Chapter 54
Warmth flooded her finger, slipping into her hand. A clattering of metal filled her ears.
Maeve.
Her eyes opened into the dark corridor.
She didn’t remember walking there.
Mal stood before her, the Dread Dagger in one hand and her bleeding finger in the other. But his green-flecked eyes were on the floor beneath them. He stepped to the side as Maeve realized what held his gaze.
Her blood dripped to the floor and then, against all bounds of physics, trailed along the corridor towards the black wall of stone before them. It ran along the flat floor, like a slithering snake and slipped into the cracks of the stones.
“What–” she began.
Mal concealed the dagger and placed her bleeding finger in his mouth. His eyes remained on her. Maeve looked up at him as her body began to shake, waiting for his explanation.
“It’s not enough,” he whispered, closing his eyes.
“What?”
His eyes opened. “It’s not enough blood.”
He dropped her hand and scanned up and down the blank wall. Maeve held her finger tenderly.
“Tell me what you saw to make you do that?”
Maeve stammered, her gaze pulled towards her blood that continued to crawl towards the door.
“I don’t know,” she admitted.
Mal remained silent for a moment, his eyes fixed on her blood.
“Why don’t I remember how I got here?” She asked.
Mal didn’t reply. He trailed his finger along his palm, thinly slicing it open and rotating his palm down. Slowly, small drops of his blood dripped to the floor.
It didn’t move, or drift towards the stone wall.
He repeated the action with the Dread Dagger, and still his blood lay still.
Mal took her hand once more and flipped it palm up. He didn’t ask as he ran his finger along her scarred palm, slicing it open just as he had his own. She winced as his grip grew tight against her pulsing hand. He turned it over as her blood fell to the floor on top of his.
It remained still.
Mal pulled the Dread Dagger back out. Maeve tensed against his grip, trying to pull her hand back.
“I don’t think this is a good idea, Mal,” she hissed.
He pressed the dagger against her twitching finger.
“Mal it’s going to scar–”
He pressed the pointed tip into the tender skin at the tip of her finger and squeezed. A single drop of blood dropped to the floor.
And inched towards the wall.
“It’s your blood,” he said as the small drop slid across the floor. “Yours. Not mine.”
Mal’s grip on her tightened, pulling her towards the wall.
“Mal, no,” she began, digging her feet into the floor. “We have no idea what’s behind there.”
Mal pulled her hand closer to the stone.
Electric Magic swelled at the fingers on her free hand, prepared to break his hold on her. The flecks of green in his eyes sparkled as he did not relinquish his grip. His Dread Magic pulsed through his skin into hers.
“We can do this one of two ways, Maeve,” he said. “But you will reveal what Magic has concealed within this stone.”
The sparks of Magic at her fingers remained. Mal dropped her hand.
“The hard way then,” he said.
Maeve stepped away from him and the wall, clutching her bloodied hand.
“I have a bad feeling about this,” she said. “I did not come here willingly. I did not slice my finger tip of my own volition–”
“That matters to you now?” He interrupted. “After all the minds you have violated? Now that it is you that is the victim, you are so against it?”
Maeve stepped away from him once more. “I will not open that door, Mal.”
Mal crouched to the floor, his finger smearing the trail of her blood. “I wonder if Arianna’s blood would work?”
Maeve’s throat tightened. He continued.
“Arianna, who has already suffered so much.”
Maeve darted towards him, no longer concerned with her bleeding hand. Mal stood tall and welcomed her challenge.
She pressed forward until they shared a breath. “Fine,” she hissed. “You want my fucking blood?” She took his wrist, which still gripped the Dread Dagger, and held it to her stomach. “Why don’t you just take it all?”
Mal’s eyes rolled. “Always with the dramatics.”
She pushed away from him, letting out a frustrated groan.
“Do not act as though I am being unreasonable,” began Mal. “You swore an oath to me. I could demand it, and that Magic on your chest would punish you if you disobeyed. And yet, I desire you to do it willingly.” He paused. “What if I could give you something in return? Something you’ve dreamed of since I met you?”
Maeve turned back towards him. “For my blood?”
Mal nodded. “You willingly give your blood for me.”
Maeve's hands rested in defeat at her sides. The multiple stinging cuts throbbed in her hand.
Her eyes scanned the wall as she weighed her options.
Mal would get his way, in the end. Those green flecks in his eyes ensured he’d do so ruthlessly.
