Looking at Rodan, Maeve wondered what he wanted of her. Her help, ostensibly, yet what else? Was it her magic he craved, or did he wish to strike at Sebastian through her? If that were the case, he succeeded already. Sebastian, earlier, appeared furious and unsure when Maeve accepted the position of companion.
Even if this were the case, Maeve found herself warming to the deposed king. Something about his presence spoke of safety, of comfort. And something else—something almost dangerous, in its way. Something she had been fleeing most of her life.
Maeve swallowed hard and looked away. No matter what, no matter his intentions, they were companions. And as his companion, Maeve was honor-bound to help him win.
And she had to admit, she wanted him to win. The empty village cemented it. Sebastian would be stopped, one way or the other.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Rodan
MAEVE YAWNED AGAIN, and Rodan shook his head. “We both need our rest. It will be a long day of traveling. Tomorrow, and for many days to come.”
She nodded, hand covering her mouth, and rose on wobbling legs. Rodan stayed put, watching her as she moved around him toward her side of the pavilion. “Goodnight, Rodan.”
“Goodnight.”
With her gone, he cleared the table, allowing the matter to flow back into the ground, becoming soil and rock once more. He dimmed the lights until nothing but a faint red glow illuminated the pavilion, and then sought out his own bed.
While he did not need to sleep as much as a mortal would, exhaustion dragged at his body from the magical expenditures of the day. It took a great deal of energy to cross the veil, and it resisted Maeve worse than it ever resisted Rodan. Whether the Realms found her too old, or unwelcome, or some machination of Sebastian’s foul magic pressed back against them, there was noticeable resistance.
He lay down on the cot and tried to quiet his mind, but Maeve’s proximity kept him on high alert. The partition that he raised was opaque, but not enough to block out sound. He heard her slide into her own bed, and the soft sigh as she settled into the cushions. He wondered what she looked like asleep, with her multicolored hair fanning the pillow and her face losing the tension she carried during her waking hours.
With that image in his mind, his body relaxed, and he slipped away.
The castle, familiar to him and yet foreign, rang with emptiness. The stone walls, black as though a great fire once raged through the halls, were now barren of the hanging tapestries and paintings that once graced them.
Rodan’s boots scraped against the flagstones. He approached a narrow window looking out over a central courtyard. The gardens were gone, blasted into ruin; the central fountain nothing but a pile of blackened rubble.
He scowled. The castle, his home, seemed to reflect the sickness Rodan sensed in Sebastian.
“There you are,” a familiar, slick, slithering voice called.
Rodan turned and beheld his nemesis. His lips drew down. “What are you doing in my dream, Sekou?”
A dream walking was a delicate piece of magic. Had Sebastian truly absorbed this much power? Sebastian possessed a little magic to start with, true, but what he acquired from the throne proved staggering.
Typically, Rodan put up protections over himself while he slept, to prevent outsiders from entering his dreams as the usurper just did. Only exhaustion kept him from raising those shields. What happened to you in a dream walking occurred to you in the waking world.
It made this dangerous.
Rodan faced off against his enemy just as Sebastian folded his arms over his chest and grinned. Rodan hated that smile. It made him want to break every one of Sekou’s perfect teeth and turn his face into pulp. The impulse to maim and kill seemed only to rise in him when in Sebastian’s presence.
“Hey, old man,” the usurper greeted. “We need to talk about your personal challenge. You gave me one once, do you remember?”
“Hardly,” Rodan said, his tone as dry as paper. “You were never worth remembering.”
Sebastian smiled wider. “I recall that it seemed impossible, at the time. But then, you were always arrogant. You challenged me to win the affections of a person from another world. It took a long time, but I found someone and pulled them through. And what a valuable tool she ended up being.”
Rodan remembered now. There were several outlandish personal challenges raised by him over the years. Breathe underwater. Find and ride on the lone unicorn that traveled the entirety of the Five Realms. Build a home on the tip of a mountaintop. Win the affections of a person from another world.
