Chapter 14
Dinner was a lively affair. Kier presented Abraxas and Juliet with a set of ice crystal goblets, carved from the ancient ice of Stalakta Fortress, and Reeve brought a hundred bottles of Aternian Absinthe, enough to intoxicate the entire party.
“You’re supposed to sip it,” Drystan muttered to Abraxas, who was on his fifth glass.
Abraxas’ flushed cheeks paled. “What?’
Drystan laughed. “Don’t worry. It’s cool.”
Abraxas shook his head, fanning his flushed cheeks. “It’s quite warm, actually.”
Eryx chimed in then with a booming laugh. “He means it’s alright.”
Maeve looked sideways at the young-looking Archer. “That’s not Aterna vernacular, is it?” She asked.
He shook his head and Eryx answered for him.
“Drystan spent a lot of time on Earth. Specifically, North America.”
“Have to be more specific than that, Eryx.”
“Where were you then?” Asked Maeve.
“A city called New Orleans,” he replied with a smile. “It was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.”
“He still whines about being back in Aterna,” said Eryx.
“Why did you return then?” She asked.
Drystan shrugged. “They called a Hexadic. And Reeve asked me to come home.”
“So you were there until recently then,” Abraxas remarked.
“For about twenty years.”
Abraxas gasped and smiled with intrigue. “Gods, how? You’re but a babe.”
“The many moons I have seen would surprise you,” answered Drystan.
Maeve smiled. “Incredible. I must admit I’m jealous. You can travel the entire universe in that Immoral life of yours.”
Drystan’s face paled slightly. Maeve looked to Eryx, but his eyes were on Drystan.
The smile faded from Drystan’s boyish face. “I actually lost my Immortality in battle. When I was fifteen.”
“Apologies,” said Maeve softly.
“No reason to,” said Drystan. “The best thing that ever happened to me was that.”
“But you. . .are Immortal,” questioned Abraxas.
“I am now,” said Drystan, “yes. But it is not my Immortality keeping me alive.”
Maeve’s eyes traveled to the harsh and ancient markings that shot across his partially shaved skull, perfectly symmetrical and wrapping the base of his head. Though they looked like tattoos, Maeve knew them to be more than that.
They were Vexkari.
“Those marks are traces of powerful Magic,” she said. “Did you take someone’s Immortality?”
Drystan smiled patiently at her words. “No. It was given to me.”
“Apologies again,” said Maeve. “I meant no offense. I’m just. . .so curious.”
A few exclamations from Bellator nearby drew their attention down the table. They stood around Reeve as the High Lord boasted his sword. Their faces were lit with awe as he laid it across the dining table.
“The power resonating off this thing,” said one.
Along the center of the blade were markings.
“What does it say?” Asked another.
“Death before dishonor,” said Reeve. “Loosely translated.”
They oohed over the sword as an even larger crowd swarmed the High Lord of Aterna.
“What do you call it?” Asked one of the Bellator.
“Shadowslayer,” he said proudly.
The Bellator grinned.
“Shadowslayer,” repeated Maeve.
Reeve’s eyes popped to hers.
“That’s quite a name,” she continued.
Reeve welcomed the challenge in her voice. He patted the thick hilt of the sword. “It got the job done.”
“Victory over the darkness that nearly killed off an entire race of Magic must come so easily to one blessed by the Gods,” said Maeve. “If only our ancestors had such a savior.”
Reeve held her gaze. “There is blood in the water, Miss Sinclair,” said Reeve gently. “It needs to be purified.”
Maeve didn’t reply. It was Mal who spoke with regal boredom from the head of the table.
“I would see it turn the darkest shade of crimson before any blood was cleansed from those who dirtied it in the first place.”
His eyes bore into Reeve’s like a dare.
Reeve nearly smiled. “Is that why our friends in the Elven Lands have remained distant?”
Abraxas laughed, a lighthearted attempt to break the tension. “The Elven Queen and you seemed far from close at the Hexadic my late Uncle called.”
Maeve’s insides twisted.
Reeve’s eyes moved to her briefly, then to Abraxas. “She and I have had our disagreements, but I believe she was genuine in her desire to join your plight for a Magical utopia until her brother died mysteriously on the floor at Sinclair Estates.”
