Chapter 31
Maeve sat in the chair Arman provided her, opposite of where Leslie Loxerman curled in the corner of her cell.
Maeve crossed her legs. “Do I need to force you?”
Loxerman watched her with tired, red eyes. Maeve may have insisted Loxerman and the rest remain alive for interrogation, but that hadn’t stopped Mal from enjoying their pain.
Loxerman shook her head.
Maeve wasted no time.
“Who was my mother?” She asked.
“She was no one of importance,” replied Loxerman.
“Did you ever meet her?”
Loxerman shook her head. “Your father kept her far from us.”
“But you knew who she was?”
“I knew she existed.”
“Did you kill her?”
Loxerman looked down at the cell floor. “No,” she said at last.
“That doesn’t sound very convincing.”
Loxerman looked up at her, a strange glaze cast over her eyes. “I. . . agree.”
Maeve watched her for a moment. “I don’t believe you.”
“Then dig through,” said Loxerman. “You will find no recollection of her beyond Ambrose’s admittance of his mistake.”
“Bet you forced Clarissa to do that, just like you have forced women to marry and breed and lie for decades.”
“The Committee of the Scared backed his plan for Clarissa to pretend you were hers, and you should be grateful such an opportunity was given to a half-blood Witch. You alone bare those three stars on your wrist despite your dirty blood.”
Arman had not spoken to Loxerman once since their interrogation began, but his voice hummed in the small cell, “Watch your mouth, Leslie.”
Loxerman swallowed as a bit of power slipped from Arman. Perhaps Mal wasn’t the only one who had visited her previously.
“Moon said the Dread Goblet was your idea,” said Maeve.
Leslie breathed a laugh. “He came to me scrambling for a way out. You know, I advised him to accept the reality of Malachite’s throne. That he, Lenny, could perhaps still hold rank and power within a new world. Maybe even maintain his position as Orator on Earth. But he was insistent Malachite die.”
“A costly error,” said Maeve.
“Indeed,” agreed Loxerman.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
Loxerman did not meet her stare. “The goblet was my idea, yes.”
“Did Vetus Willus and the St. Beveraux’s know about its poisonous nature as you did?”
Loxerman looked up at her. “You sent Moon and Doggbind into a tailspin when you killed Vetus and so perfectly got away with it, too?”
“You know what pleases me?” Asked Maeve. “In all your evil plotting and planning, you were too stupid to realize Vetus held three Dread Artifacts. And all three fell into Mal’s hands with desperation to be in the control of royalty once more.”
Loxerman opened her mouth, but Maeve cut her off quickly with succinct words.
“Did the St. Beveraux’s know?”
“Marguerite did, yes.” She answered.
Maeve sat for a moment. Rage swam through her, quietly begging permission to shatter Loxerman’s mind. Even that seemed a mercy.
“And Ophelia?” She asked at last.
Loxerman’s brows pulled together. “I have no idea.”
Mal leaned against the doorway. “You’re up late.”
Maeve looked out the window. It was still impossible to differentiate day and night in The Dread Lands.
“Go to bed, Maeve,” came Mal’s voice.
She returned her gaze to the work before her. “I’m not tired.”
Mal’s Magic moved behind her, running down her shoulders and arms in a soothing way.
She’d spent the entire day running through Loxerman’s mind, desperately searching for any semblance or sign of her mother, and verifying the things Loxerman had admitted.
“It just doesn’t make sense,” said Maeve. “Why is there no record of her? Why do they remember her existence, but not one detail of her. My father had her buried so deep in his mind, even he barely remembered her.”
“But Clarissa, she knew of her existence. She knew you weren’t hers.”
“I know,” said Maeve. “It’s as though they knew of her, and nothing more.”
“What about your grandmother?”
“Grandmother Agatha swears she never even knew I was born of another woman.”
More of his Magic pressed into her back, relieving her tense muscles and nerves.
The thought of this phantom of a mother plagued her. Was she even alive? If she was, how could she have abandoned her so easily to be raised by another?
Maeve looked over at him. He was dripping in dark Magic. A breath escaped her lips and she stood at once, crossing her chamber towards him. “You need rest, Mal.”
He looked down at her with hooded eyes, his fingers looped around the Dread Locket that hung elegantly from her neck.
“When can we kill her?” He asked.
“Soon,” said Maeve. “I just want more time in her mind. Maybe she has convinced herself of such a lie, that it appears real and I must break it.”
Mal nodded. “I can’t promise I won’t keep her on the edge of death.”
Maeve smiled and took his hand in her own. Her Sinclair family ring brushed against his Dread Ring as electric and icy Magic traveled up her arm. She led him to the oversized chair by the dwindling fire. He pulled her to his lap at once.
Maeve traced her fingers along his sharp cheekbones. “I have more information that may help satiate your bloodlust.”
His brows raised. “Whose is the next name on your list? Allow me to deliver them to you.”
“Marguerite St. Beveraux.”
Mal’s hands stilled. He looked away from Maeve as his head rested against the back of the armchair. He didn’t speak for several moments.
“It’s not your fault,” Maeve said softly.
Mal nodded and licked across his teeth. His eyes were locked on the fire as he said. “I was a fool.”
Maeve began to argue but Mal’s eyes silenced her.
“I need to feel this, Maeve. It’s the only way I’ll learn the lesson.”
She nodded and sighed. “I have one more name.”
Mal waited for her to name them. Guilt slipped into her stomach.
Mal smiled, sensing the deep-rooted jealousy within her. “You want Ophelia.”
“Now tell me again you aren’t going to deny me that.”
His smile faded. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Maeve dropped her hand. “Even if she is innocent?”
Mal chuckled. “‘Innocent’ is a broad term. You have already decided she is not.”
“And if I am wrong?”
Mal pushed her hair behind her shoulder. “She delivered the Goblet to me, regardless of her intentions. Her naivety and negligence cost us greatly. There is no world in which you are unjustified in your hatred.”
“Is that a yes?”
“In the coming weeks, families from across Earth will come here to begin a new life in the Beryl City. Many of them eager to please their Prince. The St. Beveraux’s are no different. I’ll have Abraxas move their court appearance up.”
“They will think they are coming here as honored guests?”
“Yes,” said Mal.
His face moved towards hers, their noses brushing.
“I know you desire her,” said Mal softly. “If it is blood that you crave, you need only name the bleeder.”