Chapter 6
Lists of Bellator lay sprawled across Maeve’s dining table, the ends of the parchments curling up on themselves. They were divided into loyal, loudly disloyal, and those who remained malleable.
She and Roswyn studied their updated lists over dinner, discussing who he’d move in on next to begin feeling out their intentions. The Double O’s ever changing laws and legislation made moving in secret harder all the time.
With Doggbind and Moon breathing down Maeve’s neck, Roswyn had far more success at moving behind the scenes.
“She’s pregnant,” he blurted out as Maeve thumbed through scrolls.
She paused and looked up at him. “Emerie?”
He didn’t smile. He tore a piece of bread on his plate and popped it in his mouth.
“How can you tell?” Asked Maeve. “You haven’t seen her in over six months. She’s in another realm.”
“I’m a Pureblood aren’t I?” He answered.
Maeve set aside the parchment and looked down at her food. “I suppose I thought they were lying about that.”
“Well, they weren’t. I can feel her Magic growing every day. Even across realms.”
Maeve’s brows flicked up. She couldn’t feel Mal’s Magic across realms.
“Apparently I can feel that it’s a ‘her,’ too.”
Maeve didn’t smile. “I always pictured you having boys.”
Roswyn cleared his throat and changed the subject.
“How many Bellator do you estimate will go to the Dread Lands?”
“At least a third,” she answered.
“Good,” he said with a nod.
They were silent as they finished their dinner.
“Have you talked to him?” Asked Roswyn finally.
Maeve looked down at her nearly empty plate.
“No,” was all she said.
“I figured,” he said, “based on that snappy response you gave the new girl.”
Maeve looked at the table between them. Her stomach twisted. “Have you?”
He scoffed. “You think he’d speak to me over you if given the chance to communicate with us?”
Maeve sighed.
He set his fork down. “You do,” he said, a smile pulling up at the corner of his lips.
“Don’t sound so pleased.” Maeve pulled her napkin from her lap and tossed it on the table, eager to retire.
His face pulled together, almost in a scowl. “You’re practically dead inside aren’t you?”
“Practically?” She asked. She shook her head.
A glass of Dragon Whiskey appeared on the table before Roswyn, courtesy of her enchanted townhome. He slammed it back at once. “That’s how I felt after Antony,” he said, biting the sting of the liquor.
Another glass appeared in front of Roswyn.
And one in front of Maeve. She looked down at it.
“I don’t remember how I felt after Antony anymore,” she said. “It’s all one blur of death.”
Roswyn picked up his glass and raised it. “Drink that.”
Maeve shook her head and didn’t reach for the glass of liquor.
“Come on, Sinclair,” he said sternly. “The house wants to help you.”
Maeve stared at the glass of brown liquid the house gifted her. It had been years since she drank anything stronger than tea.
Roswyn raised his slightly higher. “To Antony and Ambrose.”
Maeve grabbed the glass before she could talk herself out of it. She downed the contents in one swift gulp without toasting her glass. It burned her throat before she even swallowed. A harsh and fiery sensation slipped into her stomach.
Roswyn tossed his back.
The warm liquid betrayed her, triggering her stomach to flip over and over. Maeve leaned over sideways and vomited beside the chair.
Laughter filled the room. She had never heard Roswyn laugh with enjoyment like that before. She wiped her face with her napkin and sat up. Nausea rolled through her.
She had never seen him so relaxed and joyful. He leaned back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling.
“I watched your brother do that the first time he ever drank Dragon Whiskey too. Except he vomited on my mother’s antique rug. She still gripes about the stain.” He paused and his voice lowered. “I was never so grateful for a stain.” Roswyn’s eyes landed back on her. “You don’t look like him.”
Maeve looked away from him.
“Except your eyes. You and Arianna both have them.”
Maeve rested her elbows on the table. “I know.”
She looked like her mother. She had seen her in her father’s memories. They were old, whispers of thoughts, but Maeve had been able to make out some of her face just once.
Roswyn looked down at Maeve’s hand, where her Sinclair family ring sat glistening.
“He had one similar,” he said, lost in thought.
“I forget,” began Maeve, “that you were friends. I dream about him. I think it’s him, at least. Did you ever see his wolf form?”