Maeve looked up at the ceiling, biting her tongue.
“Something to say?” Asked Reeve.
Mal’s Magic swelled to attention. Maeve anticipated its move towards her, but it remained with him.
Abraxas’ mouth opened, but Mal, his eyes never having left Reeve, spoke. “Lithandrian’s brother died because he tried to take something that wasn’t his.”
Silence fell. Too many eyes were on Maeve. Mal continued casually. “I rid Lithandrian of a fool for a Hand.”
The blatant confession spilled from Mal’s tongue with sensual ease.
“I see. Only a fool would touch what is yours,” said Reeve quietly, no trace of fear in his voice.
Mal smiled charmingly. “At last, we agree.” He grabbed his crystal goblet and toasted the Immortals. “An honor to have you at Castle Morana.”
The ballroom was loud. And growing louder as everyone drank themselves into the night. Fragments of thoughts and memories slipped into her mind. All of them unfamiliar and unwanted.
She moved against the wall, bracing herself as she tried to silence her mind. She closed her eyes and rested her head back. Her mental shields were up. They were tighter than she’d ever kept them.
And yet, the mindless and drunken streams of consciousness from those around her flooded her mind.
She dropped her shields.
Nothing changed.
Except-
Magic swirled into her mind, gentle and cool.
She looked across the ballroom.
Mal’s eyes were already on her. Kier’s mouth was moving rapidly, but Mal was fixated on her.
The voices lingered in a garbled mess of thoughts. But one rang clear across her mind. The voice, mesmerizing and calm.
She is my never ending thought.
Maeve’s breath caught as she stepped forward. Mal’s expression lifted in shock as he realized her mental shields were down.
Mal nodded once to Abraxas, who ushered Kier away, and then his eyes were back on her. He extended his hand out and spoke into her mind.
Would you do me the honor?
At his call, she forgot the party surrounding them and stepped steadily across the ballroom. As if in a trance, she forgot the Immortals that lurked in the shadows. And she forgot the tension and distance between her and Mal.
She forgot the walls were stained with her father’s blood.
She forgot the past months of solitude and the pride that kept her there.
All strain between them faded in her mind as her fingertips brushed Mal’s.
She forgot the Double O. Forgot the Sacred Seventeen and the Bellator she was meant to lead.
There were only his eyes on her, and his bare fingers against her own.
Maeve stiffened once more as the entire room’s attention turned towards them, their thoughts growing louder. Their thoughts about her.
Pity. Jealousy. Distrust.
Her grip on his fingers pulled back. He held her in place with gentle control.
The ballroom darkened, a small beam of light cascaded softly down around them, shadowing Mal’s sharp features. A soft laugh of gratitude escaped her lips as she took in his Magic that altered her view of the party.
“It’s just me, Maeve,” he said softly.
She stepped in towards him, inhaling his leather and spice scent as he placed his hand around her waist. Her chest rose heavily under the weight of his presence. With a gentle push on the small of her back, he began to dance them around the hall.
He looked down at her. “It never bothered you before to dance with me.”
Maeve looked up at him. His dark eyes did not look away. “It’s not you,” she whispered. “It’s their gaze, their thoughts screaming at me. I can hear them clearly. Their Magic betrays them.”
Mal’s eyes sharpened. “That’s new.”
Maeve nodded. “It only started happening shortly after I arrived. It’s like their thoughts slip into my mind. I can’t even pick or control what I hear or don’t hear. I can go days without anything, then suddenly it’s everything.”
He continued to dance her slowly around the ballroom, their bodies stiff and formal with room to spare between them.
“And right now?” He asked.
“It’s everything.”
Mal removed his hand from her back and held it out between them. “May I try something?”
She nodded.
His hand closed to a fist, then burst open. Magic shot around them and the room full of thoughts fell silent. All that remained was the quartet of music.
She looked around them with relief.
“Better?” He asked.
Maeve nodded. He dropped his free hand to his side, keeping their palms pressed together in the other.
She stepped towards him with a steadying breath and placed her hand back on his shoulder, pressing her chest against his. His left hand slipped around her back, settling lower than before. Mal’s palm twisted smoothly across hers, pushing her fingers apart with his until they were completely intertwined and they resumed their dance in silence until Mal spoke.
