Crown of Roses, page 2
Maeve held the weight of it in her hands. Its power caused her skin to tingle. It was iridescent and reflected all the colors of the world: the sun and sky, the mountains and seas, and the rose of dawn. She’d found it by chance one day when she was seventeen, after wandering into the Moors just west of Kells. It had been a sweltering day, with temperatures climbing so high, she thought she would melt. Humidity clung to her skin and left her hair a tangle of frizz. She’d ventured into the Moors in search of shade and cooler air to escape the heat, and what she’d discovered instead had been a lake.
Its surface was smooth, a reflective mirror to the world of overgrowth, trees, and wildflowers surrounding it. The water was crystal clear, a separate world all its own. She’d peeled off every piece of sweaty clothing, dropped them in a pile on a rock, and waded in. She didn’t know how long she’d stayed, soaking in waters that moved around her bare skin like cool silk. Floating on her back, her eyes drifted closed as faint threads of sunlight sprinkled in through the overhang of dense trees. She wasn’t a strong swimmer, thanks to her endless torment of the cage, but she could float and hold her breath. Basic yet necessary survivor skills. It was only when she was getting ready to leave, that she noticed a glint beneath the surface—a shifting of colors. She sucked in a deep breath and reached toward the shimmering object. Her fingers sorted through pebbles and silt, when her hands grasped something warm despite the cold stillness of the lake.
The dagger glimmered with ethereal beauty. Maeve kept it close to her ever since, strapped to her thigh.
She tucked the blade into her sheath and slipped out the west gate of the castle, toward Kells. She had no entourage, no guards to follow her around and keep a close watch. For the most part, she was able to move freely. Since no one outside of the castle walls recognized her as the princess, she was perfectly capable of blending in and taking care of herself.
The Ridge deposited Maeve into the heart of the vibrant, bustling city. Shops yawned open, and their brightly colored awnings stretched out onto the cobblestone pathway in greeting. Music flowed from a local cafe, and the market was already teeming with vendors setting up their tables and offering a wide variety of wares. There were stalls of the finest fabrics, fresh fruit and vegetables, handmade pottery and arts, as well as freshly baked bread and treats. The fountain in the center of Kells gurgled to life while children ran around it in circles, their laughter echoing up to the rooftops.
A little girl spun round and round with outstretched arms, her face tilted up to the sun, and she nearly collided head first into Maeve.
Maeve caught her by the shoulders and smiled. “Careful, little one.”
The girl grinned up at her with a sugar-dusted face. “Sorry, miss.” Then she pulled a flower from the bundle of stems clasped tightly in her small grip, and held it up to Maeve. “Here. This is for you.”
Maeve knelt down and accepted the flower. It was a blue wildflower, usually found along the coast. She stuck the blossom behind one ear and smiled as the girl ran off to join her friends.
She was considering heading down one of the side streets and following the delicious scent of something tart and lemony, when the cool fingers of trepidation slid down her spine. She recognized the sensation instantly.
She was being followed.
Maeve drifted through the maze of people and tents, careful to look oblivious, and ducked into a side alley right as a thick layer of clouds floated in from off the coast. On instinct, she pressed her back firmly against the brick wall and waited. Not even a minute later, a shadowy figure darted down the same alley, and Maeve launched forward, forcing her forearm to the windpipe of her stalker.
Summer blue eyes blinked at her in surprise and a slow smile spread across her would-be assailant’s face. “You’re getting better, Your Highness.”
Maeve stepped back and released her hold. She rolled her eyes to the heavens where clouds started to drift in, hiding the warmth of the sun. “You could’ve just asked to come with me, Saoirse.”
“And where’s the fun in that? It’s a far better idea to keep you on your guard.” Saoirse winked and tossed her braid over her shoulder. Silvery blonde hair the color of moonlight twisted back into a smooth plait, and tucked behind one ear was a magenta orchid. She always wore a flower in her hair. She told Maeve once that flowers helped to disguise the stench of blood. Two daggers were strapped to her thighs, and a sword was at her waist. She was lethal. Savage. Trained to be unstoppable, and she was one of Casimir’s most elite warriors.
