Chapter 38
Maeve tossed up a shield, sending Arman sliding back across the stone courtyard, as they warmed up with one another. Larliesl observed them both from a far, watching others begin their day of training as well.
Their pace escalated as they fired sharper Magic at one another, moving across the stone.
“Did my father know?” Maeve quipped, already knowing the answer.
Shame flickered across Arman’s face.
“There’s no need to feel ashamed of hiding it,” said Maeve, dodging his advance. “It was wise.”
“You misunderstand, Sinclair,” he fired back. “I am not ashamed for fear that my Premier would have been angry or disappointed in his Captain.” He shot towards her, Magic shifting between his steps, nearly knocking her over, as she focused on his words. “I feel ashamed I never told him because I was more concerned with my appearance than honesty.”
Maeve halted her advance and held her hand up. Arman stood straight. “You blame yourself for hiding it, but you never could have had her then. Not in the light.”
“And now?” He questioned. “Are we in the light?”
She stared at her father’s former captain, one of the only Supremes that matched her strength. That understood the crushing weight of power. The man her sister loved, it seemed.
“Maeve.”
Abraxas stepped out into the training court, his voice short and winded as he called for her. He motioned for her to quickly follow with an impatient expression.
“Apologies,” she said. “It wasn’t my place to pry.”
Arman shrugged. “No need.”
“Maeve,” hissed Abraxas, rocking on his feet.
Arman gave her a quick nod, and she turned from him. Abraxas vanished back into the castle, forcing Maeve to quicken her pace to keep up with his long strides.
“What’s going on?” She asked. “Is Mal alright?”
Abraxas nodded. “Mal is fine. Gone still. We have visitors. And I think, if they are here, it means they come bearing quite the gift.”
Maeve tossed her hair behind her shoulder and fanned her face, sticky with sweat.
They rounded the last corner into the large entrance hall of Castle Morana.
Alphard crossed the hall with Mordred at his side. The snowy white wolf padded silently across the marble floor. Maeve’s brow’s lifted at his appearance. More wolves filed into Castle Morana. Between them was a Witch.
Maeve’s mouth fell open.
Ismail walked towards her with hesitancy. Her smile was far from genuine.
“Maeve Sinclair,” she said as they joined at the center of the hall.
“The Dread Prince is away?” Asked Mordred, gravel in his voice.
Abraxas nodded. “Hello, Ismail. My name is Abraxas Rosethorn. I am honored to have you at Castle Morana.”
Her lip was bleeding, and there were four distinct rips across her clothing.
Abraxas smiled in an attempt to calm her fearful eyes. “Alphard, go and fetch Astrea, will you?”
Alphard didn’t hesitate to go get his sister. Mordred sniffed loudly.
Maeve didn’t speak. She was too stunned by the pack of werewolves before her that were, apparently, holding Ismail, who had either not come willingly or was hurt regardless, hostage.
“The Crown thanks you,” said Abraxas, addressing Mordred. “I’m sure Mal regrets not being here to thank you in person.”
Mordred grunted. Ismail stiffened.
“And the gold?” He asked roughly.
“I can take you there now,” said Abraxas smoothly.
Alphard returned with Astrea. She was finally showing her pregnancy.
“Ah,” continued Abraxas. “Perfect timing. Astrea, please take Ismail. If you’d like to follow me, Mordred–”
“No.”
Mordred stepped between Abraxas and Ismail.
“She doesn’t leave my sight until I am paid and the Dread Prince returns.”
“Of course,” said Abraxas casually. “Alphard, show our guests to their sleeping quarters.” He looked to Astrea, “Let’s get you healed.” And then finally looked back at Mordred. “You are aware the Prince is gone for days, weeks, and even months at a time, yes?”
Mordred’s snout tensed.
“King Kier is fine without his King’s Guard indefinitely?”
Mordred didn’t reply.
“A predicament,” said Abraxas with a laugh. “Rest, Mordred. We will speak again at dinner.”
Abraxas slipped his fingers around Maeve’s wrist and pulled her with him as he turned sharply on his heel.
“What the hell is going on?” Muttered Maeve icily.
Abraxas did not answer until he shut the doors of his study and leaned against them.
“Brax?”
His eyes found hers. “I put out a bounty on Ismail.”
Maeve’s mouth fell open. “What? She’s bleeding, Brax!”
“I know that!” He hissed. “They weren’t supposed to hurt her.”
“She looks absolutely terrified.” Maeve shook her head, coming to her senses at last. “I am going to her.”
She moved towards Abraxas, and he grabbed her arms swiftly. “You can’t.”
Maeve huffed. “What are you not telling me?”
“I didn’t tell Mal,” he admitted in a garbled confession.
Maeve’s shoulders dropped. “Alright.”
“He’s going to be mad.”
“No,” said Maeve, “he’s not. She is here. We have been searching for her for months.”
Abraxas looked past her and nodded, though his eyes were far from in agreement.
Maeve waited a moment before she said, “I don’t trust them.”