Rodan forgot about this. The personal challenge; both a sacred, private bond between the challenger and the challenged, and a way of decreasing the odds that a challenger would find their way to the palace.
Sebastian stepped closer. “I’ve been thinking about what to do for your challenge. Fly to the moon? You’d do that in a day, I’m sure. Conquer some mythic beast? Again, you could do that with your hands tied behind your back. So, following your example, I challenge you to this: win Maeve’s heart and body. Do this before you reach Realmsgate, or your challenge will be forfeit.” He leaned in. “And then I’ll be the one who entertains our lady from beyond the veil.”
Rodan’s blood flashed hot. His relationship with Maeve epitomized complicated, but he still rankled with her being spoken of in such a way. “You debase yourself.”
“No,” Sebastian shook his head, still grinning. “I’m doing what it takes to win. Give up, old man.”
Rodan wanted to reach out a hand and choke Sekou where he stood. Instead, he took a step back. The personal challenge was sacred. Rodan hated it, but he would not reject it. He could not. It was what it was; the words were spoken. He lifted his chin. “You will one day regret ever setting your sights on my throne, I promise you that.”
Sebastian’s eyes glittered with humor and malice. He shook his head. “You’ll never manage it. She loves me. She’ll never forgive you for what you did to her. For what you let be done.”
Rodan did not know what the man spoke of. He tore at the edges of the dream, ripping it out of Sebastian’s grasp. As it dissolved, he called, “I will do whatever it takes to secure my throne.”
Rodan woke to tangled sheets and the sound of Maeve’s deep breathing coming from the other side of the cloth barrier. His arm had flung out sometime during the dream walking, brushing against the partition, and he realized with a start and a wash of cold fear that he had pulled his gloves off sometime during his sleep.
He slipped them back on, sitting up in his camp cot.
Sebastian’s words rang in his head. Win Maeve’s heart and body.
He looked toward the barrier between them.
She’ll never forgive you for what you did to her.
What did Sebastian mean? Rodan never took any direct action against her. He offered up an award for her capture, yes, especially once he realized that she had been the reason that Sebastian succeeded at trial after trial. He might have held her as his prisoner, but he would never have thrown her in a dungeon or mistreated her. It took him mere moments to know that she was innocent of Sebastian’s machinations once he laid eyes on her the first time.
Rodan remembered it striking him like a blow to the chest, when she had stepped from the shadows and into the full moonlight. Her chin uplifted, her eyes sparking with fear and courage in equal measure. Those eyes, he knew, saw two things. Good and evil. And that flinch, that abrupt withdraw of hers when he lifted a hand in greeting, spoke of her past torments. He had wondered if this girl, this maiden from beyond the veil, was cognizant of Sebastian’s meddling. It took him a mere moment to know that she was not. It took only a moment more to feel an unexpected and overwhelming need to protect her, to pull her away from the danger she could not see. It had been a sense that was difficult to shake, and only seemed to grow in the fifty years he had been hunting for her.
Exhaustion still dragged at him, and Rodan lay back down, his thoughts racing.
Maeve found him physically pleasing. He saw as much after seeing her flushed cheeks, when she stared at him too long, those stolen glances she took of him when she thought he did not notice. In her books, she described him, physically, in a positive light.
Was that enough?
Rodan gleaned some of Maeve’s past. Kept track of her adventures as she stood beside Sebastian when she came through the veil. Peeked at her childhood through her books. Used his scrying to watch her, to listen to her speak amongst her friends. Yet still, he did not know what it might take to win her affection.
Would six months be enough time? With the trials and travel, there would be precious little time for anything other than their quest. And with what he would be facing, wooing her was the last thing on Rodan’s mind.
Though, he admitted to himself, it was on his mind, even before Sebastian’s challenge.
