Chapter 46
Maeve stepped into the Healing Chambers. Astrea stood over Mal, who was collapsed in a chair and barely conscious. She was healing deep wounds that ran across his chest. Self inflicted marks of sacrifice that resonated with Dark Magic.
Maeve remained at a distance and watched as the blood vanished and the wounds were slowly getting smaller.
“Maeve,” said Astrea, realizing she was there.
Other heads looked towards her. She didn’t grant them the satisfaction of returning their speculative and curious gazes.
Mal was in worse condition than the last time. And the time before that. And by the look on Astrea’s face, she knew it too.
Maeve strode towards him, her robes flowing behind her across the chamber.
She met Astrea’s face of concern before taking his face in her hands.
“What are you doing?” Asked Mumford. He stepped forward, but Maeve ignored his guard dog mannerism.
Mal’s conscience lurked just beneath the surface.
Her hands fell to her sides.
“Were you with him?” She asked Mumford.
He hesitated and then shook his head.
“I thought I told you to stay by him–” she started.
Mumford scowled. “He insisted on going alone. You seem to have forgotten his word supersedes your own.”
Astrea dropped her hands. Mal’s chest wounds were closed. The bleeding stopped, but the skin remained marked.
She stood and stepped away, holding her arms tensely.
“I’m sorry, Maeve,” she whispered. “They’ll scar.”
Maeve looked down at Mal’s scarred torso, and her fingers lingered across his chest. “What is one more?” She muttered sadly.
Maeve took in his mind and his latest excursion replayed in flashes. There was a shadowy cave. An ancient altar. A voice that whispered in a foreign tongue.
She pressed deeper into his mind as a doorway slipped open. A small movement brushed her leg. A misty hallway came into view. Old wooden floors and ample sunlight. A very young Maeve Sinclair walked past her. She couldn’t have been any older than ten. She pushed open a door as the scene changed.
A small room shifted into view. There was one tiny bed, and a desk covered with public library books. They were all Human stories of Magic and Mythology. Maeve’s younger self hopped on the bed and tucked her legs beneath her, facing a boy her same age.
Mal’s handsome features were prominent even as a child. His eyes sparkled up at the young Maeve as they discussed the book before them in hushed voices.
You are not the only one who slips away to alternate realities in your mind , Mal’s voice rang across the small space.
He allowed her to view the made up memory for a moment more, then darkness fell around her. Before her stomach could plummet from the sensation of Mal pushing her from his mind, she withdrew.
In a blink, she returned to the Healing Chambers. Mal’s eyes were open, but completely glossed over in dark emerald swirls.
“Mal ,” said Maeve, calmly.
The whites of his eyes flooded with their proper color. Astrea stepped back from him. Maeve remained at his side, cupping his cheek.
With strained breath, he looked down at his chest.
“Your wounds are healed,” said Astrea.
Mal nodded and thanked her with a small voice.
“You are alright, my Prince?” Asked Mumford.
“Yes,” replied Mal. He would not meet Maeve’s eyes as she stared at him. “Leave us, Mumford.”
Mumford didn’t dare disobey a direct command.
As the door clicked shut behind him. Mal finally looked up at Maeve.
“What else did you see?”
“Nothing I understood.”
His Magic pressed against her own mind. She allowed him to verify what she said to be true.
Mal leaned back in the chair with a weary sigh and ran his finger through his hair.
“Spit it out,” he said.
“We have had this conversation many times.”
“I said speak–”
“I do not think it is a good idea to continue down this road,” said Maeve coolly.
“It is not for you to decide,” sighed Mal.
His face and hands were as pale as Maeve had ever seen them. Soft green flecks of light remained in his dark eyes.
“You should rest,” said Maeve.
“Not in an argumentative mood?” Asked Mal.
Maeve didn’t return his smirk. His face dropped.
“I don’t need you to protect me,” he said.
Maeve disagreed completely. “Get some rest,” was all she said.
The tea Grandmother Agatha made was too hot to drink. Maeve stared at it as steam lifted from the dark brown liquid. Aunt Beatrice laid out the pastries and fruit Zimsy prepared. Arianna chattered endlessly about Arman. Abraxas teased her lightheartedly, but Maeve’s sister was on too high of a cloud to even care about their cousin’s crass jokes.
“Abraxas,” said his mother.
Abraxas shrugged with a smirk. “I am allowed a few, mother.”
Anselm sat on his lap, while Aislin sat on Maeve’s. They were growing quickly, and would forever be known as the first babies born in The Dread Lands in three hundred years.
Maxius played with Spinel around the table, knocking his head repeatedly. But he never seemed bothered.
Grandmother Agatha’s chateau sat just outside The Beryl City, tucked on the edge of the Greywood. The house was Maeve’s favorite of the old mansions. Pale pastels of spring decorated the rooms filled with plant life, creating a welcome juxtaposition to the darkening green twilight of the land.
“I suppose I do have some news, though,” said Abraxas. He looked across the table at his mother and smiled, bouncing Anselm on his knee.
Beatrice sat her teacup down at once. “Don’t toy with me, Abraxas Flint Rosethorn.”
He smiled joyfully at his mother’s rush of emotions.
“No toying, mother,” he said softly. “Juliet is with child.”
Beatrice squealed and made Agatha jump and spill some of her tea. The old Witch scowled at Beatrice. With a snap of her fingers the mess was gone. Beatrice had already rounded the table and thrown her arms around Abraxas’ neck, kissing the side of his face enthusiastically.
“That’s wonderful, Brax,” said Maeve as her cousin beamed and accepted his mother’s affection.
“So these little ones will have a new friend soon enough,” he said.
“Why isn’t she here,” asked Beatrice suddenly. “Is she alright?”
“Yes, mother,” said Abraxas waving a hand at her, “she’s fine. Spending the day with Astrea preparing their minds for motherhood and birth.”
Maeve looked down at Spinel and Maxius. Maxius was signing to the cat. Spinel observed him intently.
Mal worked with Maxius, when he was at Castle Morana that is, trying to draw some Magic from the boy. Maeve encouraged him as well, but not a single spark or flicker of power came from him.
Spinel’s wide set eyes looked up at Maeve and Maxius’ bright green ones landed on her as well.
Magic shot up her spine and down her arms.
The image came in a flash of white, but it was painfully there all the same.
Maxius was much smaller in the vision in her mind. His tiny hands reached towards her, gripping the fabric of her cloak as massive tears streamed his delicate face. The tall, hooded figure before her took him in their arms.
The image vanished, and Grandmother Agatha’s tearoom returned to her vision. Maxius now stood beside her, with his head in her lap looking up at Aislin. She reached for his face and he smiled.
Arianna was talking about Arman again, the corners of her mouth pulling up. She played with her Sinclair family ring, the match to Maeve’s, and spoke of another ring that was perhaps in her future.