Chapter 55
Arianna and the twins were not present for their routine breakfast together.
Maeve didn’t touch the breakfast spread before her. She barely sipped her tea. She was nose deep, scouring through the Dread Spellbook. The Magic described was not plain, nor simple. It wasn’t spelled out in common words or instructions.
There was even a lengthy entry on Vexkari. She and Mal had been right about many things with Vexkari, but the spellbook added even more insight to the dark transfer of Magic.
Mal understood parts of his Magic now more than ever. He pushed The Barrier farther and farther each day, reclaiming more of the Dread Lands than he had in months.
Maxius touched her hand gently, gathering her attention.
He signed help and pointed to the fruit too far for his reach.
Spinel paced up and down the table with his tail perked in a high curl.
“Try your Magic,” said Zimsy encouragingly.
Maxius ignored her and patted Maeve’s hand once more. Maeve slid the tray closer to him. He thanked her with a quick hand movement and carefully placed the bits he wanted on his plate.
Abraxas strolled into the room, brushing back his hair with one fluid movement.
“Good morning,” he said in a clipped tone, not fully regarding Zimsy or Maxius. “Maeve.”
She looked up at her cousin, who was so rarely frazzled. He bounced on the balls of his feet as his brows raised.
“Is it Mal?” She asked, closing the spellbook and already knowing the answer.
Abraxas nodded once. Maeve stood at once, clutching the book close to her. She followed Abraxas hastily into the corridor.
“Where is he?” She asked. “Why didn’t I feel him call for me if he’s hurt?”
“He’s not hurt,” her cousin replied.
“What then?”
Abraxas turned the corner and began their descent into the dungeons of Castle Morana.
“What is happening, Brax?” Asked Maeve sharply.
They swiftly traveled deeper and deeper into darkness, the only source of light the dimmed firelights against the wall. Her lux charm illuminated at her wrist.
Distant wails filled the long hall before them. Maeve’s pace quickened. The screams grew in their intensity the closer they got. They followed the cries to a large cell, where the door stood wide open.
Mal stood over a hunched figure. The man fell to one knee, another shriek ripping from him.
Ismail stood nearby, looking horror-stuck. She looked frail in Roswyn’s grip as he held her arms behind her back in one hand. Mordred’s red eyes glimmered closely behind Mal.
“I’ll ask once more,” said Mal cooly. “Where is the Dread Stone?”
The man before Mal keeled over, exposing his face to Maeve.
Mr. Walter Brighton.
Her insides twisted with guilt. She’d ruined his life’s work with one simple spell, effectively erasing his memory.
Mr. Brighton screamed, writhing on the floor beneath the torturous Magic resonating from Mal.
Maeve rushed towards them, placing herself between Mal and Mr. Brighton.
Mal’s eyes were flecked with green.
“He doesn’t remember anything, Mal!” Maeve begged, fighting for his attention. “I wiped it all, remember? I took it all.”
“Why are you doing this?” Cried Brighton behind her.
Maeve forced herself into his line of vision.
Back down , Mal spoke into her mind.
No , was all she replied without hesitation.
“He knows nothing, Mal,” she said gently.
“I am not asking him,” was Mal’s reply.
His eyes flicked up to Ismail, where she stood with splotchy skin and fear filled eyes.
Mal moved around her, still holding Mr. Brighton beneath his Magic.
“There are consequences for lying to me, Ismail.”
“Please, Dread Prince,” she said, her voice broken.
“Do you feel the Magic resonating from him?” Asked Mal.
Ismail nodded stiffly.
“His life’s work was dedicated to researching the Dread Artifacts,” said Mal. “I know you can feel it.”
Ismail’s jaw tightened. “I cannot–” she began, her voice strained and breathless.
Another wave of pain crashed through Mr. Brighton. Ismail’s eyes squeezed shut.
“I can enter her mind, Mal,” said Maeve. “Determine if she is being truthful. Do you believe after all this, that if she knew, she wouldn’t have relented by now? She is a ghost of herself, look at her!”
“Is that so, Ismail?” Asked Mal.
The Witch nodded furiously, her cheeks flushing a deeper red with every strained breath she took.
Ismail’s eyes opened. Her mouth twitched and her bottom lip trembled.
Mr. Brighton fell slack on the floor as Mal moved closer to Ismail. Maeve looked down at him, his chest rose and fell slowly.
“You think she is being honest, Maeve?” He asked as he bent to Ismail’s eyes level. “Let’s find out.”
With a giant gasp Ismail relaxed. Her eyes glassed over as she held Mal’s gaze.
“Did you lie to me, Ismail?” Mal asked, his voice sultry and smooth.
A small smile of adoration blossomed at her lips. She nodded fervently.
Mal looked over his shoulder at Maeve. He merely raised his brows, and then turned his attention back to Ismail.
“You know where the Dread Stone is, don’t you?” He asked.
Ismail’s brows pulled together. She tried to smile, but the same agonizing twisting of her mouth returned. Her expression was a battle of devotion and discomfort.
Mal frowned.
“What Magic is this that fights me?” He asked.
Ismail twitched harder in Roswyn’s grip, a low groan building in her throat.
Mal stood to his full height, casting a shadow over her. She continued to convulse, her eyes bulging and her mouth spilling out saliva.
Mal did not relinquish his control over her as she struggled, fighting between Mal’s Pathokenesis ability, and whatever Magic held her tongue.
Abraxas’ hand slowly moved to cover his mouth. He swallowed and then ran his hand across his throat.
“Perhaps we should–” began Abraxas.
But as he spoke, Ismail’s scream broke free from her, bouncing off the walls in the large cell.