Roswyn shook his head.
“Hmm,” she said. “Well, I think it’s him.”
Roswyn pushed back in his chair, cleared his throat, and stood. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Two more glasses of Dragon Whiskey appeared between them.
Roswyn’s brows raised. His smirk reappeared.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said.
“Who said anything about good ideas?” He laughed. “If we’re stuck here together, we might as well make the most of it.”
Maeve didn’t smile. “Don’t start acting kind towards me out of pity.”
Roswyn picked up one glass and handed it to her. “I’ve always pitied you.” He picked up his own.
“Pity?” She almost laughed. “Is that what it is?”
“Just drink the damn whiskey, you insufferable woman,” said Roswyn.
She looked down at her drink. “I think I’d prefer something–”
The house obliged her before she even finished her request. The dark liquid in her cup swirled, turning a clear color.
Maeve sighed.
Three more shots later, Roswyn was still holding his own. Maeve was not.
He sat on the rug while she laid out on the sofa.
“Have you ever been drunk around Mal?” He asked.
“No,” she said, swirling the green cocktail Roswyn made her in her hand. “I haven’t been drunk in years.”
“Do you remember that party at Vaukore when Alphard bet that Irish boy he could knock him out in one punch?”
Maeve laughed, causing the room to spin. “Alphard missed. Liam was sober and clocked him square in the face.”
“That was the night Abraxas got those imported candies, remember?”
“Barely,” said Maeve. “That was the last illicit substance I allowed Brax to coerce me into trying.”
Roswyn grinned. “I remember now. You were puking until 3 a.m. in our bathroom. Alphard held your hair for hours.”
Maeve looked over at him. “Was Mal there?”
Roswyn shook his head. “No. He and Abraxas always roomed together.”
Maeve nodded, remembering their room was further down the hall. She roomed with Lavinia that year. She was always leaving Maeve little, uplifting notes.
Mal and Maeve barely interacted that year, aside from a few snide remarks.
“Where do you think he is?” She asked as she looked up at the ceiling.
“Somewhere deep in those lands, trying to restore our home.”
Maeve sighed. “Home,” she repeated quietly.
Roswyn moved like he was going to speak and then didn’t. Maeve looked over at him. “What?”
He took a sip of his drink and didn’t meet her gaze. “It’s not worth it.”
“What’s not?”
“What I want to say to you.”
Maeve sat up, ignoring the spinning room around her. “Now you have to.”
Roswyn sniffed sharply and looked over at her. “I think you should just be his second. Nothing more.”
“Why?” Pressed Maeve coldly.
“Because it gets in the way.”
“In your way?” She muttered darkly.
“No,” he said, looking over at her with a scowl. “In yours and his.”
Maeve took a steadying breath. Roswyn downed the rest of his drink and grabbed a bottle of Immortally Brewed Bourbon. He tossed the bottle back in his mouth, not bothering to use his glass any longer. He swallowed hard and pointed at her.
“This plan is bigger than you. It’s about all of us. And you’re wallowing because he hasn’t been at your beck and call. Because he’s out there fulfilling our destiny.”
“I am not wallowing,” she began.
“Then what are you doing?”
“What I am told,” said Maeve bitterly.
“Since when do you need to be told exactly what to do?” He fired. “Get in there and tear that government apart. Pull Magicals to our side with that charm everyone seems to think you have. Or just trick their minds into it. Whatever works.”
He downed the bottle, the house disposing of it at once.
Maeve stood in the entry hallway of the Hapswitch House. There were no firelights.
Her body felt heavy under the effects of the alcohol she already regretted drinking. She knew better than to cope that way.
Moonlight illuminated her bath through Mal’s old flat.
Most of Mal’s personal belongings were gone, moved to Castle Morana before Portals to and from Earth were closed. The apartment was still fully furnished, housing many of her Uncle’s things that didn’t have a home.
The last night she’d spent here had been beautiful. Mal left early in the morning, long before sunrise. He trailed kisses down her neck as she sleepily stirred.
“Come to Castle Morana when you’ve had enough sleep,” he had whispered gently. “Abraxas is already there.”
Maeve looked down the hall into the bedroom.
That had been the last moment she spent with him before their communication was severed.
