Chapter 40
The Grand Balcony at Castle Morana slid into view. The ever-present twilight surrounded the land beyond. Music drifted towards her from the Ballroom. The tune was familiar.
Something was strange about this dream though. Dreams in Castle Morana never left her chamber. The gaunt albino woman was nowhere to be found.
His back was turned, but he looked over his shoulder as she approached.
Maeve smiled at Reeve.
He heaved a heavy sigh upon seeing her, and subtly leaned against the bannister to catch his breath.
Maeve’s smile fell flat. “Is something–”
“No,” he interrupted her, attempting to smile playfully, but breathing seemed difficult for Reeve as she walked towards him. He looked at her in awe.
“Your magic,” he started as she stood before him. “It’s. . .growing.”
A small smile pulled at the corner of her lips. “I’m pregnant.”
A heavy bit of Magic pressed into her as shock slipped from him. It was warm against her cheek. She looked up at him, never having seen Reeve so uncontrolled.
“Congratulations,” he said, his voice strained.
She paused. “You don’t mean that,” she said, barely above a whisper.
It was true. He hadn’t meant it. And the Magic pressing into her body from him felt like nothing but regret. Maeve’s face softened.
“Of course I do,” he replied.
Maeve’s hand moved to her belly.
A long silence passed between them.
“I never got to tell you how sorry I was,” said Reeve. “How sorry I am for your Father.”
Maeve averted her gaze and Reeve sighed.
“That was selfish of me to say.”
Maeve looked back at him. “It was honest. No one is honest with me anymore. It’s all games.”
Reeve gave her a soft smile that didn’t meet his eyes. “Did you expect otherwise?”
“Nothing has gone how I expected at all.”
“No,” said Reeve, his half-hearted smile fading. “On that, we agree.”
She looked up at him, his eyes dull. He didn’t look himself.
“You seem. . .” Started Maeve.
Reeve merely shook his head, as if to say he was fine.
“More games,” said Maeve.
“You are quite good at playing them.”
“Bred that way, remember?”
Reeve scowled. “Don’t listen to a word those jealous Immortals and Magicals say. There was a time when Pureblood was so coveted that–”
“Well it’s not that time anymore,” interrupted Maeve as her voice broke. “And I am not of Pureblood.”
Reeve eyed her carefully. Her emotions were skyrocketing at the mention of her bloodline.
A small tear slipped from the corner of her eye and rolled slowly down her cheek.
Reeve reached a hand towards her face but quickly halted when she spoke.
“Don’t,” she snapped.
His hand returned slowly to his side. A genuine smile slid across his face.
“You had me worried for a moment,” he said. “But there you are. Still as stubborn and prideful as ever.”
Maeve wiped the single tear as her emotions returned to normal. “I should return.”
Reeve nodded. “I am at your disposal, Lady.”
“I am his second, not Lady of the Dread House,” said Maeve. “And I don’t need your protection just because I’m with child.”
“No,” agreed Reeve. “If anything, you are more ferocious than I can ever recall having seen you.” He smiled softly.
Maeve hesitated to leave him, a genuine smile blossoming on her lips.
Her stomach fell through the floor as Magic, white and hot, raced down her arms.
Bright light slammed into her vision, the beat in her head deafening.
Maeve pushed up out of bed in her darkened chamber. Something warm and thick slipped over her lip and onto her tongue. The metallic taste of blood pulled her from bed with haste. Magic ran towards her, slamming closer and closer.
The chiming clock above the mantel rang out. Then again. Then again.
She stared into the face of the clock, feeling foolish as her clammy hand found her flat stomach. A sigh of relief escaped her lips.
The balcony doors in her chambers flew open, slamming against the wall as a gust of icy night air chilled the floor beneath her bare feet, swirling the curtains in a twisting motion.
Something came swiftly. Magic she’d never felt and yet longed for all the same.
It was here.
She rushed onto the balcony and gripped the stone bannister.
The gates of Castle Morana were far across the grounds from the Crown’s Suite, but she made out Mal’s backside as he stood alone. She pushed off the railing and flew back across her chambers, out into the corridor and across the castle.
Mal alone could Obscure in and out of the castle with his Dread blood, and her run across the castle had never felt so long. The dark hallways tunneled on endlessly and the stairs multiplied in her hasty pursuit.
When she reached the Entrance Hall doors, they already sat open. The chilling air of the Dread Lands prickled her face as she made her way towards Mal.
