On Maeve’s final gasp, everything went dark.
Maeve’s head throbbed,a constant ache that pulsed along her temples all the way to the base of her neck. Her entire bodyhurt, like she’d fought a hundred battles and lost every single one. Groaning, she rolled onto her side and shivered. Cool, damp stone pressed into her cheek, chilling her weary bones. Exhaustion tugged at her, a heavy weight that sealed the lids of her eyes closed, so all she wanted to do was drift back into a state of endless unconsciousness.
The icy hand of death squeezed her throat, the frozen touch of it burning her skin.
No, that couldn’t be right.
Aed would never be so cruel, not to her.
Inhaling slowly, Maeve winced as a foul, putrid scent filled her nose. The stench of bodily fluids and sweat hung in the stale air, thick and suffocating. She shifted, and the clanking noise of chains echoed in her ears. Chains. She mulled the word over in the fog of her mind, trying to make sense of it. There was a steady dripping sound—like theplop, plop, plopof rainwater as it splattered against a rough surface.
Perhaps this was some sort of lucid dream, and all she had to do was wake up.
She struggled to open her eyes, squinting against the guttering amber light that barely illuminated her surroundings. Long shadows crawled across the darkened space and she eased herself up into a sitting position, bracing her hands against the slimy surface beneath her.
Maeve recoiled.
What the…
Metal bars stretched up to the ceiling like an enclosure. She blinked, and the haze of her mind cleared as her position came into terrifying focus. She was locked inside a cell.
Not just any cell. A dungeon. One she recognized, one that dragged her back to the horrific memory of a blade dipped in nightshade carving into her skin, of Fearghal’s rancid breath and merciless smile.
Alarm fired through her, and by all rights, her magic should have whipped through her like a torrent in response to the panic racing through her. But there was only a dull thrum. Her power was muffled, unreachable, as though it had been stifled by something stronger than herself.
Maeve’s hand floated to her neck, where the bite of cold metal held her captive, singeing the tips of her fingers. She hissed in pain.
Iron.
Her wrists and ankles were unbound, but a link of leaden chains was anchored to the stone flooring, binding the iron around her throat.
“Oh, sweet goddess,” she whispered hoarsely, her throat raw.
Not again.
“My lady.” A gruff male voice came from somewhere off to her left.
Lir.
She crawled across the cell, as far as she could reach without cutting off her airway. Peering into the dim light, she spied Lir in the enclosure across from her. He wore iron around his neck, same as her, and the silver glint of his eyes found her. Her gaze roved over him, searching for any kind of injury. A faint amber glow of light illuminated the space between them. It wheezed in and out, burning bright, then fading just as quickly. She couldn’t detect any visible wounds on Lir, only the reflection of understanding staring back at her.
He knew as well as she did that there would be no way out.
Maeve slid her arm through the bars, stretching, straining toward him. He did the same, extending his hand toward her through his cell. Their fingers just brushed one another before the resounding click of heels against hard stone grated down the dismal hall dividing them.
She jerked her arm back, and her heart thundered.
A thousand thoughts flooded Maeve’s mind. It had been careless of her to wander into those damned woods. One impulsive decision had endangered all she loved and put Lir in harm’s way. Guilt slammed into her, leaving her breathless. She’d been too rash and failed to heed Tiernan’s warning. All he wanted to do was protect her, love her, but she’d been bound and determined to prove she only needed to rely upon herself. It was all her fault, and now she might never see him again.
No, a steadfast voice whispered through the thickening cloud of doubt building in her mind.
No.
Maeve refused to fall to Parisa. She would never surrender to that bitch of a fae. There was too much at stake, too much worth fighting for to give up now. She had to find a way out, she had to save Lir and get them both back to the safety of the Summer Court. It would not end like this, not here. The goddess Danua had shown Maeve a battlefield, and it was on those blood-soaked grounds where her fate would be determined, not in some grotesque dungeon. And not at the mercy of a vile faerie whose greed for power threatened to destroy everything.
“Maeve.” A sickeningly saccharine voice called out, and Parisa strolled into view, flanked by four guards.
At least, Maeve assumed they were guards.
