“The dungeon,” Rowan confirmed, nodding to Casimir. “I know the way in, as I’m sure you do as well.”
Casimir tightened the belt at his waist, ensuring each of his swords was easily accessible. “I’ll get us out, same as I did with Maeve the last time.”
Tiernan wasn’t foolish enough to believe it had been easy the first time. He knew Casimir had paid a steep price for getting Maeve out of the dungeon, even if he was the reason she’d been there in the first place. Parisa had likely brought her wrath upon the drakon for his betrayal, and knowing her, she’d shown no mercy. This time would be far more difficult. They would have to tread with extreme caution—one misstep, one wrong move, and all would be lost.
“Rowan,” Tiernan regarded the Nightweaver with valid concern, “can your magic shift and alter to our surroundings?”
Rowan ran one thumb along his jaw, angling his head. “There’s only one way to find out.”
That was not quite the answer Tiernan had been hoping for, but it would have to suffice.
He had to remain calm and keep a clear mind. It was the only way to guarantee Maeve’s safety.
“We will get to the dungeon under Rowan’s illusion. Once we have Maeve, there will be no time to waste.” Tiernan’s heart hollowed out. He knew the risks, understood them, welcomed them. Just as he knew he was going after Maeve for a cause greater than his love for her. There was more at stake than their chance at a happy ending. “If we’re discovered, the goal remains the same. Rescue Maeve and get her back to Niahvess, no matter the cost.”
“I cannotfadeand Parisa would like nothing better than to see my head on a spike.” Casimir stood tall, his face impassive, like that of a battle-hardened warrior. “My fate was written in the stars long ago. If the worst happens, I will stay behind, and fight until my death.”
“As will I.” Tiernan knew it would come down to this. He realized what he was doing, what hewoulddo, the second he asked Rowan for his help. Faeven stood a better chance at survival with the Nightweaver at the helm of the impending war than with him. It was the only way. He met Rowan’s gaze then, and the gravity of the situation pulled taut between them. “If we fail, take Maeve into the shadows. Get her as far away from here as possible. Do you understand?”
Rowan bowed his head. “On my honor, my lord.”
Tiernan turned, facing the Pass of Veils. Maeve was somewhere within that damned Court, and he would ruin everything in his path to find her.
Glancing over his shoulder, he nodded to Rowan and Casimir.
Magic amplified, the dense scent of orange blossom and cedarwood hung heavy in the air. Tiernan glamoured his armor, strengthening it, fortifying it. Two swords appeared by his side, the crest of Niahvess—twin mountain peaks with the sun rising between them—was emblazoned upon the cobalt blue leather covering his chest. Casimir ducked his head, his shoulders bunching in preparation for whatever they would face, and in Rowan’s hand, glowing with enough force to shatter the moonlight, was the Astralstone.
The Nightweaver’s illusion descended upon them, ensconcing them. The world shimmered as it disguised them, as they bled into the emptiness of slate mountains, sodden footpaths, and the curl of pulsing mist.
At once, they started their trek into the Pass of Veils.
Tiernan led the way, calm and steady, ready to make the ultimate sacrifice for hissirra.For his mate. For his queen.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Maeve was lost to delirium, trapped in a dream-like state, somewhere between life and death.
She wondered if perhaps this was how Ceridwen felt whenever she had one of her visions, alive, yet not quite coherent. On the brink of something altogether…other. Something not quite of this world.
“Maeve.”
The masculine voice resonated through the fog clouding her mind. It was vaguely familiar, one she recognized. Soothing, like a dark lullaby. It made her want to curl beneath a blanket and fall asleep, drift off into an oblivion where there was nothing and no one, save for the solace of her dreams.
“Maeve.” The disembodied voice called to her again, firmer this time.
She groaned, slowly blinking her eyes open.
Prone on her back, she stared up at the figure hovering above her until he became clear. Silver eyes swirling with power gazed down at her. Long black hair tipped with white framed a handsome face and a strong jawline. A line of concern furrowed across his brow and he bent closer to her, gently cupping her cheek with his smooth palm.
She squinted up at the god of death. “Am I dead?”
“Not yet.” His eyes flashed. “Though why is that always the first question you ask me?”
Arching one brow, she pierced him with a knowing look, and his hand fell away. “I can think of one good reason.”
He offered her a smile, but there was no humor behind it.
Maeve eased herself up onto her elbows, glancing around her. This place was unlike any she had ever seen, if it could even be called a place at all. There was nothing but low-lying mist as far as the eye could see. There were no trees, no mountains, no buildings, just a vast expanse of nothingness. Clouds swirled across the sky in shades of gray, reminding her vaguely of the mural in Tiernan’s library. They moved in an almost reckless manner, coiling and unfurling without reason.