Rodan was not an inexperienced lover, but that was all it had ever been. Lovers, casual and quick to cast aside. The Fae court, not a place of deep-seated alliances, but instead of intrigue and cutthroat manipulations, did not lend itself well to deep connection. He learned well, and took many of those behaviors with him when he left the court and founded Realmsgate.
He turned on his side, facing away from where Maeve slept.
Winning the love of another was never something he strove for. Maeve wanted him to acquire the affection of the people, but what of her? Would conquering her heart be a difficult task?
Rodan noted no indication of a paramour when he visited her world. There was nothing about a lover in all the little things written about her on their internet, no visible signs of another occupying her home. She spoke not one word about anyone close to her heart. The way should have been clear, and yet—
She loves me, Sebastian said. I’ll be the one who entertains our lady from beyond the veil.
The thought made Rodan’s stomach curdle. He might not know what to do, to win her heart, but one thing he did know was that so long as he lived, Sebastian would never claim her.
And what if I die? he asked himself. What would happen to Maeve then?
Maeve, bound to complete the trials, would complete them, but what then? Kill her childhood friend? When faced with that monumental decision, would she ascend the throne, or would she run back to her own world? Rodan wondered if he had led her to her demise.
It doesn’t matter, he thought. Maeve is just a tool. An exceptional tool, but that’s all. That’s all I can allow her to be.
Just because he was tasked to win her affection did not mean he had to give his.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Maeve
MAEVE WOKE TO THE SCENT OF BACON and strong black tea. She rose, rubbing her eyes and stretching her back, which gave a few hearty pops. Her body ached, and she had the distinct impression it would get worse before it got better.
Soft dawn light filtered through the thick fabric of the pavilion, with the lamps from last night providing most of the illumination within the enormous tent. Maeve went to the little camp bathroom behind the screen and performed her ablutions, splashing cold water from a pitcher on to her face to help startle her further into wakefulness.
When she came into the common area, the dining table once again laden with a myriad of foodstuffs, her stomach jerked in anticipation. Bacon, sausage, ham, potatoes, clementines, hard-boiled eggs, sliced peaches, black bread, and cherries crowded every inch of the low wooden surface. Last night, Rodan finished off a bowl of cherries by himself, and she noticed how his lips had become stained red from their juice. A part of her had entertained a fleeting thought of what it might be like to taste those lips.
She banished that image as Rodan came out of his side of the pavilion, lacing up the leather vambraces on his forearms. Carved with swirling patterns of gold on the black background, they matched his flowing black shirt, leather vest, and black well-fitted trousers tucked into tall boots. He had worn similar clothing yesterday, emblazoned with the sigil of his house on the chest—a five-pointed crown hovering over a golden rose. His hair was loose and flowing down his back to his waist, and as she stared, he took a leather cord and tied it at the base of his neck so that it stayed out of his face.
“Good morning,” she said, her mouth dry, determined to say something despite the warm flush of desire that coiled through her. Stop that, she chided herself. Even if Rodan is one of the most handsome men you’ve ever seen, he’s not human. That thought alone stopped her traitorous thoughts.
“Good morning,” he echoed and nodded toward the table. “Please, we should eat before we go.”
Maeve needed little more coaxing than that, sinking down on to a cushion and pulling an empty plate toward her. She cut into a loaf of black bread and made an open sandwich of the eggs, bacon, and ham.
She ate quickly, as did he, and soon Rodan cleared the table, and then gestured at her to follow him to his side of the pavilion. “I have something for you.” She followed, but hesitantly remained at the edge of the partition until she noticed a glittering array of weapons laid out atop his bed. She came to his side, and he motioned at the collection, “I want you to choose any of these that suits you. From here on out, you must remain armed. We don’t know what challenges and traps Sebastian has planned for us, and I want you to be prepared when they spring.”