“How are the Bellator going?” He asked quietly, his eyes anything but casual.
“I wouldn’t know,” she answered honestly. “Larliesl trains them.”
“So I’ve heard,” he replied.
“Then why did you ask?”
Mal’s hand slipped lower on her back, pressing her against his front.
“To hear your voice, Little Viper.”
Maeve relaxed into him. His movements slowed, bringing them to a halt by the green glass-paned doors that led outside. Maeve looked up at Mal. With a wave of her hand, the doors clicked open for them.
He turned and pulled her outside. She followed his lead without hesitation, the music following them out onto the balcony.
He did not remove his hand from hers as they stood looking out over the courtyards of Castle Morana.
“These were once great gardens,” said Mal. “At least that’s what the books tell me.”
“The books?” She asked.
Mal nodded. “There are only a few written texts left here. The Magicals took all they could when they fled to Earth.”
“Yes,” said Maeve. “I noticed.”
His finger tips brushed across her knuckles.
“But there are a few stories, mostly from healer records left in the Healing Hall, about this place before the blight. Before the waters were poisoned and the air turned toxic.”
Maeve looked down below at the barren terrain. Vines of thorns wrapped the trellis and flowerbeds. What remained of any previous plant life was but a mangled mass of dead branches.
“The gardens could be restored. Just as you breathed life back into the air, so can you the ground.”
Mal didn’t look at her. “Would that bring you joy?”
She swallowed and looked over at him.
“I can’t even recall such sentiment.”
He looked down at her, and his eyes scanned her face. “Oh, that I could make you remember.”
She faced him and yielded a step. He mirrored her movement. His free hand moved from his side. With calculated control, his fingers slithered slowly up her arm.
Her eyes fluttered to a close beneath his delicate touch.
His fingers moved across her exposed shoulder, and up her neck, sending chills prickling across her skin. She looked up at him as he cupped her cheek. His thumb moved across her jawline with sleek precision.
“The gardens would be a start,” she whispered.
Mal looked back and forth between her eyes. “Then gardens you shall have.”
They stared at one another until Abraxas stepped out onto the balcony.
“Apologies for interrupting,” said Abraxas genuinely. “Mal, Kier is leaving. He’s lingering. I assume he wants your ear before he goes.”
Mal dropped his hand and nodded. He didn’t look away from Maeve.
“I’d like to retire,” said Maeve. “If that is alright.”
“Of course,” said Mal softly.
“Will the spell follow me upstairs?” She asked.
Mal nodded. “If you need more assistance,” he said, placing a single finger on her chest where her Dread Mark lay, “you need only call.”
His Magic seeped into her, curling her toes.
She nodded softly. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“Goodnight, Maeve.”
He stepped away from her towards Abraxas. He stopped rigid as Maeve spoke.
“Goodnight, my Prince.”
Mal’s chest swelled. He stepped back into the castle without another word.
Maeve looked at Abraxas. “I don’t believe I’ve said congratulations. You threw quite a party.”
“My speciality,” he replied with a smile.
Maeve didn’t return it. Her eyes followed Mal across the hall inside.
“Going to bed?” Asked Abraxas.
She nodded.
“I suppose it is rather late. And I do have some de-flowering to accomplish.”
Maeve looked at him as even he couldn’t keep a straight face at his dramatic words.
“She did not wait for you,” said Maeve dryly.
“A technicality. Waited for me? Yes. For marriage? No. After all, there were only so many names on the list. It wasn’t like anything was going to change.”
Maeve didn’t need reminding. It had taken months for her to manage to break her engagement to Alphard Mavros.
“You love her?” Asked Maeve.
Abraxas smiled. “In my own way. It’s a duty I am happy to fulfill.” He sucked in a breath. “My preferred option doesn’t bear me children.”
“That’s quite a selfless act.”
He shrugged it off and smirked. “Is it? I can still enjoy her. She’s quite witty and beautiful. I have a brain and a cock.”
Maeve’s mouth fell open as her brows pulled together. She waved her hands in front of her. “Brax,” she whined with a genuine burst of laughter.
