She’d heard the saying before, or thought she had, but to have it placed before her now…
Fates, was Sofie right? She usually was.
What if, all this time, Maeve had been chasing her own tail, looking for somewhere when, really, what she needed was something.Someone.
Her stomach churned, threatening to bring up her breakfast.
Sitting down on the daybed, Maeve’s head spun.
She’d made a mess of everything. There was no denying it.Maeve had accused Sorcha of lying because it was easier, but it was time to admit she’d been doing the same thing to herself. She’d known there would be consequences getting involved with Soren. She’d known he wasn’t someone who could have a casual tryst that lasted a mere season.
And yet, she’d wanted to play with that fire. She shouldn’t be surprised when she got burned.
“I wouldn’t want to keep you.”That was the last thing Soren had said to her. He meant not to keep her out late, of course, sheknewthat, but she couldn’t help hearing a foreboding ring behind it.
Had he begun to distance himself already, believing she’d sever their relationship soon anyway? Did he think her so callous that she’d string him along like that knowing she’d leave soon for Dundúran?
Did he know her better than she knew herself, guessing that she’d choose position, ambition, before their budding relationship?
Fates, what a burden to bear.
She couldn’t say which of his thoughts and assumptions were right—nor which of hers were, either. Maeve didn’t know what to do, didn’t know what she wanted.
Because while Soren was so sure that Maeve wouldn’t choose to stay with him, Maeve felt just as certain he wouldn’t choose to come with her.
What an impasse they had.
Peering blearily and unseeing at her aunt’s bright, cheery cottage, Maeve decided something.
This couldn’t go on. She had to decide, one way or another. And to do that, she needed more information. She had to know how Soren felt, what he wanted, what he hoped for.
Could he want me enough to ever…?She didn’t dare finish that thought, even as it lodged sharply between her ribs.
Maeve hurriedly laced her boots and tied her hair back with a spare ribbon. With the dishes done and the daybed made, there was nothing left for her to do but close Auntie Sofie’s door firmly behind her and hurry out to find Soren.
Maeve was sweaty by the time she ran into Danann. Even without school today, there were few people out and about in the town proper, meaning there was no one to run into before making it to Soren’s door.
While at first she thought it a blessing, the longer she stood there, her knocking going unanswered, the greater her desperation grew.
She tried the cabin next door that Diar and Akila shared. Still nothing.
Leaping off the porch, Maeve walked quickly to the center of town, searching frantically for someone, anyone to ask.
Her attention snagged on a red flash walking down the path.
“Briseis!”
The dragoness watched her approach in surprise, her concern clearly mounting the nearer Maeve came.
“Maeve, are you all right?”
“Do you know where Soren is?”
“Oh, I believe he’s clearing brush on the northeast side of—wait, are you really all right—?”
“Thank you!” Maeve called over her shoulder as she ran for the northeast.
She was already out of breath and her hair tangled, but she pushed her body, unwilling to stop. Maeve had to see him, had to talk to him—she wouldn’t let the sun go down without seeing him.
