Chapter 10
The Bellator and Magical Militia, loyal to Mal, now resided at Castle Morana. Maeve stood in the castle, overlooking the desolate-looking stone court below, with Mal tensely at her side. The Supremes laughed and joked among themselves, practicing new Magic and debating techniques.
“They’re yours,” he said. “Yours to command. Yours to train. As you see fit.”
Just as they had been her father’s.
“I don’t think–” she began.
“I didn’t ask what you thought.”
Maeve’s jaw tightened. He spoke gently.
“They want you,” he said.
Maeve looked out over the training arena below. “Roswyn is better suited.”
Mal turned towards her and reached into his pocket. He pulled out an intricately carved silver box and extended it towards her. She lifted the lid without removing it from his hands.
On white, satin fabric lay her father’s Premier badge.
Maeve’s hand dropped at once. Her head shook slowly. “I cannot.”
“Perhaps not today,” replied Mal calmly. “But it belongs to you.”
Maeve swallowed and looked back down at the Bellator. Belvadora and Mumford were sparring.
The box snapped closed.
“I’ll have it sent to your chambers,” said Mal.
She knew she wouldn’t be able to look at it, let alone wear it, but she didn’t argue with Mal.
“What do you want them to be?” She asked, nodding down at the Bellator below. “A royal guard? An army?”
“I have those closest to me,” he replied. “I need the rest to be unwavering in strength. It is unlikely the Elven Queen or Aterna’s Senshi Warriors will be on our side in the wars to come. We must prepare as they have.”
“Wars to come?” She repeated. “Plural?”
Mal nodded. “I can feel it. All on the horizon. Barreling towards me.”
“Our numbers are few. I imagine far less than that of Aterna.”
Mal nodded. “Mumford has been recruiting across Earth. Many of them don’t have ties to this land. They are afraid to come here.”
“All the Sacred families are here?”
Mal nodded. “The Towers are fully restored. Even the home your ancestors lived in, should you want to see it.”
She’d often imagined what The Great Towers of The Dread Lands were like. The home of her ancestors, and all the Sacreds, stood scattered across the land, all of them tall towers of wealth and glory. The Tower of Avondell was the Sinclair’s.
Maeve looked away from him. “And what of human-borns? Will they come to be citizens here?”
“Their place here is yet to be determined.”
“Why?”
Mal didn’t respond right away. She looked up at him.
“Mal?”
He watched the Bellator below. “Do you think they have a place here?”
“Without question,” she answered. “Many of those fighters down there are human-born.”
“I know,” said Mal.
“Then what question is there?”
Mal sighed. “You were scheduled to be in the training court five minutes ago.”
Maeve turned towards him. “Are you seriously suggesting perpetuating the bigoted views of The Committee of the Sacred?”
Mal’s eyes narrowed. “Humans struggle to breathe here. Many Human born Magicals, in turn, give birth to Humans.”
“You can make it so they can breathe here,” she argued. “You doubt that?”
He looked down at her. “I doubt much about this place as of late.”
She opened her mouth but Mal turned sharply on his heel.
“Dismissed.”
Maeve’s mouth fell open at the taste of her own choices.
“What happened to your nose?” She asked Roswyn when she arrived at training.
“It’s fucking broken,” he sneered.
“I can see that,” she retorted. “Why haven’t you seen Astrea to heal it?”
He stormed past her. A bright blue strand of light snapped from her fingers and slipped around his wrist, whipping him back towards her.
“Your commanding officer asked you a question, Roswyn,” she said darkly.
He stepped towards her with a hateful scowl.
“He can’t heal it.” Abraxas' voice came from beside her, where he appeared.
She looked over at her cousin. He continued.
“He was given strict orders not to.”
Roswyn stormed away. Maeve turned to Abraxas.
“By Mal?”
He nodded. “It appears our Prince meant his last threat to Roswyn where you are concerned.”
“Ah,” she said quietly, understanding it was her words that landed Roswyn his broken nose.