She was also Maeve’s best friend.
“Why were you in such a rush to get out of the castle anyway?” Saoirse asked, drawing Maeve’s attention back from her wandering thoughts.
“The queen has guests arriving soon. “
It was all that needed to be said.
Saoirse nodded stiffly. She was well aware of Maeve’s blood curse. She heard the way Carman spoke to Maeve, how she treated her, how she more or less exiled her to the city of Kells whenever her reputation was on the line.
“Come on.” Saoirse linked her arm through Maeve’s. “Let’s go find whatever smells so delicious.”
Together they strolled through the market square, passing numerous vendors and shop owners selling an abundance of goods. The center of Kells had come alive with townspeople moving through the stalls, bartering prices, and trading merchandise. They passed a bookshop filled with cozy nooks, stuffed with oversized chairs and comfortable pillows, and shelves upon shelves of reading material. There were jewelry-makers, blacksmiths, leatherworkers, and any number of storefronts crammed into the old brick buildings, lending Kells an air of serenity and charm.
Off one of the side alleys, Maeve caught a glimpse of a large red tent with a wooden sign propped up on the cobblestone that read “fortunes”. Curiosity piqued in the back of her mind, but Saoirse was already dragging her toward the cart where an elderly couple always sold the best lemon sugar scones.
Maeve took a bite of her scone, and the tart lemons collided on her tongue with gooey white chocolate and crumbling pastry. It was decadent. She bit off another piece and nodded toward the red tent. “Do you believe in fate?”
Saoirse, who was usually the epitome of a femme fatale, licked the lemon sugar drizzle running down the edge of her scone. “Of course. It’s hard not to, but I also think everyone is given a chance to change their fate. Nothing is permanent.”
Maybe not even a blood curse…
Saoirse had a point. The hands of fate wove a delicate tapestry, and each thread was a soul with a destiny all its own. But how often had she prayed to the night skies for the removal of her curse without a response? Perhaps it was a course she would have to change by herself, without the help of gods and goddesses.
Maeve glanced over at Saoirse who was finishing off the last of her scone. “What do you think is written in the stars for you?”
“For me?” Saoirse arched her brow, as though she’d never considered her own future. She looked out past the city, toward the Gaelsong Port. “Honestly? I believe my fate is tied to keeping you alive.”
Maeve grabbed Saoirse’s hand and tugged her toward the swaying red tent. “Let’s go, I want to hear my fortune.”
“What?” Saoirse eyed the tent where chimes jingled in the cooling breeze. Her hand instinctively went to one of the daggers on her jeweled band. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah, come on. Just for fun, I promise.”
But the moment Maeve stepped inside the moody tent, her blood started to hum.
The air was perfumed, incensed with a scent of cedarwood and orange blossom that was so dense, it caused her eyes to water. Strands of glossy black beads dangled like a curtain, and ivory skulls were perched on stakes. In the middle of the tent stood a round table draped in a black cloth and a clear crystal ball was propped up on a block of wood. Overhead a bronze lantern spun slowly, causing flickers of gold to flash along the tent walls like shadows. Goosebumps prickled Maeve’s flesh, and a strange sensation seized her gut, but she brushed off the feeling, thinking it had more to do with the heady scent hanging in the air, and less to do with her own intuition.
Saoirse scowled. “This is a terrible idea.”
A second later there was a startling pop and a puff of smoke.
Maeve jumped and Saoirse glued herself to her side.
“Hello!” An old woman moved out from behind a sheer layer of fabric draped from the ceiling and gestured them forward. “Come in, come in my dear hearts.”
The woman ambled forward, and the stack of bracelets stretching up her arms jingled in song. Her back curved with age, she had long, spindly fingers, and her yellowed nails were sharpened to a point. Stringy gray hair fell down to nearly her waist, and when she smiled, tar and some other unknown substances clung to her teeth. She bowed regally. “I am Madam Dansha.”
“You can’t be serious,” Saoirse muttered.
Maeve jabbed her lightly with her elbow.
Madam Dansha’s beady gaze zeroed in on Maeve. “You…you are the one who wants your fortune told.”
