Chapter 22
The Barrier loomed ominously before them, separating the habitable part of the Dread Lands from the part still plagued with a dark blight. Much of The Beryl City was still wrecked with dark Magic, and it was crucial they restore the lands and make room for the Magicals seeking a place in The Dread Lands.
The Double O was growing desperate on Earth, but refugees from their tyrannical grasps at power fled to Castle Morana through Mal’s secret and powerful portals every day.
Obscuring around the Barrier was still dangerous for many of the Bellator, and so they traveled on horseback as they used Mal’s Magic, which was supplied to them through their Dread Marks, to restore life to the ancient lands. Mal rode on the massive horse Kier gifted him, who he appropriately named Obsidian.
“What does it say?” Asked Roswyn through his mask, squinting at the painted writing on a stone wall.
“Should have paid attention in Latin,” muttered Belvadora.
Roswyn glared at her. Maeve smiled under her mask.
“Professor Schuyler would be so disappointed,” said Fawley.
“Shut up,” snapped Roswyn.
“Do not wake the sleeping shadows,” said Mal. “That’s what it says.”
Maeve looked to him. “Umbra. Singular shadow.”
No one commented on Maeve’s correction.
“I guess they didn’t call it The Shadow War for no reason,” said Mumford, uncomfortably averting his eyes from the sloppy letters.
Mal reached for Maeve’s mask once they crossed the serpent archways and pulled it from her face, his fingers brushing her skin. She resisted the urge to look over at him as she inhaled with ease.
“We can breathe here,” she announced.
Belvadora pulled her mask from her face and opened her mouth to speak. The words caught in her throat as she inhaled.
Her brows pulled together as she placed the mask back over her face.
“Speak for yourself,” she said, after Magic filled her lungs once more.
Exhaustion claimed them, and they traveled most of the journey back to Castle Morana in silence.
Maeve spoke as the mist parted, and the moons of The Dread Lands presented themselves.
“Is it just those three?” She asked him.
“Yes,” he answered.
“Can you ever see the stars?”
“High on Mount Morte, you can actually.”
Maeve looked over at him. “A different galaxy than Earth?”
He nodded with a soft smile. “Entirely.”
She looked back up at the sky, wishing she could see the new constellations above her.
“I’ll take you there one day,” said Mal, bringing her attention back to him. “Once it is safe.”
Butterflies shot through her stomach at the way his dark eyes searched hers.
“Can you see Aterna from there too? She asked.
Mal’s face hardened. He looked away from her.
“You’re interested in visiting there?” He asked, failing to hide the jealousy in his tone.
“I-” began Maeve, before stopping herself.
She looked away from him with a clenched jaw.
“Reeve proposed such a thing, I assume?” He said icily, not looking at her.
Maeve’s insides twisted as she shook her head. She stopped herself from laughing at how ridiculous he sounded.
“And what of Kier’s proposal for you to marry his daughter?” She fired at him.
Mal didn’t look at her. “I didn’t think you knew about that,” he said coolly.
“I didn’t,” she replied, her eyes forward, “until now. I couldn’t conjure another reason for his overbearing display of affection and loyalty.”
“At least I know you are still sharp as a thorn,” he muttered.
“Did you decline?”
Mal looked over at her. “Excuse me?”
“Did you decline?” She repeated plainly.
Mal reached down, grabbed the reins on Spitfire, her father’s black and white speckled mare, and brought them to a stop. The others continued on ahead of them, not noticing their halt.
“Look at me,” he said.
Maeve did not obey.
“That was an order from your sworn Prince,” said Mal.
Maeve looked over at him, defiance burning in her stomach.
“Ask me that again,” he dared, a dark glimmer in his eyes.
Maeve opened her mouth to speak, not concerned with the Magic swirling up around them.
“Did you decline?” She asked through gritted teeth.
He frowned at her. “I have been so patient,” he said. “So incredibly patient. And you repay me with such faithless insinuations.”
He let go of the reins on Spitfire and continued down the path.
A tight and slow breath rose through Maeve, but it was not enough to calm her. “Seven months,” she seethed, her voice growing louder. “Seven months of solitude, practically exile.”
The others turned back towards them, realizing their argument at last, then hastily continued farther down.
Mal turned back towards her, Obsidian’s large black frame blocking the path.
