Chapter 22
Why did that feel like goodbye? The thought scared Maeve, and she couldn’t shake it as she strode blindly to the house.
Short as it’d been, tonight had been tenser than their first evening walk, when he’d first declared he would never take a mate.
Maeve wrapped her arms around herself although it wasn’t cold, troubled by the way he’d felt so…
distant. He hadn’t reached for her except to bestow that kiss. He’d barely spoken to or looked at her.
Her stomach knotted tightly. What had she done? What had changed from yesterday, when he smiled so sweetly at her and held her to him like she was something precious?
The difference in his manner left her aching. What had happened?
She hated that she couldn’t stop a little voice from echoing in her head, They always get bored eventually.
But not Soren. Soren was different. She was Soren’s…
She was supposed to be his fated mate. That was supposed to mean something.
He doesn’t want a mate.
Her stomach flipped, and Maeve began to feel sick.
Stop it, she commanded herself. It was just one awkward walk. He was allowed to be off some days or have other tasks to do. Things would be different tomorrow, she was sure. Better.
The niggling worries wouldn’t leave her, though, and by the time Maeve walked into the manor house, she was starting to truly panic. Maeve had broken off enough relationships, and been left too, to know the signs. She couldn’t help turning everything over in her mind, searching for some small clue.
So preoccupied was she, Maeve didn’t notice at first the strange greeting waiting for her in the kitchen.
“Hello, Maeve.”
She startled, looking up in surprise to find her mother and Sorcha there—not so strange—as well as…Maeve frowned…Imogen Ahearn.
“Visiting with Balar and Imogen,” he’d said.
Coming to a halt in the middle of the short hallway between the kitchen and front parlor, Maeve stood in that arched threshold, her suspicion rising as she looked at each woman.
She didn’t know what this was, but she wanted no part of it.
Hackles up, she wanted to flee to her room, to sort out her jumbled thoughts and feelings by herself.
But as Sorcha stepped forward, ushering her further into the kitchen, to a seat at the table already laid with a single meal and goblet, Maeve understood it’d be a while yet before she’d reach sanctuary.
Ignoring Sorcha bidding her come eat alone in front of them, Maeve asked, “What is this?”
“Don’t be rude,” chided her mother.
Maeve stared at Imogen, trying to divine the reason for this strange get-together. Surely it couldn’t be a coincidence.
Eyes narrowing, she asked, “What did you say to Soren today?”
To Imogen’s credit, she didn’t shrink from Maeve’s tone nor even bat an eye. She merely shrugged. “I could ask you the same question.”
Tension crackled in the empty space separating them, which Sorcha, ever the diplomat, hurried to fill, putting herself between them. From her pocket, Sorcha pulled a neatly folded missive, and Maeve immediately recognized the cracked blue wax seal.
“I received a response from Aislinn this morning,” said Sorcha, handing over the letter. “She’s found a position for you, effective immediately if you want it.”
Maeve’s stomach flipped again as she took the paper. No excitement filled her with the announcement, only an aching sort of dread.
With the others watching, she could hardly read the short note. That was Lady Aislinn, always to the point. Maeve forced herself to read it, to know what she’d just walked into.
Sorcha,
Apologies for the delay. Between the festivals, spring planting, and root rot in Endelín, I’ve had little time to spare.
I asked Fia to inquire over possible positions, and she has come up with several, listed below. I believe any would suit Maeve, and all would require relocation to Dundúran.
I spoke with Mayor Doherty yesterday, and he confirmed that should Maeve want it, the position in Town Hall could be hers with all due haste. They are eager to fill it.
Please let me know your thoughts or send Maeve to me for placement.
Assistant Recordkeeper, Civil Division
Junior Guild Liaison, Civil Division
First Aid to Chatelain, Dundúran Castle
Second-Rank Filing Clerk, Judicial Division
Assistant Recordkeeper, Agricultural Division
Also, please inform Maeve I received her letter and will pass along her suggestion to Princess Isolde when she arrives.
Much love to you, Orek, and the family,
Aislinn Darrow
Well, there it was. The better position she’d asked for, been waiting for, thought she was owed. Five options, all there in Lady Aislinn’s neat script, hers for the taking. There wasn’t even a need to hope for a royal visit wherein she could charm her way into a position with the princess.
It’d all worked out, just as her mother said it would.
If only she’d been patient.
If only she was even a little pleased about any of it.
Maeve tried to swallow, but her mouth was too dry. Fates, this was so sudden, so…
“I didn’t realize you’d written to Aislinn,” said Sorcha, gently but in that motherly way of hers that there was no mistaking it for anything but a scolding.
“You hadn’t heard anything, so I…”
Numb with shock over all the strangeness of the evening, Maeve lifted her head, only to find Sorcha looking at her in that way. As though she was disappointed.
“How much of this have you told Soren?” interjected Imogen.
Maeve’s gaze cut to her, anger sparking in her chest. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”
“He’s my friend and my brother now,” Imogen argued, “so I think it is. He’s a kind soul, he doesn’t deserve to be strung along.”
“Ah. So that’s what this is.” Taking a step back, Maeve glared at Imogen, Sorcha, and her mother. “You’ve come to interfere. To scold me and set me right.”
Raising her hands in placation, Sorcha said, “All we want to do is talk with you, Maeve. To see if there’s a solution that works for everyone.”
“Solution to what, exactly?” demanded Maeve, wanting to hear it.
“About whether or not you can be with Soren,” said Imogen.
“Oh, I didn’t realize the decision was for a committee now. He didn’t tell me that was the way for manticores,” Maeve spat.
“Maeve, calm down,” said Aoife.
Sorcha winced, knowing that was absolutely the wrong thing to say to her.