Saoirse crossed her arms, unimpressed. “Lucky guess.”
“Sit, sit,” Madam Dansha crooned.
Maeve ignored the complaints of her friend, and slid into the chair across the table from the fortune teller.
Madam Dansha stared at her without blinking, and her peculiar manner set Maeve’s nerves on edge. She cleared away the crystal ball, and instead pulled a handful of runes from her robe. She shuffled the sparkling black stones in her palm, and mumbled to herself in a language Maeve couldn’t quite understand.
“A curiosity, you are,” Madam Dansha whispered and placed the relics on the table in the shape of a crescent moon. “Rune of Willow to symbolize a journey and survival. Rune of Apple for the force of life. Rune of Yew…endurance, and the eternal life. And Rune of Reed, well, the Rune of Reed is a symbol of divine might.”
Maeve leaned forward in her seat. “What does all this mean?”
“Your hand, please.” Madam Dansha extended her weathered hand.
“Maeve,” Saoirse warned.
“It’s fine.” She brushed off Saoirse’s warning. This was just an old woman with a knack for oddities. None of it was serious business. All of it was for amusement and fueling the constant wonders of futures, forecasts, and lucky charms.
Maeve reached out and allowed Madam Dansha to take her hand.
She flipped it over, palm up, and began tracing a wide circle around the inside of Maeve’s hand with one of her pointy nails. “Your soul has lived a thousand lives. But the one you keep now will define the rest of them. Your future, however, is…unclear.”
Maeve frowned. “What do you mean, unclear? That’s the whole reason I walked into this tent.”
Madam Dansha looked up. Her eyes had seemingly darkened to black in the dull light. “Your fate is not yet decided.”
“But do you see anything? Anything at all?”
Anything that will make me worthy of my mother’s crown?
Madam Dansha’s lips pinched together, and her skin took on a grayish tone. “I see much pain, and the trauma of your past returning to you in time.”
Maeve’s hand jerked in the old crow’s grasp. That hardly seemed like an ideal fortune. She hadn’t been expecting to hear sunshine and rainbows, but part of her had been hoping for something.
“I see your tears. Your shadows. Both life and death. A path of destruction, and one of creation.” Madam Dansha’s sharp fingernail dug into Maeve’s skin. “All of them leading back to you.”
“Well, thanks.” Maeve shifted, uneasy with the weight of the words. Her corset was suddenly too tight, too snug around her small waist and wide hips.
“Wait,” the old woman hissed. “There’s more. There is more to you than meets the eye.”
“I don’t think I want to hear it.” She yanked her hand from Madam Dansha’s increasingly tight grip, and the woman’s dagger of a nail ripped across her palm. Crimson seeped out from the cut, stark against her light flesh. It could have been coincidence, but the ground beneath Maeve’s feet trembled, and a gust of cold air caused the tent to ripple. The old woman breathed in, deeply. She sniffed the air, smelled the scent of Maeve’s blood, then snarled.
“Your blood—”
“That’s enough.” Saoirse hauled Maeve back just as Madam Dansha leapt across the table. But Maeve was quicker. She’d drawn her blade from her thigh and the old woman collapsed upon the dagger. Her eyes widened and a faint gasp escaped from between her papery lips. Yet instead of toppling over in a bloody mess, she simply turned to ash. Her body evaporated as though it was nothing more than sand and earth.
Maeve sucked in a breath and stole a glance at Saoirse. Her friend’s face paled significantly. The lantern above the table swung violently, then shattered into a dozen pieces. Outside the tent, instead of children’s laughter, screams filled the air. A strong hand grabbed her arm and tugged her backward. She whipped around, ready to fight, and came face to face with Casimir.
“Alright, ladies.” He glanced at the pile of ash, blinked once, then dragged Maeve out of the tent. “Time to go.”
Chapter Three
Maeve rushed out of the tent with Saoirse and Casimir, and ran straight into chaos.