“I haven’t used a blade in years,” she said, reaching out to pick up a dagger as long as her forearm, its hilt encrusted with black diamonds and veins of yellow gold. Each of the weapons carried a similar motif, matching the imperial colors. “I honestly worry that I’ll hurt myself more than any attacker.”
“Sebastian taught you, didn’t he?” King Rodan’s tone, though level, had an edge to it. Something akin to jealousy.
“No,” she corrected. “It was Pike.” She paused while considering the dagger and glanced up at him. “You don’t happen to know what happened to everyone, do you? Pike and Troy?”
He shook his head. “I haven’t seen or heard of them in years. So far as I know, they went their own way once Sebastian was crowned.”
Maeve nodded, thinking back on the bald ex-thief who taught her how to scrap with blades and fisticuffs. Troy tried to teach her archery, but Maeve never caught the knack of it. Pike’s brand of fighting came naturally to her—using her body to counteract the movement of her foes and bring them down as swiftly as possible. The more precise acts of drawing and firing a bow were lost on her.
Sebastian never trained with her or attempted to teach her his own swordcraft. He preferred long blades and excelled at dispatching his enemies with swiftness, but he only stared as Maeve trained, staying on the sidelines.
Now, Maeve wondered if he had done that because he wanted her to be unprepared if they ever faced off in battle. She remembered catching him studying her around campfires late at night during their travels. Sometimes a darkness lurked there, something hard in his unguarded expression. She never wanted to admit to seeing it, but now? Now she knew she needed to face the reality of those years.
What if he was preparing to kill me if I attempted to take the crown from him? she thought. Did he consider me a threat?
“Does this have a sheath?” she asked, shaking away the cobwebs of those memories and checking the balance of the dagger.
Rodan nodded and produced a leather sheath with a loop that could go around a belt. “Is that all you wish to carry?”
She shook her head and selected a smaller dagger no longer than her outstretched hand that she tucked into her boot. “That’ll do.” She looked up at him, “What about you?”
“I’ll have my magic. I can create a sword if I have need.”
She nodded, chiding herself for asking. Of course, Rodan conjured up a sword whenever he wanted, unlike her.
Maeve went back to her side of the partition and dressed for travel, selecting an outfit not dissimilar to what Rodan wore. She put on a belt he conjured for her, festooned with several compartments filled with useful things: bits of twine, gold and silver
coins, flint and steel. She attached the dagger to her hip, checking in the looking glass that everything rested just where it should.
She paused there, taking in her appearance. The clothes were strange when compared to what she wore when she walked in her own world, yet it fit her, and she felt more herself than she had in years. Maeve shook her hair back and braided it in the mirror, pulling the thick rope of it into a knot on the back of her head.
Nodding to herself, she moved back into the living area and found Rodan taking stock of a small leather pack. While she looked at him, he slipped a wrapped loaf of bread and several apples into it. Her boot scuffed against the soft carpeting and he looked up.
“In case we’re ever separated, I want you to have a few basic supplies,” he said, holding the pack out to her. “It’s just food, water, and a few coins. Enough that you’ll be able to find accommodation in any village.”
Maeve took the pack and gave it a brief look-through. Sure enough, contained within were some necessary provisions and a coin purse that fit in her palm. She checked it and found the coins glittered with gold, with just a few silver and copper pieces mixed in.
Many things remained the same regardless of what world Maeve found herself in, or how much time had passed. What she carried in her hand was enough to feed a large family for an entire year, if not more. She blinked and looked up at him. “Are you sure?”
He shrugged. “I can make whatever I want, what need have I for coin?”
The purse, along with the small number of coins at her belt, contained more than enough to ensure that she would be taken care of if they separated. Or if Rodan died. She shuddered at the thought. She did not want to run the trials on her own, did not want to be faced with the impossible decision of dispatching her friend or letting him kill her.
She hesitated before slinging the pack on to her back. “Why did you want my help?”
He gazed at her for a few heartbeats before responding. “You were the reason that Sebastian succeeded.”
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