“What are you doing, Maeve?” Asked Abraxas, disappointment rippling from his voice.
“Apparently leading the bloody Bellator,” she muttered.
“Not in the training court,” sighed Abraxas. “With Mal.”
Maeve didn’t look at him. “That’s none of your business.”
Abraxas scoffed. “I am hand to the Prince. Everything is my business.”
“I bet you genuinely believe that,” she said softly.
“Maeve,” he said, reaching for her arm.
She slipped away quickly and rounded on him. “Don’t.”
Abraxas shook his head. “You are making a mistake.”
Maeve stepped back from him. “Then it is my mistake to make. And not yours.”
Abraxas recoiled at her cold words. “Maeve,” he started quietly, pity dripping from his voice.
“You are his Hand just as you said,” she continued. “You are his, you’ve sworn it, I can feel it radiating off your chest, same as mine. You’ve always chosen him. Since he came into our lives, you pick him. What should make me believe this is any different? That your guidance comes from a genuine place of love for me?”
Abraxas’ face hardened. “Business it is, then,” he quipped.
“Is Larliesl planning to reside here?” She asked, happily changing the subject and ignoring their spat.
“It’s delicate,” said Abraxas. “He is loyal to Mal, though he desires to remain at Vaukore.”
“He’s sworn it though? An allegiance?”
Abraxas nodded. “He received Mal’s Dread Mark.”
A mark now banned by the Double O.
“Call him here,” she said.
“He wants to be at Vaukore, and it’s important he remains our eyes and ears there–”
“I am second in command,” she said gently, looking over at him. “Call him here.”
Abraxas smiled softly, both of them already forgetting their quarrel. “As you wish.”
Larliesl arrived at Castle Morana with a twinkle in his eye and pride in his stride.
“Miss Sinclair,” he said with a small nod as she greeted him at the gates. “Mr. Rosethorn.”
Abraxas and Larliesl shook hands.
The Dueling Master looked up at Castle Morana behind her. “A magnificent sight.”
“Tell me if you don’t want to be here,” she said, getting straight to the point. “If you want to return to Vaukore when term begins, I will understand. It’s just that. . . I need you here. The Bellator who are just learning to fight need you here.”
Larliesl smiled at her. He held his chin high and his shoulders dropped. “I am at your service, Dread Viper.”
Maeve nodded, words of appreciation stuck in her throat. “Shall we begin?” She asked, gesturing down the path before them.
“Can I still be called Master of Duels?” He muttered to Abraxas, who chuckled and nodded.
Maeve left Larliesl to train the Bellator. She had no interest in participating. Though she was certain she’d hear from Mal about it. She wouldn’t tell him it was because the various thoughts of the Bellator slipped into her head without her consent.
That had never happened before.
It was much quieter in the desolate hallway as she followed that new yet familiar Magic that greeted her upon arrival at Castle Morana.
She stood before a large chamber door in a far wing of the castle where many non-militant Magicals resided, patiently waiting for their future homes to be restored and livable. She realized, as her knuckles rapped the door, who stood on the other side. Like calls to like, after all.
Arianna opened the door hastily, as though she too knew her sister stood on the other side long before she knocked. She looked at Maeve with a vacant expression.
“I was wondering how long you could avoid me,” said Arianna.
“It’s a large castle. I could have managed.”
“Well, soon you won’t have to,” she said with raised brows. “Our home in the city is almost habitable.”
“Grandmother is going to live with you?”
Arianna nodded. “The Avondell has a lavish guest quarters, with enchanted gardens she can help restore. I didn’t want her alone.”
“She could have stayed here,” said Maeve.
Arianna turned. “This place is far too large and far too militant for an old lady,” she said over her shoulder.
Maeve stood awkwardly in the doorway.
“Come,” said Arianna. “I have been keeping secrets.”
Maeve’s head cocked to the side as she stepped towards her sister.
She motioned Maeve across the room to where a beautiful, oversized bassinet stood.
Maeve stalled. Her heartbeat slowed.