“Maeve–” he started.
She pressed forward on Spitfire. “I’ve heard all the excuses and the reasons.”
“I’m going to ignore this outburst,” said Mal, “and acknowledge that you are drained and tired.” He turned on Obsidian and pushed forward.
Maeve scoffed. “Ignoring the problem seems right up your alley.”
Darkness swirled around her, prickling up her arms in ice and blackening her vision. Her back touched down on cold ground. Mal hovered above her, pinning her arms against the chilly earth. Maeve didn’t fight him.
Her chest rose and fell hastily at his close touch.
“I did not decline,” he said lowly, “because I cannot decline. You know very well I cannot. I need allies in this world. I cannot isolate Kier. Not now.”
Maeve looked up at him, cursing the tears that fell from the corners of her eyes. “I’d wager my cousin believes it a good match,” her voice broke as she spoke.
Mal’s grip on her arms softened. His eyes scanned her face, watching as she swallowed her tears. His shoulder relaxed and his face dropped.
“Maeve–” he began softly.
She inhaled sharply and Obscured out from under him, not looking back as she stepped hastily towards Spitfire where he waited. Wiping her face with the back of her hand as she hoisted one leg over the saddle. She took the reins and squeezed her legs tightly. Spitfire took off towards Castle Morana at full speed.
The water in her bath had long gone cold. She didn’t have the energy or care to reheat it. Her eyes burned, though her tears from her conversation with Mal were dry. Zimsy stayed with her until all the bubbles were gone. Her beautiful friend insisted she wasn’t nodding off on the edge of the tub, but it took much convincing from Maeve for Zimsy to go to bed.
“Okay,” she finally relented. “But I’m not far if you can’t sleep and want me to bake you some lemon cookies.”
“I just made lemon cookies for you,” Maeve had argued.
Zimsy’s full lips pulled together. “You add far too much flour,” her musical voice said with a gentle smile.
Maeve forced herself from the freezing bath water shortly after Zimsy went to bed.
Her pajamas and silky robe were warm compared to the water as she slipped into the soft fabric.
She pushed the bathroom door wide and stopped. A soft green glow illuminated across her chamber, coming from a drawer in her vanity. Spinel rubbed against the legs of her vanity.
Her bare feet prickled with cold across the dark floors. She pulled the parchment from its place in the drawer, and fell into the desk chair, pressure building in her face.
I did not decline, Little Viper , the words scrolled elegantly across the parchment. Nor did I accept.
Maeve held the sliver of enchanted paper in her shaking fingers.
It would be so easy to run to him. She merely needed to call his name, and he’d appear. But as hot sorrow soaked her cheeks, she could not bear to have him see her so beaten.
He’d seen her cry in the week after her father’s death. She had cried endlessly.
She wiped her cheeks as his words vanished. She grabbed a quill and dipped it gently in the inkwell.
Your lack of an answer is an answer to me in and of itself , she wrote back.
The words disappeared at once. She felt the pull of his Magic on the other end.
She couldn’t go to him. She couldn’t stomach the floodgates of despair that would burst open at his sympathetic touch.
She stared at the blank slip of parchment. And stared. And stared, waiting for his reply. Finally she wrote:
Are there any others?
A moment passed. Her writing faded and was replaced with a reply from Mal.
Others?
Maeve sighed and scribbled quickly.
Proposals.
No.
You don’t have to keep things from me. That isn’t going to make this part go any faster.
Is there such a trick to hasten time?
The quill fell from her hands and clattered on the desk. She placed her face in her hands and sucked in a tight breath. Her tears fell in a steady rhythm.
Mal’s Magic swelled through the parchment, a silent plea for her reply. She grabbed the quill once more and wrote:
First, you would need to reverse it.
His reply came without hesitation: If only I could.
Maeve leaned back in the chair as more of Mal’s words appeared.
Come to me.
She sat forward and prepared to write a message of protests and excuses.
Don’t argue , appeared on the parchment.
She didn’t let herself think.
She placed two fingers on her chest, where his Dread mark lay beneath her clothes. She Obscured in an instant, snapping away from her chamber, and a new room came into focus.
Mal stood before her.
She looked up at him, begging her emotions to swallow themselves.
He stepped forward and wiped each tear away with cool fingers. His touch calmed her erratic breathing and consoled her scattered mind.
