Brynn lowered her arm. “Was that real?”
“Yes. Very real.” While Rowan’s face remained impassive at the mention of the memory, a deep pain diminished some of the light from his eyes. “That was Parisa’s magic, not mine.”
“Okay, so you three go into the Spring Court under an illusion.” Merrick scrubbed a hand over his face, his shoulders slumping. “Then what?”
Tiernan opened his mouth, then shut it. Unfortunately, he hadn’t considered what they would do next. He assumed they would just figure it out once they got there.
“And what about Casimir?” Ceridwen sipped her tea, eyeing him over its floral porcelain rim. “Will he be in drakon form?”
“Ah…” Damn it. They hadn’t discussed when Casimir would shift.
Brynn glanced quickly over her shoulder, scouring the general vicinity. When she spoke, her voice was lower. “And what do we tell Saoirse?”
Fuck.
Perhaps they didn’t have a plan after all.
Rowan pressed the tips of his fingers to his temples. “So many questions.”
“And yet, not enough answers,” Ceridwen replied smoothly, the corners of her lips curving into an impish smile.
“Alright, I understand our plan is rudimentary at best. Parisa is still in control of the Sluagh, not to mention she has a multitude of mindless drugged fae, though there’s no way of knowing what she’s planning to do with them. As for the Spring Court itself, we’ll be lucky if anything remains.” Tiernan roughed a hand along his jaw. “We’re going in blind.”
“But?” Ceridwen prompted.
Rowan cut in. “But the longer Maeve is with Parisa, the more of a liability she becomes.”
“Not to mention she’s being tortured,” Tiernan muttered. Just speaking the words out loud gutted him.
Every pair of eyes landed on him.
“It’s the witch thread.” Tiernan meant to sound firm, but his voice was barely a hoarse whisper. “I can still feel her through the bond. It’s faint, but it’s there. Her pain. Her suffering. I know Parisa is tormenting her, and I cannot…I cannot stand by and do nothing.”
Guilt ravaged him. Every minute, every hour that crept by carved out a piece of his soul. He would never forgive himself for letting her storm off into those godsforsaken woods. Not when he could have prevented it, when he could have saved her.
“I can’t leave her there, Cer.” He met his twin’s sorrowful eyes. “It’s not like when she was in the Ether.”
He stole a glance at Rowan, who lowered his gaze.
“If we wait until Wenfyre and Brackroth arrive…” Tiernan swallowed, and a stabbing pain pierced his heart. “There may not be anything left of her to save.”
Rowan stepped up next to him, placing one hand on Tiernan’s shoulder. “We don’t have a defined plan. But we’re going in to get her, and we’re not leaving without her.”
A swift shadow cut across the sky, and the shape of a dragon took form, soaring through the wisps of clouds. It circled overhead, then swooped low, its massive wings beating back the palm trees and kicking up bits of sand and debris as it landed within the courtyard. Mist swirled around the beast in a flurry of magic as it shifted from dragon to human.
Casimir appeared a moment later with two swords strapped to his waist. His hood was pulled low, concealing most of his face, and he stepped toward them, his footfalls echoing quietly in the stillness of the early hour.
“My ladies.” He bowed to Ceridwen and Brynn, then turned to Tiernan and Merrick. “My lords.”
Casimir adjusted his hood, pushing it back slightly. His dark gaze snagged on Rowan. He eyed the Nightweaver with interest, his brows lifting slightly. “You’re not bringing a weapon?”
Rowan shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather pants and rocked back on his heels, an arrogant smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I am the weapon.”
Fucking fae.
That kind of cocky attitude was going to get him killed—again—if he wasn’t careful.
Brynn again looked to the sky, where splashes of pink and gold were bleeding into a slate blue. “Aren’t you worried about trying to get inside Suvarese during the day?”