“You allow Zimsy and Arianna to take the children to the city, just until we know we aren’t unleashing some hell upon the whole castle. And you swear not to use anyone else’s blood for this. Not my sister. Not anyone.”
Mal contemplated for a moment. Then he smiled at her. “Agreed.” Magic snapped between them, binding her bargain just as much as his.
He breezed past her. “Go and wake them. Meet me back here.”
“And what is it that you are so graciously giving me?” She called over her shoulder.
Mal didn’t turn back towards her. “You will see. It’ll be easiest once you’re low on blood and vulnerable. I believe it’ll be painful. Perhaps best if you’re unconscious.”
He disappeared into the dark castle corridor without another word.
Maeve stepped back towards the blank stone as a faint whisper of Magic hissed from the wall.
More , it seemed to say.
“How much do you think it will take?” She asked as she stared at the blank wall deep in Castle Morana.
“I’m uncertain,” Mal replied.
She looked up at him as he drew the Dread Dagger forth. His eyes still swam with green.
She never thought she’d come to hate the color.
“What if whatever is concealed here was not meant for us?” She asked quietly.
“You wound up standing in this spot with no memory of having gotten here.”
“Doesn’t that alarm you?”
“No more so than the other things I see and hear in this ancient place. Whether by the Magic in this door, or Castle Morana itself, you were meant to stand here.”
He extended the Dread Dagger’s hilt towards her. She didn’t take it.
“Why not your blood?” She asked softly as her eyes traced the sharp blade. “You have royal Dread blood. And I am not even of Pureblood.”
She looked up at him. Mal’s vacant expression stung.
“Take the dagger, Maeve,” was his only reply.
Maeve stared at him for a moment longer before she looked back down at the dagger.
“It’s still given willingly,” she began, “though I think I would prefer you to make the cut.”
He flipped the dagger back into his own grip and placed his hand on her lower back, ushering her towards the blank wall.
She held her hand out, palm up. The skin was already so marked with Magic, what was another? Mal held her wrist and placed the cool edge of the blade against her scarred skin, forcing her fingers to wrap the steel.
His eyes met hers and with one smooth motion, he jerked the dagger through her skin. Needles of ice pierced her skin, weaving across her entire body. She squeezed the wound shut, spilling blood onto the floor.
It surged towards the wall at once. The blood slithered into the stone just as before, sliding into every crack and missing bit of stone. Maeve’s vision shifted as she wobbled.
Mal took her palm and raised it high, forcing it to lay flat against the wall. Magic thrummed from the stone, calling her Magic to provide more. She groaned against the unwanted feeling, nausea building at her core. Blood dripped from her wound, trailing down the wall in vine-like paths of blood.
Maeve’s head rolled forward. Mal caught her forehead before it slammed into the stone.
“You haven’t lost that much yet, Maeve,” he said.
She hated that the slight concern in his voice delighted her. She was starved for his protection.
“I know,” she said with a tight breath. “But I feel so. . .empty.”
The blood from the floor and the blood from her palm had not met yet. Mal’s arm slid around her waist just as her legs wobbled. She groaned against him.
“You’re burning up,” he remarked.
“Please,” she cried. “Please make it stop. I don’t feel good.”
“It’s almost done, Little Viper,” said Mal. “It is an honor to serve your Dread Prince in such a way,” he hummed in her ear. “Is it not?”
It took all her strength to nod. This was not her Prince.
She shivered against him, despite his claim that her skin was hot.
At last, her blood met at the center of the wall. The dark red crimson began to glow, illuminating the dark corridor in a wash of red. Mal pulled her back and her arm fell slack.
A thunderous snap of Magic boomed from the wall as Magic released its seal. Warmth spread through her as Mal pulled her further back, completely supporting her. Her head rolled against his chest as the wall glowed red with every line and drop of her blood.
She understood then. It was Vexkari.
The markings dwelled only for a moment as they seeped into the wall, turning black and creating the archway of a large, rounded door. It clicked open in a dream-like swing.
Mal lowered her gently to the icy stone floor of the castle. He pressed his fingers to her temple.
“Sleep, Maeve,” he said with a smile. “Your reward is forthcoming. The final image of him stepping into a hazy green opening of light blurred into darkness.
Maeve opened her eyes in soft bedding. A light patter of Spinel’s paws against the sheets brought her gaze to the foot of her bed, where Maxius and Spinel played with a large feather.
Spinel lunged for the feather, rolling over onto Maeve’s legs.