She turned the parchment in her pocket over. No Magic drifted from it. No green glow. No words.
Maeve had forgotten what a hangover felt like. Zimsy made her a special potion for her morning tea.
“I used to make these for Arianna,” she said with a half smile.
The Sinclair sisters hadn’t spoken since Maeve left Sinclair Estates and moved into the townhouse, but she knew Titus and Arianna moved to the Dread Lands before Portals and travel were closed.
Thanks to Zimsy’s potion, her headache dulled by the time she reached the Bellator Sector. Her mood, however, was not so easily adjusted.
“Sinclair needs a partner,” a voice rang out, bringing her to reality.
No one volunteered. No one ever volunteered to train with her.
A new recruit stepped forward with a smug expression on his face.
“I’ll spar with her,” he said happily, stepping towards her. “I don’t know why you’re all still so afraid of her,” he said with a laugh. “Guess fucking the man who murdered your father will put a damper on one’s Magic, huh?”
He and a few of his friends laughed.
Roswyn looked at Maeve, but her eyes were on the boy.
“What’s your name?” She asked.
He opened his mouth, but Maeve interrupted him.
“Nevermind,” she said with a sigh. “I don’t care.”
Her fist made contact with his face, shattering his nose instantly as dirty and dark Magic slipped through her knuckles. Crimson red splattered into her vision. He fell to the floor at once. She crawled on top of him and reared her arm back and pounded once more, each time letting the sharpest Magic she had whip from her. Again. And again. The boy fell slack beneath her. She pulled her fist back once more as fingers snagged her forearm.
She Obscured in an instant, slipping from Arman’s grip and placing herself behind him. She slammed two fingers into his back, bringing him to his knees. He growled in pain.
She stepped away from them. The training arena was silent. All eyes on her.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” she said lowly.
She didn’t look at the boy, but she knew he was unconscious, and that blood poured from his cracked and mangled face.
A deep chuckle came from behind them. Arman turned as Doggbind walked towards them.
He kneeled beside the boy. He placed his hand on the boy’s chest, and then looked up at Maeve. “Within an inch of his life.”
His face was full of pride. As though she was his protégé. As though he took credit for her ferocity.
“Roswyn,” he snapped, straightening to his full height, his eyes never leaving Maeve. “Get him to a healer.”
Roswyn obeyed without hesitation, obeying Premier Doggbind without a glance at Maeve.
Doggbind seemed pleased with the look on her face. “Someone woke up, it seems.” He crossed towards her. “If you want to make them bleed, Sinclair,” he began as heat rose through Maeve’s body at the use of her father’s last name, “you do so under my instruction.” Maeve looked up at him, unable to hide the scowl on her face. “Is that understood?”
Maeve’s eyes slid to Arman. She suppressed the urge to hex both the traitors at once. “Yes,” she said, looking back up at Doggbind.
“Yes, what?” He asked with a smile.
Ice moved through her veins, begging her to strike.
“Yes, Premier,” she said at last.
Doggbind nodded in triumph and looked over at Arman. “Arman will be overseeing your training today. Perhaps he can be a positive influence on both your temper and your mind, Sinclair.” Doggbind looked back at her. “Back to training, all of you!”
Maeve moved to step away from him, but he snagged her arm sharply, yanking her back in place. His lips moved to her ear.
“Do not forget your place,” he muttered.
Maeve looked down at his hand on her sleeve for a moment and then looked back up at him. His eyes faltered only for a moment as she smiled softly, the way Pureblood women were taught to control a weak man.
“It’s right here,” she said gently. “Every day. Here on Earth. In this training arena. Right. By. You.”
Doggbind’s satisfied power-trip faded. He swallowed and dropped her arm roughly. He marched away, barking instructions at a few of his section commanders.
Maeve turned towards Arman.
“I have no intention of training with a traitor,” she said.
The Bellator around them fell silent. Arman’s eyes narrowed at her.
Something stirred inside her.
“Watch how you speak in the Bellator Sector, Maeve,” he warned. “There are always ears.”
Maeve stepped towards him and readied two fingers at her side. “I fucking hope so.”
Fuck the plan. Fuck the idea that she was supposed to smile and pretend she was okay. Fuck them all.