Mal took her spasming face in his hands. “You are aware this means you are completely useless to me?” He said with a scowl.
Ismail smiled up at him through clattering teeth and twitching eyes.
“I advise you fight harder to release what desires to slip from your tongue, Ismail. Because either that Magic kills you, or I do.”
Magic swarmed subtly at Maeve’s finger tips, where she prepared to knock Ismail unconscious if that’s what it took to release her from her misery.
Ismail’s eyes jerked towards Maeve’s fingers, the cry in her throat escalating higher and higher.
“Where is the Dread Stone?” Mal asked a final time.
Ismail’s swollen eyes remained locked on Maeve’s fingers swirling with Magic. She cried and screamed like a wounded animal twice her size. Her body thrashed and Mal dropped her face and stepped away from her.
His Pathokenesis abilities were not enough to bring forth the secret of the Dread Stone, but still he did not release her from his Magic.
“Maeve,” called Mal, “come and search her mind for what she cannot speak.”
Maeve stepped forward with relief.
But it was short lived.
In Ismail’s next strained and convulsing breath, a shattering of Magic exploded across the cell. Roswyn recoiled, dropping his hold on her. She hit the floor face first, her skull slamming into the stone cell floor.
Maeve halted. Ismail did not breathe again.
Maeve stared down at her body, suddenly grateful she hadn’t eaten any breakfast.
Mal looked back at Maeve.
“What the hell was that?” Asked Roswyn.
“She knew where the stone was,” said Mal, his eyes on Maeve. “Just as I said.”
Maeve swallowed. “And now she’s dead,” she rasped.
Mal’s attention had already moved to Brighton.
“He’s done nothing,” said Maeve, stepping between Mal and where Brighton lay with labored breathing. “I already destroyed his life once, please don’t make me complicit in such a finite way.”
“And what will you give me in return?” Countered Mal.
Maeve’s mouth fell open. “Since when has everything become a bargain or a trade to you?”
“It must always be an even exchange,” he reminded her.
“One death is enough. She is already dead. She tried to tell you from the start–”
“Stop it,” snapped Abraxas from where he stood. His fingers pressed into his temples.“Both of you stop bickering.”
Mal stared her down, the flecks of green in his eyes flickering with contempt.
At last he turned on his heel, without another glance at Brighton and made for the door of the cell.
“It would be much easier if you’d all just cooperate,” he said, Mordred and Roswyn trailing him silently.
Mal’s steps drifted into silence.
Maeve looked up at her cousin. “We have entered dark days, Brax.”
“The Dread Stone still remains out of reach, and we have no idea who Reeve’s Inheritor is,” began Abraxas at the long table in his study. “Given their desire for cooperation and a world utopia, what I have proposed is simple,” began Abraxas. “In the hidden library I discovered an account from Dread Hands of the past. Before the blight, a touring tournament of duels and competitions took place on each realm, beginning on Aterna. Everything from fencing and archery to baking and craftmanship. Full cooperation and enjoyment for all,” he said, sliding his journal closed. “Lithandrian wants an alliance with us, and has for some time now, but she is afraid of the will of the people who may not.”
“And this is where we pretend everything is great?” Asked Maeve dryly.
“The alternative is we invade Aterna,” said Mal coolly. “And show them just how great we are.”
“A beautiful utopia,” she muttered.
Maeve did not look at him. She had not looked at him since Ismail’s death.
“You think that’s wise?” She asked Abraxas.
Her cousin swallowed. “I think the tournament is an easier way to win them over.”
“We have been trying to win them over,” muttered Maeve.
“Isn’t there a faster way?” Asked Roswyn.
“Like what?” Asked Abraxas with a slight annoyance in his voice.
“Like Mal uses his Pathokenesis abilities on Reeve,” he suggested.
“The Aterna are immune to such Magic,” said Mal.
Maeve looked over at him in a silent question.
“I’ve already tried,” he confessed without remorse.
“But his people no longer possess Aterna Magic,” argued Roswyn.
Mal looked over at him. “It’s a thought.”
“A bad one,” said Maeve. “We don’t even know if that’s possible.”
“Maeve then. She can alter his memory to think he serves you,” offered Roswyn.
“It’s not that simple,” said Maeve. “I can’t change his opinion. Even if I did alter his memory of past events, he would still, in his own heart, know what he desired. And those around him could also dispute his now false belief. There is nothing stopping him from realizing he doesn’t serve Mal. I cannot alter hearts, only memories of what once was.”
“So you’d have to alter them all one by one?” Asked Abraxas.
“Yes,” she lied, not divulging she’d altered groups of memories all together to one reality before. “But again-”
Abraxas tossed up his hand. “I heard you. Hearts and all.” He sighed.
“Make no mistake,” said Mal, “My ring sits on Lithandrian’s finger. I can feel her desire to deny me dwindling each day. Kier’s kingdom is already mine. It is only Aterna I am uncertain of.”
“And if this rouse of utopian cooperation fails, you will simply take Aterna?”
“Yes,” he answered plainly.
“With what army do we attack theirs, Mal?” Maeve asked icily. “They have thousands upon thousands of Senshi Warriors.”
“We have thousands of Bellator. The hundreds of wolves under Mordred’s command. And soon, The Elven Army. The largest of them all.”
“His citizens do not hold power. Their Magic is centuries gone, they are innocent in all of it.”
“Innocence has yet to matter to our enemies, Maeve,” replied Mal smoothly. “It should not impact your oath as my second.”
Maeve looked away from him.
“Continue with your plan, Abraxas,” said Mal.