Wincing, she rubbed her fingers over her forehead.
“No,” she whispered, her voice harsh. She stumbled back, swallowing the rise of anxiety threatening to consume her. Slowly raising one hand, she cut back and forth through the thick mist, the tinkling of metal echoing against the tips of her nails.
Alarm caused her heart to hammer, and her chest caved inward.
“No!” she shouted, louder this time.
The metal bars curved upward, and she darted in the other direction, away from them. Only to find the same bars mocking her, holding her hostage. Surrounding her on all sides.
She was locked in a cage.
“No!” Dread coiled inside of her, and she grabbed the bars with both hands. “Don’t leave me here!”
Rattling them, she screamed into the void. “Let me out! Someone! Anyone! Please, let me out!”
Maeve raked her fingers through her hair, wild with panic. Not again. Sun and sky, she could not live through this again. She stepped back a few paces, then surged forward, ramming her shoulder into the metal. “Not a cage! Not a cage!”
But there was no sound, save for the erratic beating of her heart, and the echo of her shallow breathing. This wasn’t like the dungeon beneath the palace of Spring, this was like that awful memory from her past. The one she tried so hard to overcome.
This was like back in Kells, like the cage dangling over the Cliffs of Morrigan where Carman left her as punishment. It was too much. She stumbled backward, padding lightly across the slab of stone. It may as well have been planks of rotted wood, for the trauma of her past crawled around her like the dense wall of mist, consuming her completely.
“Please, not a cage! Anywhere else, please!” Her voice was gravel, she couldn’t get air. “I beg of you!”
Tiny beads of cool sweat slid down her neck, and Maeve dropped to the ground, curling her knees into her chest. She wrapped her arms around her legs, clinging to any shred of warmth, to the dying flicker of hope that burned inside her.
“Not the cage,” she mumbled.
Find the good.
Aed’s words echoed in her mind.
Do not bow. Do not break.
“Not the cage,” she repeated to herself, over and over. Her inner terror was louder than the god of death’s reassuring voice. “Not the cage.”
Maeve tipped her head back, allowing the sprinkle of rain to soothe her agony. But no matter how much she struggled to find the good, she couldn’t drown out the groan of wind throughcliffside trees, the snapping of an aged oak branch, or the roar of an angry ocean.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The veil shrouding the Spring Court was unlike anything Tiernan had ever encountered. Not mist, yet not fog, it was almost like walking through clouds. It was impossible to see beyond a few feet in front of him, and though the heady scent of magic lingered in the air, it was tainted. Pungent almost. Burnt cedarwood and rotten orange blossom melded together in a rancid stench. Dark magic throbbed against Rowan’s illusion, pulsing as though it had a heartbeat of its own.
He could barely see them, but he knew sloping mountains rose up on either side of him. The Pass of Veils was nothing more than a worn footpath with a moderate incline that cut through the upper valley. Smaller trails veered off in other directions, many of them leading to the caves that housed sleeping giants, and he silently whispered his gratitude when he, Rowan, and Casimir traveled past them undetected.
Despite making it through without incident, the Pass of Veils itself was a grueling endeavor. Loose gravel coupled with damp earth caused their footing to slip, forcing them to slow their trek and take care. The poor visibility only impeded the journey, made worse by the constant shroud inhibiting theirvision. Tiernan knew the trail was treacherous even on a good day. Ledges randomly dropped off, rockslides and poor weather conditions were a continuous threat. The last thing he wanted was for one of them to tumble accidentally off the side of a cliff and plummet to their death.
By the time they reached the end of the Pass of Veils, Tiernan’s muscles ached. Tension coiled along his shoulders and down his back, a grueling kind of agony from sustaining a heightened sense of relentless vigilance.
The moment they entered the Spring Court, the shroud of dark magic lifted. The late afternoon sun was hidden behind a wall of dense clouds. A low-lying mist remained, crawling along the ground, and a steady drizzle of cold rain fell from the leaden sky. Tiernan raked a hand through his hair, sending droplets flying, as his gaze quickly scanned the forest to his left. The expanse of the woods was empty. Desolate. No living creatures thrived within the fallen Spring Court, no flowers bloomed beneath the dreary heavens. Even the trees looked to be in despair—their branches drooped, leaves falling from them slowly like broken emerald tears.
Tiernan stole a glance over his shoulder at Rowan. “How long has it been since you’ve been back?”
Rowan was silent for a moment. He inhaled, absently running a hand over his chest. “Since I helped rescue Maeve the last time she was captured.”
“What about when I sent you away from Niahvess after removing your cuffs?” He’d told him to leave, he’d wanted Rowan as far away from Maeve as possible. “Where did you go then?”
Rowan’s face shuttered, a hard line forming across his brow. “Not back here. I went to Ashdara. The Spring Court will always have my loyalty, as I swore my allegiance to it years ago. But Parisa…never again will I bow to her.”
Casimir came around on Tiernan’s other side, both of his swords firm in his grasp. “I’ll take point from here. If we keep to the southwest, we should be able to make it safely to the palace and avoid the city altogether. There’s a series of tunnels beneath the dungeon, and only one that leads from the base of the mountain to the outside.”