He stood along the stone carved entryway below with his back still turned, blocking her view from whoever, or whatever, stood beyond the gate. His cloak flowed gracefully behind him in the piercing wind.
He’d felt it too.
She flew up beside him
On the other side of the Magical threshold stood a young boy. No more than two, maybe three.
Spinel meowed at the little boy’s feet, rubbing against his legs with his tail curled high, acting as though he hadn’t been missing for weeks.
The boy’s eyes moved to Maeve. And he smiled.
Her knees weakened as she leaned towards Mal.
He was so familiar. His round cheeks brought her comfort. His eyes were a sharp shade of glimmering green.
Her Magic felt for his, unafraid and without caution. His defenses were as strong as Elven Steel, but warm with a glow of ancient Magic.
His dark hair lay flat against his head, bangs trimmed perfectly across his forehead. His clothes were expensive fabric she’d never seen.
“Hello,” she said with a nervous smile.
The gate between them slid open with the wave of Mal’s hand.
“Are you from the Beryl City?” She asked. “How did you get all the way here?”
She looked behind him for any sign of his parents or a guardian. The night was still beyond the gates.
He hasn’t spoken , Mal said into her mind.
The gates were open wide now. The boy shivered. Maeve stepped towards him.
“Gracious,” she said, quickly slipping her robe off and sliding it around his shoulders and wrapping him in the much too large fabric. “You’re freezing.”
The boy glanced around her shoulder curiously.
Zimsy made her way towards them at a leisurely pace.
Maeve moved slowly, but he did not flinch from her as she placed her hands on either side of his small face. She pressed their foreheads together, and recoiled at once as his Magic pierced through her.
The boy didn’t appear scared or surprised at her reaction.
“Maeve?” Asked Mal tensely.
“I’m fine,” she replied hastily.
Her hands fell to her sides. The boy’s green eyes were mesmerizing in the hazy moonlight. Spinel chirped at her loudly.
Maeve reprimanded him with her eyes. He rubbed his lanky body against the boy again, purring up at Maeve.
Zimsy reached them a moment later. “You found Spinel,” she said with a little laugh. Zimsy kneeled beside him. A smile blossomed on his face as he took her in. “And who might you be?”
The boy made a motion with his hand.
She looked over at Maeve. Maeve gave her a small, concerned shrug.
“I’ll call a search of the Greywood,” said Mal. “The Bellator need to make sure there aren’t more children roaming in the night.”
“Send some to the city as well,” said Maeve. “Perhaps he wandered off.”
They both knew how unlikely it was that a small boy, barely more than a baby, had made it from The Beryl City without freezing or getting hurt.
“I’m sorry, I must have woken you,” said Maeve.
“Slamming your chamber door open and barreling down the hall will do that,” said Zimsy with a smile. She looked back at the boy. “Would you like some sweets? Three in the morning seems like a perfectly good time for little boys to have some cookies. I just made some with fresh lemons from the gardens.”
Zimsy extended him her hand and he took it at once. She led him back towards the castle, Spinel hot on their heels with his tail perked in a high curl.
“What was that?” Asked Mal when they were out of earshot.
Maeve shook her head. “I couldn’t see anything. There is a shield sharper than my own around that boy’s mind.”
Mal pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. The linen was embroidered with his Dread Mark in the corner. He was still in his traveling attire. He took her chin in one hand and gently dabbed at the dried blood between her nose and her lip.
“You weren’t asleep?” Asked Maeve.
Mal meticulously removed the blood as he answered. “I just got in.”
He dropped her chin and waited before he spoke, ensuring all the others were out of earshot.
“Do you remember the last time you woke in the night with blood dripping from your nose?”
Maeve nodded. Mal looked towards Morana, where Zimsy walked with the child.
“He’s just a boy,” said Maeve.
Together, they silently watched the small boy until he and Zimsy disappeared into the castle.
“Like calls to like” said Maeve quietly.
Mal nodded slowly in agreement. “I felt it too.” He looked back at her. “However, he got here, you were the coordinate. The same way Kietel found you.”
“But Kietel found me because his Magic lingered in me. I have never encountered this boy.”
A quick breeze bit at her exposed skin. She pulled her arms tight. Mal opened his cloak to her. She pressed herself against him as he wrapped the fabric around her.
“You just let him in?”
Abraxas puffed on a small cigarette and rubbed his eyes.
“Yes,” said Mal.
“No idea who he is?”
“No,” he answered again.
Mal had his back to them, looking out the green glass windows along his study. His gaze intensely on the Dark Peaks.
