“He feels like he failed Maeve. And you, my lord.” Brynn shook her head lightly. “He couldn’t protect her.”
“He lost his eye for her.” Tiernan gently placed his hand on Lir’s shoulder. “That’s more than most would be willing to give.”
“It was either mine or hers,” Lir rasped, his hand flexing, then coiling into a fist. His one good eye blinked open, the silver of it shining like the moon in the dead of night. “Parisa was going to extract her eye as repayment for the one Maeve carved out of her. But she took mine instead. She used me against her.”
He turned his head away from them. “She’ll use all of us against her.”
“We won’t allow it,” Tiernan countered. Resolve hardened inside of him like the stone face of a mountain’s cliff. “You did everything that was asked of you, commander.”
“It wasn’t enough.”
“You kept her from losing an eye.” Brynn reached down and squeeze his wrist. “That’s more than enough.”
To this, Lir said nothing.
Brynn glanced up at Tiernan, offering him a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Don’t worry, my lord. I’ll get him back to his usual grumpy self in no time.”
“Please do.” Tiernan released Lir and nodded once. “We’ll need him.”
Only when he was back in the quiet of the courtyard did he drop to his knees. Pressing his thumb to the witch thread, he tilted his face to the collection of stars, and whispered through the bond to Maeve.
“Infinitely.”
Chapter Twenty
Maeve’s heart fluttered, the blood coursing through her stirred to life, and the bond shivered.
“Infinitely.”
She heard Tiernan’s voice clearly, as though he’d whispered the word against her cheek, the warmth of his breath tickling her ear. If she closed her eyes, she could almost feel the caress of his fingers swiping along her jaw, tilting her face up to him. She could imagine losing herself in the depths of his twilight eyes, where the flecks of gold sparkled around her like sundrops.
But Tiernan wasn’t here with her.
She was still in the dungeon below Suvarese’s palace.
Alone.
Minutes drifted into hours, and she gazed mindlessly into the all-encompassing darkness. There was no way to determine the time down here. No windows. No light. Just a swath of pitch that bored into her from every angle, surrounding her until she could no longer determine if her eyes were open or closed.
So, she remained seated on the cold stone floor, while she focused on every inhale and exhale in an effort to keep herself distracted from the aching whip marks lancing across her back.Even though the Spring fae from the torture room covered them in a healing salve, the sting had yet to ease.
Suddenly, a dim amber light sputtered to life at the end of the dungeon’s lengthy corridor. Heavy footfalls scraped against the hard stone, like something or someone was being dragged.
Maeve held her breath, blinking harshly against the abrupt brightness, and wondered if Parisa was adding to her collection of prisoners.
But only the hulking outline of Gromede appeared. He lumbered toward her cell, a ring of keys jangling in time to his uneven gait. Maeve didn’t move when he unlocked the door of her cell and stepped inside, grumbling to himself in a language she didn’t understand. The monstrous guard bent down, released the latch to the chain of iron fastened to the ground, and hauled her to her feet.
For a brief moment, Maeve worried Gromede was taking her back to that awful room to be whipped again, but this time, they were going in a different direction. He led her through the cavernous maze of the dungeon, and with each step, the air grew warm and thick. A sickly sweet aroma wafted through the corridor, assaulting her senses. It reminded her of overripe cherries, tainted with bitter orange blossom, a stomach-turning syrupy scent.
She grimaced, gritting her teeth as Gromede shoved open a large wooden door and dragged her through it. Gray light enveloped her and Maeve squinted against it, gradually taking in her surroundings. She was on the main level of Suvarese’s palace.
It was a dining hall, and before her was an exceedingly long table. Parisa sat at one end, her mouth peeling back in a wicked smile to reveal her pointy teeth. Huddled together was a group of about nine or ten Spring fae, their heads hung low, their bodies twitching slightly. All of them were dressed in decadent finery.The females wore gowns of silk and lace, and the males donned expertly tailored suits, their shoes polished until they gleamed. But none of the fae looked at Maeve when she entered. They didn’t look at anyone. Other than the Spring fae, there were only guards in the dining hall. Four were stationed at every exit, each of them armed with swords whose blades were serrated along both sides.
She didn’t want to think about how severely a weapon like that could mutilate a body.
Maeve forced herself to look away from them. Her gaze swung wildly around the space, noting every detail. Six arching windows lined the wall across from her, their dreary panes splattered with raindrops. A blanket of dense fog shrouded whatever lay beyond the palace, making it difficult to discern the time of day. Brilliant green vines curled around sparkling ivory pillars, the lush leaves bursting with blossoms of fuchsia and gold. Dark oak beams stretched across the ceiling overhead where a chandelier extended like tree limbs. Emerald leaves unfurled from its branches, and tiny flowers with pale pink petals floated just beneath it, fluttering softly like butterflies.
By all rights, it should have been lovely, but pinpricks of unease prodded down Maeve’s spine.