Maeve pushed up, drawing both their attention towards her.
“Hi,” she said with a small smile.
Maxius crawled towards her and kneeled beside her. Spinel rubbed against his sides, purring loudly.
Maxius signed, you’ve been asleep for a long time.
“Days?” She asked.
He nodded and made a quick motion.
Maeve stretched then looked down at her cloth wrapped hand. It was still damp with whatever potion Astrea had soaked it in. The Dread Dagger’s wound would have to heal naturally, but she was grateful for any relief from the pain she could get.
She turned her attention back to Maxius and pulled her arm around him, drawing him close. Spinel wiggled his way between them.
“I had to help Mal with something. Sometimes being his second means I make sacrifices.”
Maxius’ eyebrows pulled together as he looked up at her.
“Sacrifice?”
He shrugged.
“It means I am hurt so that you, and Zimsy, and everyone else here, is safe.”
Maxius made the motion for safe .
“Exactly-”
You are not safe, he signed.
Maeve’s stomach twisted. She tucked her head atop his.
Abraxas emerged from the open doors to her chamber. He beamed at her. “Marvelous, cousin. You are glowing.”
Abraxas plopped himself on the side of the bed.
“Hello, Maxius,” he said cheerfully.
Maxius buried his head further into Maeve’s and pretended not to smile at Abraxas.
“You are awfully giddy,” remarked Maeve.
Abraxas bit his lip. “Would you like for me to show you? Or tell you what you revealed in that empty wall?”
Maeve’s heart kicked. “Everything’s alright?” She asked hesitantly.
Abraxas laughed. “Oh my sweet cousin,” he said with a laugh. “You found the Dread Spellbook.”
A library. Spotless, preserved with ancient Magic.
Books shot high into the ceiling, not a drop of dust or worn covers on them. Books bound with leather and silk. Books with stamped covers and handwritten titles, some large and some small.
Reading desks and oversized chairs lined the length of the library. Maeve smiled at the painted murals along the walls that depicted ancient stories and lore.
The ceiling portrayed a scene of creatures she’d never seen in any book, nor heard of in any story. They were large, dragon-like creatures, with shining slick, scale-less skin, long necks, and bat wings spread wide. They soared through pale green clouds of light, encircling a woman with white hair who wore the Dread Crown. She was glorious. Her eyes were bright green. They complimented her rosy cheeks and full pink lips. Her skin was as pale as her hair. She was depicted in the finest jewels and a black shimmering gown.
At the center of the room was an ornate pedestal. Magic still dripped from it.
“Mal has it?” She asked in regards to the spellbook.
“Yes,” answered Abraxas.
“Where to even begin?” She muttered, taking in the room full of knowledge at her fingertips.
Abraxas looked over at her. “Thank you, Maeve,” he said sincerely.
He took her uninjured hand and squeezed once.
“I’ll leave you to it,” he said with a smile.
How long she let herself be distracted by the endless amount of new knowledge and stories at her fingertips, she did not know. But the discovery of the library at Castle Morana was a win she was willing to take.
“And you were so adamant that you weren’t going to reveal this place,” came Mal’s voice.
She looked up from her new book. He strode towards her with life in his step. Maeve set her apple aside.
“You look rested,” she commented. “I’d like to talk to you about taking me to Mount Morte. There are texts here–”
“That mountain is still too dark and dangerous and is off limits to you,” he said plainly.
Mal rounded the desk and took her face in his hands. His lips were on hers before she could blink. His touch was. . .genuine.
His Magic was calm and familiar, far from his state as of late.
Maeve rose out of her seat, desperate to be closer to him. She wound her fingers through his raven hair and he chuckled, pulling away from her.
She looked back and forth at his eyes. They were dark chocolate with swirling hazel. She doubted her own vision, as there was no trace of green in them at all.
“What?” She asked apprehensively.
His hands moved from her face and down to her waist. “You haven’t kissed me like that in quite some time.”
“I suppose I’m happy to see you looking like my Mal.”
His finger tucked under her chin, craning her neck back. He clicked his tongue, a smile dancing at the corner of his lips. “I don’t think your Dread Prince gave you permission to call him such a familiar name.”
“Oh,” she said softly, pushing herself closer to him. “And here I was hoping we’d become quite familiar in the next few minutes.”
A dark smile pulled at his lips. He gripped her waist tightly. He lifted her and plopped her atop the desk, his lips finding hers once more.