Abraxas’ face scrunched and he looked at Maeve. “Didn’t you chastise me for accepting the invitation to Aterna? Something about a trap?”
“That’s different,” she replied.
“How?” Abraxas pressed.
“Because I know he isn’t a threat.”
Abraxas scoffed. “Because he is barely not a babe? May I remind the pair of you that you were jumping minds and using Supreme level Magic at that age.”
“This is different,” she said again. She looked at Mal, whose back was still turned. “That boy is something different.”
Abraxas looked back at her. “The threat doesn’t have to bare its teeth to be considered a danger.”
“Abraxas,” said Mal calmly, finally turning towards them. “He stays.”
Abraxas didn’t argue a word further. “Where is he now?”
“Eating sweets with Zimsy,” answered Maeve.
Abraxas looked over at her. “Did she make lemon cookies again?” His eyes sparkled and he forgot their disagreement at once.
Astrea came to Castle Morana and performed an exam on the child. She found no abnormalities or injury.
“He is of Magical heritage,” she informed them. “It flows freely, and in abundance within him. And there is something foreign. It’s not prominent enough to truly feel, but I thought worth mentioning all the same. I can’t place it.”
“Any traces of a spell or curse?” Asked Mal.
“None,” she replied. “He is pure. But there is one more thing,” she said. “He is not merely holding his tongue. He’s mute.”
“But you think he understands us?”
“Certainly,” she said. “I asked him many yes or no questions. He shook and nodded his head appropriately. But I can feel he lacks the ability to speak.”
Mal thanked her, and she took her leave back to her home in The Beryl City.
The Bellator searched the Greywood, The Towers, and The Beryl City for days. There was no sign or clue of where the boy came from. Maeve sat and watched him draw on a pale yellow scroll of parchment.
Maeve leaned over the drawing. It was a cat.
“Is that Spinel?”
He nodded and looked down at his feet, where Spinel lay curled in a tight ball.
“He seems to like you,” said Maeve.
The boy smiled up at her. He made a small movement with his hand then reached down and ran a hand along Spinel’s soft fur. He looked back at Maeve and made the hand motion again. He pet Spinel once more, and stood. He made the motion a third time.
Maeve understood. She mimicked the small movement. “Cat?” She asked.
He nodded. Spinel purred loudly at his feet.
“What other words do you know?”
His smile faded and he looked back down at Spinel, then back up at Maeve.
He made the motion for cat again.
Maeve kneeled before him. “Is there a motion for your name?”
He pulled both hands together and made a motion.
“Slow,” said Maeve gently.
He repeated the motion. He nodded as Maeve copied it.
He nodded and took the quill back in his tiny hand. He dipped it back in the black paint-like ink with deep concentration and wrote in perfect cursive: Maxius .
“Maxius,” said Maeve as she read the word. She looked back up at him. “Hello, Maxius. Can you write any other words?”
He placed the quill back on the parchment. Maeve watched him curiously.
Cat , he wrote in slightly sloppier handwriting than his name.
Maeve laughed and reached for Spinel. She pet his head as he pulled his paws in tightly.
“I’ve been learning his language,” she told Mal upon his return. “I believe it’s what they use on Earth.”
“Earth?” Mal asked.
Maeve nodded. “I asked him to write me his last name, his parents’ names. He cannot.”
“He doesn’t know them or he won”t say?”
“No idea,” she replied. “I can’t get in his head.”
“My pathokenesis abilities are just as void on him,” admitted Mal.
Maeve watched as Zimsy walked with him through the gardens. Spinel trailing them as he always did.
“Who is this boy?” She asked quietly.
Mal was silent a moment before he spoke. “Ismail has returned empty handed once more.”
Maeve swallowed. Whether or not the unique Witch was searching for the remaining Dread Artifacts out of guilt or by force, Maeve didn’t know. Nor did she care. Maybe it was Mordred and his pack of wolves nipping at her heels that propelled her.
“Reeve’s been awfully silent,” she noted. “No fancy party invitations.”
“Abraxas is working on that.”
“He will come here? And you will introduce him to Ismail?”
“Yes.”
Maeve looked away from him.
“Does his innocence matter to you?” Asked Mal after a moment.
“Yes,” she admitted. “A great deal.”
If jealousy spiked through Mal he controlled it well. Maeve continued.
“The hope that he did not falsely call my father friend, as so many have, is the single thing that keeps me from burning Crystalmore to the ground.” She looked over at him. “His innocence matters, because, if he is not, then I am easily played a fool.”