Maeve squared her shoulders. Sandrine’s bitterness would not get the best of her. “I see,” she murmured.
“Good.” Sandrine packed away the book and slung her sack on her shoulder. She hunched behind the rock, looking like an old beggar woman. “You are on your own now. I will meet you at the outpost and make arrangements for our next journey.”
Maeve raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you need gold for that? Where are we going next?”
Sandrine sniffed. “I will worry about that. Focus on getting that shard, unseen. You know well enough that if we start a war on this island, escaping will become difficult.”
“Aye.” Maeve’s fingers went to her blade. “Where shall I meet you in the outpost?”
Sandrine raised three fingers. “Wildling Inn on the southern end, close to the sea. You have three days. We need to keep pace if we are to complete this task in seven months.”
Ah. So, the fae had given the scholar the same time limit.
“I will meet you then,” Maeve said coldly, although she wanted to ask Sandrine about the fae. What had they promised her? Why did she work for them?
Sandrine set off down the rocky path with a scowl on her face, leaving Maeve alone to face the tower.
A sliver of moonlight lit her way as Maeve strode up the rocky path to Lord Sebastian’s fortress. The eerie silence unnerved her, until even the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks on the shore made her jump. Sandrine had been right. It was too quiet. She hadn’t heard a single horse neigh, nor were there any sounds of warriors practicing or talking. There weren’t even any warriors on the way to the seas to fish, and everyone knew the best catches would be caught after night fell, when the fish could not see the shadows of the boats.
Salty sea wind blew against her back as she reached the end of the path and froze outside the gate. The impressive structure rose higher than her head, with heavy iron doors that would take a troop of men to pull open. The doors were likely controlled by a pulley system with chains, and often a door in the side of the wall was used instead of the gates for regular foot traffic. The larger gates were generally open during the day and shut at night, when the comings and goings were few.
Maeve’s throat went dry as she stared at the open gates, wide enough for three men to walk in side by side. Was it a trap?
She held her breath and silently counted to ten as she listened.
Nothing, not even the sound of footsteps.
Drawing her sword, she slipped through the gateway, steeling herself for what might be on the other side. An empty courtyard greeted her—cobblestones, a group of wells on the far side, and doors to adjacent buildings that stood wide open, welcoming the night air into their secret hollows.
Maeve’s gaze shifted, searching for archers and other warriors who should be defending the tower. The wind blew again, but the stone walls blocked out the sea air, and this time a foul scent wafted to her nostrils. She sniffed. Dung. Decay.
Something white flapped in the wind, nailed onto the main doors to the keep, which, according to Sandrine’s instructions, she could use to access the four levels. Still expecting a trap, Maeve crept toward the doors. Rubble crunched under her feet, and she held her sword in front of her, fully expecting warriors to pour out of the door and take her down.
The white item moved again. When she walked up the four stone steps to the doors, she saw it was a scroll nailed into the arched doorway that framed the keep. The doors were cracked open as though someone had been fleeing and swung the doors shut behind them. Words written in ruby red blood were scrawled across the scroll. Maeve pinned the flapping end of the scroll down with her finger and read:
Twelve hours of moonlight was not enough.
Finish what we started . . .
A muffled cry escaped her lips. She pressed her hand against her mouth as bile rose in her throat. Eyes wide, she scanned the courtyard again, even though she knew it was in vain. The night of the full moon had passed. The fae had gone, but not before they spent twelve hours warring through the keep. They’d likely slaughtered everyone inside as they searched for the shard.
Anger seeped through Maeve. It was clear they had failed, but fully expected her to finish their dirty work. After all, that was why they’d captured her. The fact that they had come before her and attempted to find it for themselves ignited a fury within her. The Master had made a deal with her, but it was clear she was their last resort. They already had the knowledge of the whereabouts for the shards, collected over years, perhaps even decades. But only being able to search once a month was not enough for them, which was why they needed Maeve to find the shards. Maeve understood their reasoning, but they had made her situation more difficult.
What if someone saw the fae attack the tower? What if someone escaped and went to the nearest tower to raise the alarm, or to the outpost? If the inhabitants of Biscane had been roused, they’d soon arrive to pick over the spoils of war, and if she were caught in the crossfire, they would kill her. Unless—by a miracle of the Divine—she got out alive.
Maeve set her jaw and ripped the parchment off the door. With a cry of frustration, she slashed it in half and stomped on it. The message was clear. Gripping her sword, Maeve kicked the door open wider and ran inside.
Bodies lined the hall, some headless, others with slashes down their chests. Some still grimaced in anger, while others held their swords, death screams frozen on their dead faces. Arms, legs, even fingers were scattered across the floor, along with ripped clothing, streaks of blood, and black, bloodied weapons. Maeve averted her eyes from the death and winced as guilt buried into her flesh like a knife. Was this how she left people after killing them? After the devastation she wrought with Caspian and his mercenaries? Was this why she was being punished? Because her sympathies did not lie with the salvation of humankind and the beauty of a single life? But there was no time to consider her guilt, so she pushed those thoughts away and ran on.
The trapdoor on the first level was easy to find. A burning torch had been left and, not expecting any resistance, she sheathed her sword and took up the torch. The stairs were damp and slick, and Maeve descended tentatively, ready to use the torch as a weapon if needed.
The yellow pool of light was tiny in the immense underground cavern. She held it up, and a structure caught her eye, along with the glimmer of glowing coals. She held the torch over it and it lit up, shooting light across the walls. It was as though she’d set off a chain reaction, and the torches across the treasury lit up. Light bounced off the stone walls, revealing the cavern.
Maeve’s breath caught and her face went hot. Treasure. More treasure than she’d ever seen in her life. What a find! If this had happened before the fae had captured her, she’d have taken it all, found a ship, and set sail for the north without a care in the world. But now . . . a curse left her lips. She backed away. The golden coins that covered the floor were from tipped-over trunks, and the silk gowns were ripped apart. The treasury had already been ransacked. If the shard was there, the fae would have found it.
Spinning on her sandaled heel, she took the stairs back up two at a time, careful not to slip on blood.
She dashed toward the second level, fully aware scavengers might interrupt her at any moment. She raked her mind. Where would she keep the most precious treasure of all if she were Lord Sebastian? The treasury was not safe enough; that was where he sent his warriors to hide the loot, and likely where he paid them. No. It would be sacred. Close to him. Perhaps somewhere on the second level, close to his chambers?