Home > Noble (Night of the Dark Fae #3)(6)

Noble (Night of the Dark Fae #3)(6)
Author: Angela J. Ford

They’d flown high above the clouds and throughout the long flight she felt as though she couldn’t get enough air or enough water, not to speak of food. Now, hunger gnawed through her stomach, making her wish she could eat an entire chicken. Wherever she was, she hoped a feast was about to take place. She’d forget her thirst and forego a cooling bath just for a good meal.

The glare of her shield stung her eyes and made her head pound. She struggled to move her hands to rip it off when the ground beneath her shifted and cracked with a splitting sound. It gave way and she fell for a second time and landed with a thump. This time, she was too weary to cry out but all the same she struggled to her knees.

“In here!” someone shouted.

“Bring her down,” another voice cried.

And then she was surrounded, arms reaching out to lay her on a pallet. Dimly, she struggled against them as she was taken, downward, she thought, and came to a rest again.

“Who is it?” a woman’s voice said.

“Open the helmet, gently,” a man’s smooth voice instructed. A loud banging on what must have been a door interrupted him. “I’ll see to this, interruption.” His voice sounded amused.

“Water,” Maeve whispered, her tongue almost too dry to speak. She’d screamed when the firebird dropped her, and that had drained the rest of her energy.

Pressure pounded around her head and the helmet slipped off. Light filled the room, firelight, she assumed, and she blinked up at the face of a woman bending over her. Her heart-shaped face was youthful, her skin dark and her almond-shaped amethyst eyes full of curiosity and concern. Before the strange woman could say anything, doors thudded open and the sound of booted footsteps rang across the stone floor.

Maeve turned her head, struggling to see where she’d fallen. Was this the city of mages? Wide windows let in the gray light from outside, and at one end of the room she glimpsed what looked like a throne. When she turned her head the other way, she saw feet running up to her. A man knelt beside her.

“It’s Maeve!” he exclaimed, and then his face peered over hers.

She couldn’t help the tired smile that came to her lips at the sight of Imer. As she studied the crooked grin on his face, her heart flip-flopped, but she couldn’t miss the guarded caution in his eyes. Something had changed.

“Water,” she mumbled again.

“Don’t move.” Imer lay a hand on her shoulder.

“She needs to be taken to the infirmary,” a woman’s voice rang out. “We will speak with her when she is feeling better.”

Maeve caught a glimpse of the woman’s face as she was lifted and carried on the pallet. She closed her eyes as the rocking sensation took over, and it wasn’t too long until she was set down again. In the distance she heard voices talking and someone pulled off her boots and started unfastening her gantlets. A water skin was pressed to her lips and she drank deeply, relieved to be out of the air, back on solid land where the warmth of the firebird did not touch her. A weariness overcame her and her eyelids closed, even though she tried to fight it. Her last thoughts were that she was thankful to be in a safe place, once again.

 

 

When Maeve woke, disoriented and confused, her golden armor had been piled up on a nearby table and shined until it glistened. Her sword lay with it and she blew out a breath. Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she stood up, snatched the water pouch off the table, and drained it dry. The pounding in her head was gone and the heat that inflamed her skin had passed. She still wore the sheath but noticed additional clothes had been laid out on the table beside the bed. She ignored them and ducked out of the room.

The next room was larger, lit with torchlight and a woman stood by a table, folding white linens.

“Hello,” Maeve said.

The woman gasped and a hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, my lady, you’re awake. We did not expect you get up so soon, I must tell the others.”

Maeve held up a hand to keep her from rushing out of the room. “Where can I find some food? I am half-starved.”

Eyes wide, the woman pointed to a basket on the table. “Eat as much as you like. I’ll have something hot brought from the kitchens. Don’t go anywhere.” She held up her hands as though she could keep Maeve in the room.

Ignoring her, Maeve went for the basket. Inside were cheese, grapes, and bread that smelled as though it had been baked a few hours ago. Sitting down, she tore into it while the woman fled from the room. She chewed and swallowed, wondering whether a flagon of wine could be had to wash down the food. As she ate, she recalled all that had happened to her, and her next task. How long had she slept? There could be no delay. A sense of urgency made her stand while she shoved cheese into her cheeks.

When she turned to the doorway, Imer leaned against it, watching her with an unreadable expression on his face.

Cheeks bulging, she froze, and confusion churned within. Imer. She had to admit, she’d thought of this moment, imagined their reunion many times. But not like this. She’d been frustrated when he’d left her and missed his calm presence, his firm belief in her quest and their passionate lovemaking. But now that they were together again, an awkwardness hung like an invisible curtain between them. She didn’t know how to behave around him.

When they were hunting for the shards what was between them was different. She was desperate to escape the fae and he had answers about her past. But now, no more mystery surrounded him. Her desire for him was still there but it had changed. Was it the distance? The finale of the quest? Or the impending war? She wasn’t sure, but her feet did not run to him, and although she would welcome his kisses, she did not need them. What had happened?

Maeve finished chewing, although she would have rather spit out the food, her hunger gone. Imer, sensing the tension in the air, broke it with a lazy smile. “Maeve of Carn.”

The familiar tone of his voice sent a tingling sensation through her veins. Her thoughts twisted in confusion. Perhaps she was simply exhausted and still trying to wrap her mind around what she was feeling as the world changed around her.

“I am glad to see you well, and whole, unbroken. When you fell. . .” he trailed off and ran his fingers through the waves of his dark hair.

“You should know that Sandrine did not make it,” she told him, her fingers forming into fists at the memory of blue fire licking up Sandrine’s body.

His mouth set in a grim line. “I understand.”

A tight ball of disappointment formed in the pit of her stomach and she wasn’t sure if his words meant he understood about Sandrine’s death or the tension between them. She took a step toward him, aware that she smelled of heat and battle. Her hair was frizzy and she wanted to soak in a hot bath before touching anyone.

Blinking hard, she changed the topic. “This is your home?”

His eyes were hard although his lips retained the smile, his secret weapon against the world, the mask he wore to keep others from reading his true thoughts and sensing his feelings. “Aye, my lady.”

The term warmed her and a flush came to her face. The old Imer was still there after all.

“We returned here after we left you in the glade.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s been a long few months, waiting, and now war is coming. The wizard will want to speak with you, and I assume we will march to battle.”

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