Crumpling the letter in her fist, Maeve squirmed out of Sorcha’s reaching hands. “Don’t.” Glaring at her sister, she said, “What’s between Soren and me is our business.”
“What is between you?” asked Sorcha. “There are rumors, but—”
“Oh, right, yes, because there are always rumors about me, correct? Then they must be true. I must be playing with another one.” She spat that last part at Imogen. “That’s Maeve, a cruel little spider trapping men in her web.”
Imogen’s lips pursed and then she rolled her eyes.
Maeve nearly saw red, but Sorcha blocked her way again. “No one said that,” Sorcha insisted. “But, Maeve, it isn’t as though this is without precedence.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?”
Sorcha sighed. “You know very well you’ve earned much of your reputation. You like to flirt and play, Maeve. And that’s fine if it’s with someone who knows it. But Soren—”
“It’s different with him,” said Imogen. “He may say he doesn’t want a mate, but finding their kigara means everything to them. Even Soren.”
“You got what you wanted.” Sorcha nodded at the letter clenched in Maeve’s fist. “You’ve had your fun. Now, it’s time you be honest with him about your intentions.”
“And you know for certain I haven’t been?” Maeve demanded.
“Maeve, I know you want to leave us. You’ve made that quite clear. You should do the right thing before then.”
Bile burned her throat, and Maeve couldn’t keep the vitriol bubbling inside her down. “Because I’m always wrong, isn’t that so, sister? I never do the right thing.”
Sorcha opened her mouth to argue, but Maeve kept going, unable to stop. “I want to leave. I want to live away from the family. I don’t like horses. I selfishly put myself first rather than sacrifice everything I am to this family.”
“This isn’t about that,” said Sorcha through tight lips.
“Isn’t it? It’s always about how I’m not you, perfect, selfless Sorcha, ready to do anything for the family. So much better than selfish Maeve, who dreams of leaving, who lets herself have fun.”
“I didn’t say any of that!”
“You don’t have to! It’s perfectly clear that’s how you feel. How this whole family feels. I’m nothing like noble Sorcha, so I must be bad.”
“Maeve, you’re being ridiculous,” said their mother, her arms crossed over her chest.
“No, I’m not! It’s always been like this, I’ve always been compared to Sorcha.”
“You’ve always been different,” Aoife sighed. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“No? Then why are we even here?” Spreading her arms wide, Maeve gestured at the three of them, all gathered specially to pass judgement over her.
“We’re worried about what this could—”
“You’re worried about Soren,” she interrupted Sorcha. “Soren. Not me. You haven’t even asked how I might feel. You assume I must be playing with him—you always assume the worst of me.”
A frown darkened Sorcha’s face, the first truly angry expression she’d seen her sister wear in years. “With good reason! You’ve given me little reason to think otherwise about you. You’re selfish, you’re mean.”
The accusation ricocheted in her chest, waves of stinging pain that stole Maeve’s breath. Oh, that did hurt, because there was truth to it. But she didn’t dare show it, didn’t dare appear weak. She had a point to make, and she didn’t care about the consequences, not anymore.
“Am I truly mean, Sorcha, or is it that I say things you don’t wish to hear?”
Sorcha inhaled sharply, but the words caught in her throat.
Nodding, Maeve drove her fingers into her sternum, emphasizing her point. “Telling the truth isn’t wrong, and lying isn’t a kindness.”
“I don’t lie!” Sorcha yelped, obviously offended.
“Don’t you? You say things are fine when they’re not.
You say you’re happy even when you’re not.
You’d let everyone else decide your life if it makes them happy.
You do everything for everyone else and resent that I don’t do the same.
But I’m not like you, Sorcha, and I don’t have to be bad for you to be good. ”
Sorcha’s eyes rounded; apparently, she’d truly shocked her sister. Good.
“Maybe I am mean,” said Maeve, fighting the sting of tears. “Maybe it’s because I’m hard, that I’ve had to be hard.”
“What are you talking about?” Aoife whispered.
“You’re all here right now because you think I’m wrong and need to be confronted, yes? That I’m mean and hard. Perhaps I’m that way because you’ve always picked at me. Perhaps I had to grow tough enough to take it.”
“We don’t pick on you,” Aoife denied.
“No? Then why am I the one being confronted just a few months into knowing Soren, while Connor’s been sleeping outside in the dirt for over a year?”
The accusation fell like a stone to the bottom of a well between them.
“Your brother needs time,” said Aoife, a troubled expression knitting her brows.
“You’ve given him plenty of time. He’s only getting worse—everyone sees it. You do him no favors coddling him.”
“Just because we haven’t been sharp like you doesn’t mean we aren’t doing anything,” Sorcha argued.
“And maybe I’m sharp because I have to be,” Maeve argued back. “Perhaps I could use some time and encouragement rather than whatever this was supposed to be.”
Sorcha’s mouth closed with a click. Yes, Maeve knew that expression well—her elder sister was done with her. That was fine, Maeve was more than done, too.
Shoving the letter deep into her pocket, Maeve turned away, skirts slapping her ankles.
Her mother called after her, but Maeve didn’t heed her. What was there left to say? She’d said her truth, the deed was done. Consequences be damned.
Usually, she’d have preferred rushing to the solace of her room, surrounding herself with her familiar, pretty things. But that felt too childish, too close to everything that hurt, and so Maeve fled the house entirely.
Dusk had long since settled, and she was nearly blinded by tears obscuring the path. Back stiff, Maeve marched forward anyway, clenching her teeth as she willed the tears to wait a little while. Just until she made it off the property.
She hated crying, but there was nothing for it now. All she could do was go to ground and lick her wounds.