His fingers brushed across her cheek in a flowing motion. “I don’t want her, Maeve. I want you.”
Maeve sniffled. “My father always said wants in marriage were not something Pureblood Magicals could afford.”
“Then it is a good thing we are not of Pureblood.” He smiled gently as his thumb rolled over her bottom lip. “I want to show you something.”
He dropped his hand and extended it to her. She took it, holding onto it firmly, hoping more of his Magic could calm her nerves.
The walk across Castle Morana was silent, but every few turns and stairs, Mal ran his thumb over her knuckles. He could have Obscured her to their destination, she knew that. But they took their time, and he never released her fingers from his.
When they reached the glass doors to the courtyards, Mal flicked his wrist in a slow, fluid motion. The doors pressed open with a long and steady rolling sound.
Maeve’s breath caught.
The gardens of Castle Morana had changed. Shiny green life bloomed in abundance. A vast majority of the paths were now lined with green and blue hydrangeas.
She stilled at the threshold, hesitant to move forward lest the vision fade. He had done it. He said he would restore them for her. She had, truthfully, not thought of them since. . . but there, before her eyes, were flowers.
And they were the most beautiful sight she had seen in months.
“Your grandmother Agatha and her green thumbed, human gardener were crucial in the restoration.” He walked in front of her, running his hands along the vibrant green leaves. “Still not flourishing without my help, but as long as I will it, they will bloom.”
She stepped across the intricate stone pathway and hesitantly brought her fingers up to one of the pale green ball of blooms.
“They’re real,” she whispered as her skin met the soft velvet petal of the flower.
Mal’s eyes were on her. She looked over at him, forgetting her jealousy and pride. Her hand fell to her side, and she walked steadily towards him. He turned towards her as she reached him and placed her hands on his chest. He scooped them up in his own and lowered his forehead to hers.
“Please understand,” he began. “It was not seven months for me. I left you on Earth, took a breath, and returned. And you. . . Everything changed in that breath.”
Maeve swallowed. He continued.
“And now I am trying to find my way back to you.” His hands cupped her face. “And you are so far away. Tell me what to do to find you again, Maeve.”
Her head shook in defeat. “I do not know,” she answered sadly. “I am but a shadow of myself.”
His thumbs caressed her cheeks, sending electric energy buzzing through her body.
“The gardens are beautiful, Mal,” she said, the words choking out of her. “I am honored by such kindness.”
His finger tilted her chin upward. “I’d move mountains if they blocked your view, Little Viper.” His fingers moved, cupping her neck between his hands. Maeve rose to the tips of her toes, brushing their noses together. “I’ll bend the world for you.”
Calming Magic seeped into her skin as his lips brushed hers. Her bones vibrated with a soft electric glow. He kissed her so tenderly, and with such supple control, that her body melted into his. Her eyes fluttered to a close as she pressed back into his smooth lips with equal delicacy.
His lips pulled away gently and the backs of his fingers slid down her cheek. He watched her bask in his touch for a moment, thoroughly pleased to finally hold her in his arms once more.
She looked up at him.
“It’s late,” he hummed. “I need to move out.”
“Take a walk with me,” she said softly, twisting her fingers through his. “Once through the gardens. The darkness of the night can wait.”
Mal obliged. They walked, hand in hand, through the new bushes and blooms until a yawn escaped Maeve’s lips. He led them around the castle and to the stables.
Spitfire greeted her with a small huff. She slid her fingers down his face as Mal saddled Obsidian and Maeve crossed towards him.
“Abraxas will travel to Heims tomorrow to decline Kier’s proposal,” he said.
Maeve’s eyes shot up at him. She struggled to find her words as he straddled the silky mare. Maeve played with her long, wild, black mane. Mal took the reins and positioned Obsidian towards the gates.
“You are a Prince now,” she said at last. “There will be others.”
Mal looked down at her from where he sat high on Obsidian, a steady breath rising through him. He spoke coolly, the corners of his lips pulling up ever so slightly as he replied.
“And they will all find me unequivocally uninterested.”
His Magic pressed against her lips in a kiss-less goodbye.
The gates to Castle Morana flew open wide, gusting icy wind around her. Obsidian kicked back, and flew towards the arching metal at incredible speed, leaving Maeve in the wake of Mal’s exit.