Tendrils of smoke curled up into a dismal sky, wails of terror filled the air, and the distinctive stench of decay filled her nose. It was so thick, she nearly gagged. Shops and buildings cracked from the earth’s tremors, and their exterior walls crumbled, all while citizens rushed to put out a glaring amount of fires. Children were crying, women were screaming, and everywhere she looked, the people of Kells were alight with panic.
“What’s happening?” Maeve demanded. “Who did this?”
“Follow me and I’ll show you.” Casimir took off toward the Ridge. They climbed the partially collapsed stone steps, and once they’d reached higher ground, he pointed down to the city’s center below. “Look. Just there.”
Maeve sucked in a breath and clamped one hand over her mouth. Where townspeople were running away, soldiers were running toward what could only be described as a gaping chasm. It was as though the ground had simply split open, the realm itself broken, and a scourge plagued the land. Black ooze bled across the cobblestone streets, slowly devouring anything in its path. Leaching everything of color and life. From its center, creatures of the night spilled forth from the chasm in waves, and Maeve watched in horror as Kells came under attack.
But these weren’t enemies. They were monsters.
A dense shadow engulfed two humans, and when they screamed, it sounded like their souls were being ripped from their bodies. The shadow shifted, moving to its next victim, and all that remained were bones. There were monsters with empty pits for eyes, whose mangled bodies were littered with scales and spines. Beasts rose up out of the gaping hole, snarling and growling, with claws sharp enough to tear a human body to shreds. Demons prowled around the fountain, feasting on the flesh of the fallen, their mouths stained red with the blood of death.
Hot bile rose up in the back of Maeve’s throat, but she couldn’t bring herself to look away from the scene of horror unraveling below. Anger churned her stomach, and her blood curse throbbed, burning for release. She longed for that power, wanted nothing more than to explode from the inside with fury, and bring its wrath upon all the creatures who stood in her way. It seethed, prowled inside of her like a monster of its own. But if she dared ask to have her cuffs removed, there was no telling what sort of uncontrollable power would erupt from within her. All she knew was something had to be done. She had to stop this attack. Her beautiful city, with its life and vibrancy, was dying.
She spun on her heel, ready to sprint back into the throes of war, when Casimir caught her around the waist with one arm.
“What do you think you’re doing?” He held her back from charging into the fray.
“I’m going to help.” Maeve struggled against his hold and attempted to twist out of his arms. “Those are my people.”
“And you are their heir.” Casimir jerked his head at Saoirse. “Take her back to the castle.”
“What? No!” Maeve kicked and ducked out of Saoirse’s reach.
Casimir scowled, his sword drawn. “It’s not safe for you here, Maeve.”
“And I refuse to stand by and hide away in a castle while Kells suffers.” Maeve pulled her blade from its sheath. She plucked a throwing star from her belt with her other hand. “You know damn good and well you need me down there. I’m going to help, whether you like it or not.” She straightened and set her jaw. “I’ll fight both of you if I must.”
Casimir shared a look with Saoirse, who shrugged. “Sun and sky.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “You are so damned stubborn.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Maeve’s boots pounded against the deteriorating stone path as she rushed back to the line of battle. She came upon her first opponent, a creature of night. Its bony limbs moved like smoke and shadows. Glowing orbs pulsed in place of its eyes, and it loosed a guttural growl as tapered fingers like birch bark reached for her throat. She spun from its grasp, and its shifting head reared back in fury. The monster dislocated its jaw and stretched its mouth wide, as though it intended to swallow her whole. Spirals of shadows descended upon her. She vaulted upward and brought her dagger down in an arc, slicing through the bark-like arms.
Its howl was cut short as the shadowy creature turned to dust.
Just then, a flash of moonlight streaked before her.
Saoirse.
Her silver braid whipped over one shoulder as she slid across the stone pavement on her knees. In the next breath, Saoirse swung her sword, taking down two creatures at once. She didn’t even wait to see if she hit her target. She never missed her mark. Instead, she called out to Maeve from over her shoulder. “Aim for the neck!”
Maeve dropped low and dodged a blow from another shifting demon. She popped up and slashed her dagger across its chest. It froze, turned to ash, and dissolved completely. The corner of Saoirse’s mouth curved upward. “Or just keep doing that.”