That new and yet familiar Magic fluttered up around her.
“Twins,” said Arianna, looking down at her babies.
Maeve took in her niece and nephew. Their tiny breaths and rosy cheeks were captivating. “I see that,” she said softly. “How old…”
Arianna hesitated. Maeve looked up at her. Her sister’s face washed over with sorrow.
Maeve spoke softly after a few silent calculations. “You were pregnant that night then. Why didn’t you tell me?”
Arianna ran her finger gently across the girl’s cheek and then the boy’s. “And overshadow his crowning and your honor?” She looked up at Maeve. “I would have never heard the end of it,” she finished with a brave smile.
Maeve looked up at her sister. “Agatha made me come,” she lied playfully.
Arianna scoffed, but her eyes were soft. “No one makes you do anything.”
Maeve looked back down at the twins. “What are their names?”
“Anselm and Aislin.”
She sat in one of the leather chairs and invited Maeve to sit opposite her with a quick gesture. Maeve watched the twins sleeping peacefully for a moment longer, and then took up in the chair.
“I’m glad you came to see them,” said Arianna. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you.”
“Are you alright?” Asked Maeve in an attempt to avoid whatever conversation her sister was planning to have with her.
Arianna paused. “Yes. Alphard and Astrea’s mother Irma delivered. Astrea actually assisted. Her soothing lotions were heaven-sent post birth.”
“Hmm,” said Maeve. “Good, I mean. I’m glad.”
“I’m sorry for what I said that night. Our last night at home together,” she blurted out.
“Please, Arianna, I don’t want to-”
“Well, I need to say it, Maeve,” she snapped. “It’s not always about you.”
Maeve rested her head against the back of the chair and took a long breath.
Arianna fiddled with the ring on her finger. A sapphire stone like Maeve’s own ring, gifted from their father. Like Antony had as well.
“I’m sorry I let our mother dictate how I treated you.”
“She wasn’t my mother,” said Maeve delicately.
“She didn’t create or bear you, but she was, for all intents and purposes, your mother. And I know she didn’t treat you kindly for it.”
Maeve looked over at the twins, still sleeping soundly. “Where is she now?”
Arianna hesitated. “She is on Earth.”
Maeve nodded, still watching as her niece and nephew’s little breaths sucked in and out.
“She is not allowed in the Dread Lands,” said Arianna.
Maeve looked at her sister. “How do you know that?”
“You think Abraxas could hold that little bit of gossip secret?”
Maeve scoffed with a smile. “Was that Mal’s doing?”
“Of course,” said Arianna. “I can’t say I blame him. Though, I am able to travel to see her whenever I want. I wanted her to meet the babies soon. For that, I am grateful.”
A moment passed as Maeve contemplated her words. Mal’s protectiveness. His desire to fight for her. She couldn’t wrap her mind around the time passed. She couldn’t let go of the notion that he had truly abandoned her for seven months.
“Do you like it here?” Maeve asked.
Arianna nodded. “I feel a pull here. My Magic is more powerful. My children were the first born here in three hundred years. That is a legacy I can be proud of.”
“Primrose chose to stay? Or was she denied her place here as well?”
“Chose,” said Arianna with a nod. “Our Prince was good on his word, and Grandmother Primrose has never spoken ill of you again, I am sure.”
Maeve looked over at her sister and chewed her lip. Arianna’s brows raised.
“Thank you for the apology. I am not innocent.”
Arianna laughed. “That’s for damn sure.”
Maeve smiled softly.
“You are running the new Militia?” Arianna asked.
A sigh rolled through Maeve. “I am supposed to be.”
“What does that mean?” She asked.
“It means I’m delegating that responsibility elsewhere. This should have been Roswyn’s job. He is better suited for his type of thing, anyway.”
“Did you just bestow him a compliment?”
“Hardly,” said Maeve.
“But you’re still his superior officer, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Abraxas’ too?”
A smile pulled at the corner of Maeve’s lips. “Brax too.”