Her cousin’s gaze landed on her at last. His chest rose and fell dramatically. “Kier’s King’s Guard?”
Maeve nodded. “There is something shifty about them. I can feel it. The Magic radiating off that wolf is. . .disloyal.”
Abraxas dropped his arms and marched towards the desk, pulling out stacks of gold.
“How much did you offer?” She asked incredulously.
“I made each of the Sacred families pay for it, split seventeen, well sixteen now, ways.”
The unintentional dig cut through her like a slice from The Dread Dagger, but Abraxas was too busy counting money to notice.
“Are you and he able to communicate when he’s out there?”
“Yes,” she replied.
“Wonderful,” said Abraxas as he slid the gold pieces into a dark purple bag with gold strings. “Get him here, please.”
Maeve reached into her pocket and pulled out the worn sliver of parchment. It lay blank.
“I’ll leave out the part where you lied to him,” she said sweetly.
“So generous,” he muttered.
She grabbed a blue-jay quill from Abraxas’ desk and scribbled a brief message.
We found Ismail.
The words lingered across the parchment only for a moment and then disappeared.
The Dread Goblet sat at the center of the table. Maeve stared at the ancient gold artifact. It shone regally.
Abraxas and Mal’s mild tempered argument ensued in the background. Her thoughts were on Ismail and if she’d be able to tell who poisoned the Dread Goblet. The Double O knew it to be poisoned. Loxerman said there was tale that an ancient poison laced the smooth basin.
“How did Mordred find her?” She asked, speaking over them.
Abraxas and Mal ceased their discussion.
“Speaking is not all they are blessed with,” answered Abraxas. “Incredibly heightened senses as well.”
“They tracked her across Earth,” explained Mal.
“I don’t like that they hurt her,” said Maeve. “She’s done nothing wrong.”
Mal’s hands landed on her shoulders. He planted a supple kiss on her temple. “I know,” he murmured. “I told them.”
He slid into the chair next to her as the doors opened and Ismail was ushered inside by two Bellator. She swallowed hard. Her wounds had been healed, but the uneasiness in her eyes remained.
Ismail’s eyes locked on the Dread Goblet. Her shoulders fell slack.
“Please, sit,” offered Abraxas as he took a seat next to Mal.
She accepted stiffly.
“Apologies for all the nastiness,” said Abraxas. “Thank you for sitting down with us.”
As though she had a choice.
“You are familiar with The Dread Artifacts, also called The Armor of Dread?” Asked Mal.
Ismail nodded.
“Are you aware that I lack only two of them?”
Ismail looked up at him. “Two?”
Mal nodded once. “The Spellbook and the Stone.”
Ismail's calculating eyes drifted away from Mal. “You’d like for me to locate them?”
“I would, yes.”
“That is not my speciality,” she said gently.
“When I met you, you said you were drawn to the broken Magic in my pocket. You can sense Magical artifacts, can you not?”
“Sometimes yes,” she answered.
“They call to you.”
She looked back up at Mal. “They do.”
“Can you find the items I am seeking?”
“I can try,” she replied.
Mal held her gaze for a moment before continuing.
“Unfortunately, Ismail,” he said, his voice dropping, “trying will not be enough.”
Ismail swallowed. Mal continued.
“There is plenty of time for us to discuss the plans I have for finding them both. But first, I have a question for you. And please understand, both my Dread Viper and I are capable of discerning the truth with or without your consent. It is in your best interest to be truthful.”
Ismail chewed the inside of her lip.
“Is that understood?”
She nodded. Her eyes slipping to Abraxas as his brows raised.
“My Prince,” she added. “Yes, my Prince.”
Abraxas’ brows fell in a look of approval.
“Why did you return the gold and vanish after you repaired the Finder’s Stone?” Asked Mal.
Ismail tensed, but she answered. “Shortly after you departed, I received a visit from The Orator’s Office. They were far crueler than your four-legged friends.”
“I am sorry, Ismail,” said Mal. “I never intended for you to get hurt.”
“I know that,” she said, but her eyes were wary of the new world surrounding her. She hardly looked at Maeve.
“The Double O came to you?” Prompted Abraxas.
Ismail nodded, her eyes still on The Dread Goblet. Her dark eyes turned glassy. Tears rimmed her charcoal smudged painted eyelids.
Maeve gasped, and Ismail’s guilty eyes landed on her at last.
The room became swelteringly hot. Maeve’s vision blurred. Her hands turned numb and her neck pooled with sweat.
“I didn’t know until after I had confirmed the goblet was laced with poison,” cried Ismail, thick tears streaking her cheeks. Her eyes snapped to Mal. “I didn’t know it was meant for you.”
“Breath, Maeve,” said Mal calmly, his lethal eyes on Ismail.
But she could not. Her chest stung with a deep ache. Would there be no end to the betrayal?
“That is why you returned the payment and vanished? And why you have eluded me for so long?”
Ismail nodded, sucking in sharp breaths of regret.
