiernan collected the book, closing it, and headed back into her room to place it on the nightstand. Then he went back for her, gathering her sleeping form into his arms. She snuggled against him, sighing, and all he wanted was to live in this moment. To imagine them together for an eternity with no war, no strife, no turmoil. But instead, he laid her down upon the bed, willing to give her the space she needed. Glamouring her into a nightshirt and out of the gown still stained with Garvan’s dried blood, he covered her with a plush blanket, then turned to go.
He was almost to the door connecting their rooms when the faintest whisper stopped him in his tracks.
“Don’t leave me.”
Tiernan stilled, turning slowly back to the bed where she slept.
Her eyes were closed, but one arm was stretched out across the bed, reaching for him.
Loosing a breath, he peeled off his shirt, and climbed into the bed next to her. She snuggled into his side, clinging to him, but the gnawing ache of apprehension did not ease.
Even with Maeve safely tucked into his arms, he couldn’t seem to rid himself of the emptiness spreading inside of him.
Tiernan closed his eyes, willing himself to believe that it was nothing more than a bad dream. Because a tiny, insignificant part of him knew he was losing. Not only Maeve, but also her heart.
Maeve looked around her,then squeezed her eyes shut.
She wasn’t here. Not again. This wasn’t real, it was a figment of her imagination. She’d already suffered through this illusion once, she refused to do so again. But when she opened her eyes, the vastness of the battlefield remained.
Blood dampened the ground, causing her nose to burn. The skies were overcast, thick with the dense haze of smoke and smoldering fires. Dozens of bodies were sprawled at her feet, all of them face down. She didn’t dare turn them over, couldn’t bring herself to look into the lifeless eyes of faces she knew, of names she recalled. Off to her right, indistinct shadows emerged from the fine mist crawling along the ground. There was a familiarity there.
The Nightweaver.
Maeve turned from him, searching for the glow of the dawn, but the goddess of life was nowhere to be found.
She threw her arms out, spinning in a circle. “You told me I could change this!”
There was no response.
“How?” Maeve demanded. “Please, show me how!”
“Maeve.” A low voice rumbled from behind her and she whirled at the sound, a scream clogging the back of her throat.
It was Tiernan, but not. His handsome face was distorted, the flesh mangled. His cheekbones were sunken and splotched a hideous shade of bluish-black. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth to his chin. The leather armor he wore had been shredded, and he’d suffered numerous wounds, all of them seeping crimson and staining his chest. But his eyes gave him away. They were empty pits, devoid of life. Staring through her instead of at her.
Tiernan was dead.
“Maeve.” He reached for her with one gnarled hand and Maeve screamed.
She swung hard, flailing in an effort to get away from him as bile scalded the back of her throat.
But he was faster.
Tiernan grabbed her hand, and she loosed a wail of raw fear.
Maeve’s heart plummeted, cold sweat licked her skin, and her eyes flew open. She jerked. Thrashed. Only to realize she was no longer on that damning battlefield but in the safety of her room. Moonlight slanted in overhead, slashing across Tiernan, who was very much alive and breathing, with her fist clutched tightly in his hand. He sat up in the bed watching her, his gaze unreadable in the dim light.
She’d almost struck him.
Her chest rose and fell in rapid succession, each breath slowly becoming easier as she became more aware of her surroundings.
A nightmare. That’s all it was, a terrible, awful nightmare.