“High Prince.” Tiernan smiled, nodding in Aran’s direction. “Welcome back.”
“It’s good to be home,” he said, brushing an absentminded kiss on top of Maeve’s head.
Lir stood and bowed in greeting. “I take it you’ve brought news from Wenfyre, Your Highness?”
“Indeed I have.” Aran glanced around the table, acknowledging everyone. Until he spotted Rowan. His eyes widened, then he quickly blinked, as though he wasn’t quite sure he believed the sight before him. “You’re…not dead.”
Rowan smirked, loosening the collar of his black silk shirt. “Very much alive, actually.”
Aran stared a moment longer before glancing over at Maeve, then back at Rowan. “How is that possible?”
“A story for another time, perhaps.” Rowan lounged against the high-back chair, lifting one hand. “I believe you coming bearing news.”
“Yes. Right.” Aran shook his head, refocusing. He pulled a rolled piece of parchment bound with a red ribbon from the pocket of his shirt and handed it to Tiernan. “Queen Ariawyn has agreed to assist us in the war. As we speak, a fleet of druid vessels is on their way to Faeven’s shores.”
Tiernan unrolled the piece of parchment, skimming the content. Maeve peered over his shoulder and he angled it toward her, giving her a better view.
Maeve read the elegant script, following the loops and swirls of the letters. At the very bottom of the document, two signatures were inked. One in deep green, the other in bold crimson. Aran and Queen Ariawyn’s names glared up at her. “This is a contract.”
“Yes,” Aran confirmed.
“What does it say?” Dorian asked, and Tiernan passed the parchment to him.
Aran sat back, his hands coming to rest on the arms of his chair. “Only that we will repay the favor, should the need ever arise.”
Tiernan eased back in his seat, and Maeve wished she could wipe away the shadows of worry haunting his face. She could see his mind working, calculating. His brow was furrowed and his teeth scraped along his bottom lip. “Is Queen Ariawyn worried Wenfyre may soon face a threat?”
“She mentioned something about a twin sister. From what I gathered, the sister was banished from Wenfyre a number ofyears ago. But rumors have begun to circulate about her dealings and the possibility of an attack. I would assume it’s out of revenge, but my thoughts are my own.” Aran leaned forward, his gaze snagging on Saoirse. “You were right. About the druids. The ones who were pure of heart were both striking and beautiful, their attachment to the magic of nature was astounding. But the ones who were tainted or corrupt were less than pleasing to look upon. Some of them were downright hideous.”
Saoirse’s answering smile illuminated her face and Maeve continued to listen, partially, as the Court members discussed more about the druids, the dragons, and all the plans they were putting into motion. Her heart swelled with pride. With affection. Even if they’d been unable to reach her in the Ether, even if they thought she might never return, it hadn’t stopped them waiting around for the next attack from Parisa. They made preparations, they formed alliances, and they were willing to protect all of Faeven. Just like her.
Yet a tiny needle of doubt continued to prod at her. She’d spoken to the Wild Hunt at Diamarvh, and Dubhan had refused to aid her in her endeavor. Worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, her mind wandered listlessly, framing and reframing all she knew, all she’d learned. Even if they received help from outside of Faeven’s borders, Maeve wasn’t sure it would be enough to turn the tides of fate in their favor.
Besides, she’d just had that nightmarish vision again, and the ending remained unchanged. Danua claimed she could change it, but she’d failed to tell her how to do so. It was apparent she would have to figure out that much on her own.
It seemed fairly obvious to her that even with a band of dragons and a fleet of druids, it wouldn’t be enough to defeat Parisa. Not so long as she retained control of the Sluagh and used them to do her bidding. There had to be something else.
Something she was missing.
“Maeve?” Tiernan’s voice jarred her from her thoughts, and she glanced over at him.
“Hm?”
“What do you think?” he asked.
“Of?” she squeaked, humiliated at being caught not paying attention to anything he said.
Tiernan gestured before her. “Of Aran’s battle map?”
Maeve looked down at a detailed map of the Spring Court spread before her. Encampments were set up just outside of the Pass of Veils and along the Rainbow River with each of the Courts—Summer, Autumn, and Winter— staged in various locations. The Winter Legion was to the north, near the mountains bordering their own Court. Autumn was stationed in the valley and divided by the river, in what Maeve could only assume was the fallen city of Suvarese. And Summer, well, the Summer Legion, led by Lir, Merrick, and Brynn, was at the forefront. Their forces surrounded the base of Parisa’s palace. Painted blotches of black dotted the sky, taking the form of dragons while Aran’s magic brought the fleet of druids to life, showing their mass of boats off the coast of the Lismore Marin while they sailed on the cresting waves.
“It looks…” Like a place where everyone she loved would die. Like a graveyard for the bravest of warriors.
“Good,” she finished weakly.
Tiernan sat back, his gaze weighing heavily on her. “That’s it?”
She nodded, reaching down to pet Cahira in a poor attempt to avoid the concern clouding his eyes.
