Page 19 of Raven Rebel (Sablewood #1)

Meara

H ot, angry tears welled in Meara’s eyes. It was easy to be furious with the viciously beautiful Ayala, but her words were true. Her body and mind felt heavy, sluggish, and full of dark emotions that threatened to burst out of her.

Meara’s boots stomped across pine needles as she exited the manor house and flung herself into the trees. For a short while, she could pretend she wasn’t a faerie, none of this had happened, and she was simply enjoying the forest as she had done for all of her life.

After spending the morning trying to summon some sort of magic from within herself, it hurt to see Brenna wield it so freely.

The scent of pine and rotting leaves soaked into her lungs. Things would be better with more time, rest, and effort. Her stride slowed, and her chin tipped up as she regarded the treetops. Hedge sparrows of umber and ash flitted through them, singing and calling to each other.

This was what she needed. Her exhale was smoother. Every step calmed her anxieties and unwound the knots in her stomach.

She stepped forward again and her body halted so suddenly she fell, her body folding over as her feet remained stuck in the dirt.

Righting herself, Meara attempted to move forward, but could not.

She stepped backward, but found the same unseen barrier behind her if she went another step.

All around her stood an invisible wall, leaving her trapped in the center.

She bent down, brushing away leaf litter to reveal a perfect circle of mushrooms.

A faerie circle.

After pounding against the magic until her palms ached, Meara sank to the ground and sat cross legged.

She was not far from the manor house, but her pride kept her from screaming for help.

Not after last night and the way Cerne had jumped over the railing and scaled the hillside to reach her.

Eventually, someone would find her, preferably Tayen, or even Xurey or Seda, and undo the magic that held her. As long as it wasn’t Cerne.

Nothing to do but wait. Her eyes drifted closed as she turned her concentration inward. She reached for some fire or energy within, attempting to pull out her magic. But there was nothing but shadows within her. Her lips curled, frustration pummeling her.

“Lady Meara, are you meditating?”

Her hair fanned out as she twisted, her disappointment clear across her face as she regarded Lord Cerne. Breath hissed between her teeth and blood pulsed in her skin, tinting her cheeks sweet briar.

“My lord,” she began, forcing herself to continue. It would be even worse to hide her situation from him and be found out. “I’m afraid I stumbled into a faerie circle. I can’t go anywhere at the moment.” Each word felt bitter, but they were true.

“Oh, I thought I found the last of those pesky things.” Cerne drew closer, his billowing shirt gaping open to reveal an expanse of chest. Why bother with a shirt when it hardly covers one’s chest?

Crouching so they were level, he smirked. His hand hovered over the edge of the mushroom circle, and with a sweep, it was broken, stirring up the musty scent of fungus and decay. The pressure fell away, and Meara scrambled up and stepped out of the magical prison.

“Why do you even have faerie circles in your land? To trap trespassers?” she grumbled, hugging her arms across her stomach.

Cerne shook his head. “It is not something I created, nor any ruler before me. I’m not sure why they form. Xurey once told me it was a surplus of the magic we feed into our land coming back out like a blemish.”

She nodded, beginning to walk. Cerne joined her, matching his gait to hers. A twig snapped under his soft boots.

“You spoke of your relationship with your land before,” Meara mentioned, searching for any information that would teach her about these people they were supposed to belong to.

“Yes, we care for the land and it cares for us. Is that so different from the human kingdoms?”

“We don’t think of it like that. And there is less magic involved, obviously.” She tugged on her bottom lip with her teeth for a moment, sorting through her thoughts. “I was wondering, does it snow here? I mean, do you experience the change of seasons? Because it’s currently autumn for everyone.”

For the second time, she heard Cerne’s true, deep laugh.

It rumbled out of his chest, filling the space.

He sounded like a crackling, cozy fire and warm spiced cider.

She couldn’t help but smile. “Yes, we have the change of the seasons, but it’s still a bit like autumn all year.

Such as spring flowers blooming under leaves of orange and gold, as they are now. ”

“Truly?” she murmured, eyes flitting up to the branches above their heads.

Cerne caught her off guard by stepping closer and raising his hand. His knuckles skimmed her exposed upper arm. The impulse to pull away warred with the desire to move closer to him, and she settled on shifting her weight awkwardly, keeping her feet planted.

“You seem upset.”

“Yes, it’s been a difficult few days, as you’re aware,” she replied.

Speaking her mind to this powerful faerie seemed to override her good sense.

Words tumbled out of her. “As you know, we were chased by an angry mob, relocated from a human queendom to a faerie court, and then I was assaulted by a dearg due just last night. And all the while, I’m trying to find whatever magic is inside of me and nothing is coming out.

” The last four words were sharp and slow.

Blinking, she raised her hand to her mouth. That was more words than she had ever spoken together to anyone - aside from her sister or mother. She scowled at his pleased smile. Those moss-studded umber irises seized her soul as his lips curved handsomely.

“I have been abundantly impressed by your fortitude while facing all of those challenges.” He studied her, weighing his words before continuing.

“To be clear, Meara, even if your magic never surfaces, or perhaps it does and it’s something unremarkable, it will not matter.

You are worthy of admiration as you are. ”

His smirk widened into a true smile. “And even without magic, I know you could gut me.” His hand dropped from her elbow to her waist, coming to rest atop the blade sheathed high on her thigh. Meara’s gaze followed his hand as it lingered on her hip before falling away.

“Thank you,” she murmured, dropping her eyes to the ground. The moment felt too intimate. “I’m afraid your praise is wasted. All I’ve done is fight to survive, like anyone would.”

“But you’ve done it so beautifully.” His bold stare banished her doubts. He was flirting. The realization mired her thoughts, slowing them like thick honey.

It meant nothing. He flirted with many ladies in his court, she was sure. However, she had never been spoken to in this way and her heart pounded. Before her flaming cheeks could betray her, she cleared her throat and spoke. “I doubt Ayala would appreciate you saying that to me.”

“Why?” he asked, enjoying watching her squirm as she opened her mouth and closed it again like a fish.

Meara folded her arms and set her weight onto her back foot. “Considering how she all but sits in your lap at gatherings, it is reasonable to assume she is your lover.” Her pulse thrummed in her throat.

“She is not. Not anymore.”

“I’m sure she mourns that fact.”

Cerne laughed again, the warm rumble soaking into her blood and relaxing her muscles. His voice was a low purr. “So insightful for someone new to my court.”

What did he want - for her to throw herself at him and beg the handsome Autumn Lord to bed her? She’d rather strangle him for the smug look on his face.

“I am sure you have plenty of women in your court who are interested in filling that role.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “Not me, of course. But I saw more than a few beautiful, young women watching you as we walked through the shops.”

His eyes widened and lips parted the slightest amount. It was the barest hint of surprise, but she felt victorious. She forced her smile to stay small, instead of grinning like a dolt, and focused instead on walking away as gracefully as she could manage.

“Glad to know you were watching that closely,” he murmured, falling into step beside her. He offered his arm, and she begrudgingly took it. This time, the pose felt comfortable. The thin linen of his loose shirt was feather-soft under her fingertips.

“You have such a high opinion of yourself.”

“It’s warranted, don’t you think?” His rumbling laugh sounded again, now familiar, and she found she liked arguing with him. The challenge in his eyes was playful, drawing her from her darker emotions. Perhaps he wasn’t so terrible after all.