Chapter 41
Emerie and Roswyn’s daughter’s birth celebration came months after her birth. She’d been in Irma and Astrea’s diligent care since she was born early and with less strength than needed for an infant in the Dread Lands. Anndee was her name.
But the small baby with pale blonde strands of hair and pink cheeks seemed perfect in Emerie’s arms as they gathered in the Tower of Sordell.
Maeve was certain she’d never seen Roswyn smile so consistently. He slipped his hand on the small of Emerie’s back as she passed the newborn to Juliet, who puckered her lips at the small babe.
Mr. Iantrose teetered over to the happy new parents. He looked down at Anndee and smiled. “My great grand niece.”
Emerie looked up at him and shook her head. “No, Mr. Iantrose, we aren’t related.”
“Oh,” replied Mr. Iantrose, entirely unaffected by her words.
Abraxas stood over the bar, pouring a hefty concoction with a grin. “Come, Emerie,” he called.
She stepped towards the bar, her eyes still on Juliet and the baby as Abraxas extended her the drink.
“Congratulations,” he said.
She took the swirling silver liquid and thanked him.
“A toast, a toast,” shouted Abraxas. “What better reason to drink than a baby,” he said, raising his glass high.
Laughter flitted through the room.
“I jest,” continued Abraxas. “I speak for The Dread Prince when I say we are honored you have chosen a life here and perpetuated such strong Magic here. May Anndee’s Magic be true, and her days here long.”
Mal raised his glass of sparkling water where he stood next to Maeve. “To Anndee.”
“To Anndee,” chimed the crowd.
Emerie beamed and placed the glass on her lips. Maeve looked up at Mal as they sipped their drinks. Glass shattered across the floor. Every head turned toward the sound.
“What the hell?” Said Roswyn, pushing through a few guests to get back to Anndee.
Shards of her wine glass sat at Emerie’s feet. Her eyes were glazed black and her arms limp at her side. Roswyn grabbed her waist, holding her securely.
She spoke with a dozen voices, muffled and raspy, as she said, “The one to inherit the Power of Aterna has been chosen.”
Emerie’s eyes flooded with color as she sucked in sharply and fell forward into Roswyn. Her body gave way as he supported her, lifting her up into his arms. Astrea arrived at his side, placing her hands on Emerie’s face.
Roswyn looked past Maeve. She followed his gaze to Mal.
The Dread Prince’s expression was solemn.
“Is she alright?” Roswyn asked Astrea as she entered Abraxas’ study.
She nodded. “She’s fine. That exhausted her, though.”
“The baby?” He asked with a strain.
“Perfectly healthy.”
Roswyn swallowed.
It was not uncommon for the bloodline of Seers to have reactions to their family’s prophecies.
“She remains completely unaffected,” elaborated Astrea.
Roswyn didn’t reply to Astrea. Maeve had never seen a flicker of fear across his brute features. She’d never questioned his love for Emerie. Whether he loved her or not was of no consequence to Maeve. But one thing was certain: he cared a great deal for that baby girl.
He looked up at Mal.
“Go,” said Mal, before Roswyn even had the chance to ask.
He placed his fist over his chest and left the study without another word.
“Thank you, Astrea,” said Abraxas.
She took her leave in silence as well.
Abraxas pulled open the drawer of his desk and took out a long scroll of parchment. He picked a small, feathered writing quill and hastily wrote the date, and the exact words of Emerie’s prophecy.
“Turns out, she is a Seer,” said Maeve, sliding back into one of the comfy chairs.
“Yes,” said Abraxas as he sliced the parchment by sliding his fingers across the tan paper. “No more jokes for me,” he muttered.
Maeve’s eyes moved to Mal. He sat before Abraxas’ desk, reclined in an armchair. His eyes lifted to Maeve’s.
Abraxas sealed the small bit of parchment with wax and filed it away.
“Now,” he said. “Maeve could jump, see what they know.”
“She’s not jumping,” said Mal cooly, as though he knew those exact words were about to come from Abraxas.
“But I could,” said Maeve.
Mal’s eyes slid to her. “No,” he said calmly.
“They are on-planet, in-realm,” she began to argue. “It wouldn’t be like the last time–”
Mal’s shoulders dropped, the vein in his neck twitched. Maeve looked away from Mal’s stern glare.
His Magic slithered down the desk between them and tucked under her chin, forcing her gaze back to him. He pressed into her mind.
I don’t doubt your ability or your dedication to the cause.
I know that, she pressed back, but at some point I need to try. I need to restrengthen myself.
Abraxas continued talking as they communicated in silence.
Mal’s eyes fell to the table. You nearly died the last time.
Because I pushed too hard.
His eyes lifted back to her. You always push too hard .
A smile kicked at the corner of her mouth. It was you who trained me.
Mal’s eyes softened. She felt his pride through their bond. You were a born fighter. I merely showed you the way.
You brought me back to life once, I’m certain you can do it again.
Mal’s chin sat atop his fingers.
Pour toujours, she slid into his mind.
Forever.
à tout jamais, he said in reply.
And always.