Dark Magic fell from Mal like a discarded robe. It surged across the floor, wrapping Ismail in piercing, dark, energy.
“Who poisoned it?” Asked Maeve, her pulse accelerating rapidly. “I know you know.”
Ismail’s teeth clattered together as she spoke. “I need not touch The Dread Artifacts in this room to know what Magic is stored within them. They scream at me. It was not meant to kill the Dread. It was poisoned to kill someone…something else. There are many guilty parties,” she said, sucking in tightly. “Only one life force still remains.”
“Who?” Asked Mal sharply.
Ismail’s eyes traveled from the goblet to Maeve’s narrowed eyes. Maeve heard the accusation before it even rolled off Ismail’s tongue. In fact, she didn’t hear her at all. Sound faded from her senses as Ismail spoke the words that somewhere, deep in Maeve’s stomach, knew were coming. She only watched the Witch mouth his name, and all understanding lost her.
“Reeve of the Aterna.”
There would indeed be no end to the betrayal.
How many silent moments passed, Maeve did not know. Nausea swept through her, tingling her spine and hands. The feeling of the chair beneath her seemed to vanish. Ismail continued quietly, though no one instructed her to speak.
“He poisoned it himself. More than three hundred years ago.”
The words repeated over and over in her mind.
Mal was right. They had been foolish. They had been so foolish to think there were not enemies all around them while they danced and dueled.
She didn’t know what happened in the room with Ismail after she accused Reeve of poisoning the Dread Goblet. Something snapped in Maeve’s mind. She stood and left the room as her vision blackened.
Ismail’s scream followed her into the hall. She braced herself on the wall, stumbling into the cold stone. She pushed off the wall, shattering the frames of Dread royalty that hung in large frames. Their portraits shredded and hit the floor beneath her Magic.
Mal was behind her in a flash, catching her waist and forcing her face up at him with his free hand.
“Shhh,” he soothed her.
I’ve got you , he said into her mind. Breathe .
Maeve clawed at his chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt until it balled beneath her fists.
She couldn’t speak. Her throat was painfully dry.
Make it stop please , she begged silently. It’s too loud in my mind.
His hand slipped from her face and slid around the back of her knees as his darkness consumed her.
The North Tower was quiet when she rolled over in Mal’s sheets.
He was awake in a large chair, thumbing through an old hand written text. One of the few left behind in Castle Morana.
His eyes lifted to hers. Her thoughts were already consumed by Ismail’s confessions.
“It was not meant to kill Dread,” she said, reciting Ismail’s words.
Mal closed the leather book and set it aside. He crossed the circular tower towards the bed. He sat beside her and brushed his fingers across her forehead.
Her mind ran through all of the possibilities, kicking her heart into overdrive. Reeve watched the Dread Goblet get presented to Mal. He was already disgruntled that Mal was traveling to the Dread Lands before his coronation.
He saw Mal hand her father the Dread Goblet. He had to have seen that. He had to have.
“Hey,” Mal said softly. “Stop.”
Maeve looked away from him and up at his dark ceiling.
“Do you trust Reeve?” She asked, desperate for an explanation.
“I already told you, Maeve. The enemies are anyone that isn’t you and I.”
She paused. “How could he. . .if he knew.”
“‘Only one guilty party remains’, is what Ismail claims. He alone didn’t poison that Goblet.”
Maeve ran her hands over her face, brushing Mal’s away, and sat up, sliding her legs over the side of the bed. He watched her carefully as she slipped on her boots.
“Where are you going?”
“To Aterna.”
“Maeve,” he began.
“I want to know.”
“And what will happen when he reveals he is indeed your enemy?”
“Maybe he’ll kill me too,” she muttered, gripping the laces with white knuckles.
Mal snatched her hands up and forced her attention to him, her body tense beneath his strong hold.
“Speak those words again and you will regret them,” he said, his voice laced with a calm venom. Mal frowned at her, searching her face. He swallowed.
“He doesn’t know we know. We must play this carefully. He knows where the Dread Stone is. I know it in my blood. If I can get him around Ismail I believe she will be able to follow that Magic.”
Maeve ripped out of his grip. “I don’t give a damn about that stone!”
Electric Magic crackled at her fingertips. Mal did not acknowledge them. His dark and solemn eyes remained on her.
“Don’t,” he said.
She scowled at him so furiously that for a fraction of a second, the endlessly calm demeanor he kept up, vanished. Pain slipped across his raven eyes. There was no fear. She was no match for him. They both knew that.
His mask returned.
“Finding the Dread Stone is one of the last pieces of the puzzle, Maeve,” he said quietly. “It will ensure I keep you safe, and that we have a life that flourishes here.”
“What good is a life here if I cannot sleep without your assistance? If I cannot see the sun?”
Her words stung him once more. And the broken part of her was glad of it.
He stood and crossed the chamber. Without looking at her, he said, “You are forbidden from traveling to Aterna. That’s an order.”
His back was to her as he Obscured in a black mist.