If there was one thing Maeve could do better than anyone else, it was fight.
Every action was seamless, every motion was fluid. She moved like a ribbon of silk caught on a breeze, sleek and with deadly grace. Crimson dripped from her blade, splattering across the earth like shattered rubies. She parried and dodged the way one danced, an effortless skill she’d mastered since she first learned to walk. To her, the battlefield was her ballroom. The roars of those watching her performance was the music to which she twirled, killing another each time she met her mark. Each time another partner demanded a dance.
A male reached for her and she grabbed his wrist, hauling him close. Then she rammed the hilt of her dagger along the underside of his arm, just below the joint of his elbow. Bone cracked and her gut clenched, his howl of despair almost enough to snap her out of her murderous haze. But she plunged her blade into his heart, silencing his screams.
Seven.
“Keep going, Maeve!” Casimir shouted, his voice carrying over to her above the calamitous crowd of dark fae watching from above and the growing storm circulating overhead.
She kicked high, slamming her boot into the chest of a female, and sent her flying across the arena. Reaching behind her, she grabbed the arm of the one attempting to sneak uponher. Like she didn’t know he was there, like she couldn’t hear his uneven footfalls plodding across the ground, or smell the sickly sweet stench of overripe cherries. In one swift movement, she hauled him over her shoulder and tossed him to the ground. Her blade pierced his heart a moment later.
Bending down, she reached for the sword he dropped, arming herself with two weapons.
The Spring fae were wary now. Their minds might have been gone, but they were not so quick to attack.
No matter, she would be the one to offer them a waltz of death instead.
Maeve didn’t look into their faces, knowing that the emptiness reflected back at her would only serve as an emotional wound to her heart. The dagger and sword became extensions of her body. She became the weapon.
Crimson coated her hands and stained her blouse. Rain soaked her through to the bone, so her hands were ice, but so was the blood coursing through her veins. Her hair clung to her cheeks and shoulders, and though her muscles ached from exertion and her chest heaved, the beating of her heart remained calm.
The only sound she focused on was the smooth rush of metal slicing through flesh.
Ten.
“Release the drakon!” Parisa cried, her tone damn near giddy.
Maeve turned to see Casimir’s cage vanish.
His dark brown gaze met hers from across the grassy expanse and alarm skittered down her spine as more drugged fae emptied into the arena. Some of them darted toward her, the rest aimed for Casimir.
But he had no weapon.
“Maeve!” Tiernan yelled, and she swore if he hadn’t been locked in iron, he would have destroyed the cage separating them. “Behind you!”
There was a sudden burning sensation in her back, and she arched, hissing through her teeth as the pain spread through her lower right side like wildfire.
Tiernan roared.
Rowan raged.
But Maeve…she was past the point of caring.
Rearing back, she elbowed her attacker in the face. She didn’t even turn to face them, didn’t bother to spare them a blade as she flipped the sword in her hand, and drove it directly into their stomach. The sucking sound it made as she withdrew it was the only confirmation she had, and it was enough.
Fury ignited inside her as she witnessed Casimir defending himself against the poisoned fae with only his bare fists. How typical of Parisa to ensure she had the advantage.
She swiped the back of her hand across her forehead, shoving her damp curls out of her face. The rain continued to pour and Maeve locked her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering. Rushing across the sodden ground, swearing each time her boots slid against the wet earth, she bolted in Casimir’s direction.
Maeve became an inferno of vengeance. Slicing. Striking. Ending lives in less time than it took to breathe.
“Cas!” she cried, and tossed her sword.
He didn’t even look at her, he just lifted one arm and opened his hand. In the next blink, his fist closed around the hilt as he caught it, trusting in her aim more than she trusted herself.
She pulled up short, gasping as she reached his side.
“Stay together!” Rowan shouted from somewhere behind her. “Don’t let them separate you!”