Abraxas smiled triumphantly. “At last,” he said.
He held out his arm for her. She shook her head and laced her arm through his own.
“Let’s send you to bed,” he said.
The scent of gardenia hit her as she crossed her chamber towards the bathroom. The oversized tub filled with bubbling, blue water as she undressed and hung her gown over the back of the dressing chair.
The water was her preferred temperature as it hit her skin. She melted into the bubbles, resting her head against the edge.
The waters remained warm long into the night. Though, telling time was difficult in the Dread Lands. The perpetual green twilight that gleamed through the bathroom windows made the hours pass endlessly while her thoughts lingered on Mal. His hands against her skin once more. The desperation in his eyes to fix it all.
She’d never seen defeat on his face before.
It would be easy to call his name.
Her Dread Mark tingled. A silent beg.
She forced her eyes closed and tried to forget their dance, praying the warmth of the water and exhaustion would at least allow her some sleep.
And sleep she got.
As her mind drifted into dreams, she was once more forced to view the image she hated most. Her father sat naked in a bathtub, confused and terrified, as Antony, in his wolf form, whined with bright blue eyes set between black fur.
But this time, in this reoccurrence of her dream, they were not the only ones watching Ambrose.
Another stood lurking in the shadows of the dirty and tattered room. A woman with pale skin and icy hair. Maeve couldn’t look at the new and unknown addition to her dream, but she knew she lingered there all the same. Her eyes remained trapped on her father. As they always were.
Wet panic washed over her as she plunged into the bath water. Feeling somewhat grateful to have been ripped from the reoccurring nightmare, she rubbed the water from her eyes with labored breathing.
The warm waters were now cold, sending bumps across her skin. She pushed from the water and hastily dried off, throwing on her robe and quickly scurrying to the fireplace in her bed chamber. She curled up into the chair, re-kindling the flames with the twist of her fingers.
Spinel emerged from the shadowed corners, dipping into a deep stretch with sleepy eyes. He gracefully jumped to the arm of the chair, chattering with expectant demands. Maeve obliged and rubbed his cheeks and scratched behind his ears until his eyes closed.
Spinel stole her seat, still enjoying the fire long after Maeve had resigned herself to the fact that sleep was impossible for her. She contemplated another bath, perhaps reading. But all of it seemed too daunting of a task.
The hour was late. Too late to be pacing and unable to sleep. The Crown’s Quarters were silent and loud all at once. There was nothing but the calm darkness, and yet it ate at her mind all the same.
Spinel rolled further onto his back, tucking his paws across his face.
Maeve sighed, feeling ridiculous for being jealous of her cat’s ability to sleep so soundly.
She wondered if she’d ever sleep again like she slept at Sinclair Estates. Rainy afternoon naps in her hidden reading tower. Sun-drenched evenings dozing off early on the balcony.
She was homesick for something that would never be again. Her life was now nostalgia, nothing but a memory of something so beautiful that it was heart-shattering to grieve it.
Mal , she called silently and without care as small tears slipped down her cheeks.
A cool breeze shifted into the room, raising the sheer curtains that lined her chamber and swirling them into a mass of black Magic.
He stepped from the cosmic mist.
His eyes raked over her slowly, as though he sensed the very direction her blood flowed in her darkened veins.
She wiped her cheeks with her palms.
“Are you alright?” His velvety smooth voice was a welcome sound in the bleak and sleepless bedroom.
Words halted in her throat. She hugged herself tightly in the cold night air.
“Talk to me,” he said quietly.
She pressed her fingers into her biceps.
“I can’t sleep,” she relented.
He stepped towards her. “Are you still hearing thoughts?” He stopped an arm’s length from her.
She shook her head up at him. “I just. . .want to sleep. I feel like I haven’t slept in months. I don’t know if it’s this room or. . .my mind.”
Maeve didn’t drop her arms. She didn’t reach for him. She crossed the room towards her bed and looked back at him. He watched her closely.
“Can you make me sleep without dreaming?”
Mal nodded, his expression calm.
Maeve turned from him and slipped under the covers. He didn’t step towards her.
Soothing Magic slithered over the sheets and wrapped around her. Her eyes found darkness before she could ask him to join her.