51 Rhona
Rhona
The door swung open, Maeve’s eyes wild as she took in Rhona’s face.
Something was wrong.
“What’s going on?” Rhona asked, placing her hands on Maeve’s silk-covered arms.
“You’re here,” she said, the crazed look in her eyes fading to a glaze as she processed.
“Maeve, what’s wrong?” Rhona asked.
“I had a dream . . . I—” Maeve spun around, lost in the room she was in. “I need to cast and seek out a vision. Right now.”
“Maeve, slow down.” Rhona took Maeve’s arms and sat her down on the settee, the fire burning low in the sitting room. Rhona
sat next to Maeve, her heart racing as she snaked her arm around Maeve’s soft waist. Whatever Rhona had just dealt with could
wait; Maeve was clearly distraught.
The two sat in silence for a long while as Rhona held Maeve. Finally, Maeve turned to face her. “You went to the archway?”
she said.
“Yes,” Rhona answered. “It was horrific . . . I need to tell the Iron Retinue, I need to warn everyone, I—”
“No,” Maeve insisted. “Please. I had a dream, I have to find the vision. I have a terrible feeling my dream was telling me
I needed to see how fate changed.”
“A terrible feeling about what?” Rhona asked, confused. What did this have to do with the experiments Dr. Balet was doing?
Maeve wasn’t making sense.
“Please,” Maeve begged, jumping up and walking to a chair beside the fire.
Rhona watched her set up, quietly understanding that there wasn’t a way out of this. Maeve needed to go looking for a vision,
and even though it made Rhona deeply uncomfortable to know she was casting right in front of her, she also knew in her gut
that Maeve wouldn’t do this right now unless it was absolutely necessary.
Rhona decided to watch. She watched Maeve cover herself with a blanket and close her eyes, leaning her head against the back
of the wingback chair. Even in the dim light of the fire, Rhona could see the outline of Maeve’s eyes whipping back and forth
under her eyelids. If she didn’t know better, she’d have thought Maeve was just having a nightmare.
After ten minutes Rhona started to pace, Maeve murmuring incomprehensible sentences that didn’t even sound like words most
of the time. Another minute passed and Rhona watched Maeve’s eyes fly open as she jumped up. Tears welled in her eyes.
“What’s wrong?” Rhona asked, not stepping toward Maeve, trying to give her space. But she wanted to get closer to her—to comfort
her. Rhona ached to kiss her again.
“Kiss me,” Maeve said out of the blue, stepping toward Rhona.
“I cannot,” Rhona said, her heart beating out of her chest and heat ripping throughout her. “The last time was a mistake, and you do not need to pander to my wishes just because I am helping you.”
Lady Maeve Heathecote looked up into Rhona’s eyes, her amber eyes pools of molten metal in the firelight of her room. Rhona
had trusted Maeve, had let her cast her magic, had let herself grow close to the lady. But . . . this didn’t feel right. Why
was she asking for this now, after whatever vision she had seen?
“What did you see? I will not kiss you until you tell me,” Rhona said, admitting out loud, and to herself, that it wouldn’t
take much to embrace Maeve a second time.
“You will kiss me,” Maeve said knowingly. “And then I will tell you what we need to do next.”
That was all Rhona needed. Her walls crumbled and she cupped her hand under Maeve’s dainty and soft chin, so different from
hers and perfect in every way, and lowered her lips to the lady’s, stopping just before they could touch. Rhona could feel
Maeve’s hot breath hitch before she closed the gap and let their lips touch. This time, Rhona didn’t pull away.
Rhona had never kissed a man; few had ever wanted her, and she had never wanted them. But Maeve? Kissing her felt like a missing
puzzle piece falling into place. Rhona had never thought she’d be able to enjoy physical affection, but here she was, with
someone she trusted. They broke apart moments later, a smile on both of their faces.
But Maeve’s was juxtaposed with eyes brimming with tears. “I need you to go to your barracks and pack a bag, and quickly.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Whatever you did tonight changed my visions about you . . . I—” Maeve said, choking up.
“Maeve, what did you see?” Rhona asked.
“My visions . . . they had us working together. My dream it, it showed me that something had changed. Your visions now, they . . .
Rhona. I don’t have visions for you. Just like Saoirse.”
Rhona’s gut plummeted. “What are you saying?” Rhona asked.
“Whatever happened to Saoirse is going to happen to you. I saw flashes of the knights taking you, then I saw the archway,
then nothing. But if you go pack a bag and get out of here, my visions will change again. If you leave now, I can cast for
a new vision while you change the pathways, and I’ll guide you to where you need to go,” Maeve said, becoming more frantic.
It barely made sense; the future was the future. But if . . . if Rhona did something not in the vision, the visions would
change. This was how seers used their power—they could warn you of danger and tell you where you needed to go next once you
had avoided a gruesome fate. The march of war itself could be changed with the right vision, lives saved that would otherwise
be lost.
She could understand why Lord General Kerrigan had them all killed. It was more power than anyone should have. And yet, Rhona
was grateful for it. She hated herself for being thankful for Maeve’s warning, and yet, she was grateful anyways.
“Will you come with me?” Rhona asked. She couldn’t leave Maeve here, not after that kiss, not knowing she was in danger as
a witch here. Rhona could protect Maeve if they went together.
“We need to stop talking. Pack and come back here as fast as you can. Only then can we figure everything else out,” Maeve
said, pushing Rhona to the door.
“I—” Rhona started, concerned that Maeve hadn’t agreed to come with her as Maeve lifted onto her toes and kissed Rhona again.
“Go!” she urged frantically.
“Be ready when I come back,” Rhona said, slipping out the door and running to her barracks.