At the mention of Fearghal’s name, Maeve recoiled. It had been in a cell just like this one where he’d carved her from ankle to cheek, taking great care to scour her breasts with his blade as slowly as possible.
She’d killed him for it.
She would do the same to anyone else who tried to touch her.
“Anyway.” Parisa’s bony fingers flitted through the air, the large obsidian ring she wore glinting in the pale light. “I had a Puca create that amulet into a portal for me. When I sent those stupid giants into the Winter Court, I knew you’d come running to the rescue. Always wanting to be the hero, aren’t you, my pet?”
She sneered at Maeve, her pointy teeth scraping along her lips. “In the midst of the chaos, no one even noticed that the lonely Winter soldier went missing. Ihadhoped to lure you into the woods, but unfortunately, your darling High King had other plans.”
Maeve stiffened, every muscle in her body tensing as though she’d been struck.
“And that’s when luck favored me.” She cackled, a coarse noise like nails clawing against stone. “You went into the woods on your own. Well, you and that overprotective commander. Then you waltzed your pretty little head right into my trap. Honestly, I didn’t think it would work. But again…” Her thin shoulders shifted. “Luck.”
“You see, Maeve,” Parisa continued, moving closer. “I have great plans for Faeven, but it seems no one shares my vision. Power is a delicious thing, as I’m sure you understand.”
Her hot breath filled the lack of space between them. It was rank, as though she’d swallowed the decaying flesh of those she killed. Maeve swallowed down the burn of bile, trying not to gag.
Parisa licked her parched lips and paced in a slow circle around Maeve. “When I was blessed with theanam ó Danua, I?—”
“You were never,” Maeve spat.
Eerie silence descended upon the dungeon, somehow even quieter than before. Even that steadfast dripping sound had ceased.
Parisa faced her again, her dark, hollowed eye squinting. When she spoke, her voice was unnaturally low. “What did you say?”
“Could you restore life to a land that was dying? Could you create anything from everything around you?”
Parisa blinked, her expression blank.
Maeve smiled. “I didn’t think so. You may have received a blessing from Danua, but it was not the lifeblood of magic. She would never bestow such a powerful gift on something so foul.”
The back of Parisa’s hand connected with Maeve’s mouth, knocking her so hard, tiny stars blared across her vision. She staggered back, stunned by the force of the blow. That damn ring she wore ripped into her lip. Something warm and sticky slid down Maeve’s chin.
Blood.
“Interrupt me again, and I’ll ensure you suffer a punishment far worse than the sting of my hand.” Parisa straightened, her lip curling in disgust. “As I was saying, there is nothing quite like the bloodlust for power. And since I’m in possession of thevirdis lepatite, the Aurastone, andyou, there is nothing and no one to stop me from taking all of Faeven for myself.”
Maeve slid her thumb along her chin, smearing the blood there. “Aed should have killed you when he had the chance.”
“Perhaps.” Parisa ran her nails along the bars lining Maeve’s cell, mimicking the sound of rainfall. “But even gods make mistakes.”
Maeve jerked forward, the iron biting into her skin. “The Courts will never bow to you.”
“Oh, but they will. And you’ll be the one to punish them if they don’t.” She folded her arms across her chest, the sickly glow of thevirdis lepatitepulsing at the base of her throat. “We can do this one of two ways, Maeve. You can kneel before me now, willingly, and do as I say without protest, or?—”
“Never.” Maeve lunged forward and spat at the bitch fae’s feet.
Parisa inhaled deeply and her mouth pulled into a stern, thin line. Her gaze roved over Maeve, lingering on the tattoo of a rose marking her cheek. “It was in this very cell that Fearghal took great pleasure in breaking you.”
Maeve’s fists curled at her sides. She’d already overcome that once, she wouldn’t be made to suffer. Her past was nothing but a page in her story, even though that particular scene was one she would gladly rip out and set on fire. “But he’s not here to do your bidding anymore, is he?”
They both knew the answer.
Maeve had left Fearghal in the depths of the Scathing. He was but a pulpy mess of flesh rotting beneath the soil of Kells.
“No. Fearghal is no longer here because of you.” Parisa stepped to the side, and one of the guards stepped forward. “So, allow me to introduce you to Gromede.”
He was a beast of a dark fae. His angular jaw jutted forward, revealing large bottom teeth that curved upward over his wide mouth. A deep-set brow hovered above his opaque red eyes that swirled like clouds caught on fire. Where his nose should have been, there was nothing more than two slits, and his skin was freakishly gray and tinged with blue, like glaciers. Translucent even, so Maeve could see veins of black blood coursing through him. He was both terrifying and hideous.
