Chapter 60
Maeve marked her enchanted parchment as days rolled by in Mal’s absence when she unwillingly returned to Castle Morana after their visit to Earth. The Dark Peaks were breathable. With all but the Dread Stone, Mal managed to drive the blight of the land back past Mount Morte, the tallest mountain in the realm.
Her parchment scratched another mark as the delicate hands on her watch sat high at midnight.
She could no longer stay in the Crown’s Quarters. Most nights she slept in the large bed in Zimsy’s room with Maxius, who were both fast asleep on the upper floor of the castle.
The firelights in the library flickered as her eyelids grew heavy. She shook her head quickly and focused on the words before her.
The account was from a former servant of Orion the Dread, recalling the day a small and malnourished baby appeared at the gates of Castle Morana. She was swaddled in tattered fabric in the cold night air.
Shamefully, I hesitated to bring the babe inside. Orion was unlike a father in most manners, even his own children seldom saw his smile. Something drew me to the pale babe with white hair, and I did not care what Orion would say. We’d hide her in the kitchens if need be.
To my surprise, he favored her above all, even his heir and first born. She grew beautiful in her womanhood with charm that Orion lacked. Her Magic contradicted any tale or witness I bore of power. She ensnared his mind as a babe and never let go.
Father, she called him. Daughter, he called her.
His trueborn daughters mocked her pale skin and white hair with eyes to match. “Ghost,” they called her in jealous whispers. As just a babe, I could not see it then, but as her hair grew and her skin never filled with warmth, I knew she was not malnourished when she wound up at the castle gates. She was an albino.
Maeve sat forward in her chair as warmth fled her own skin. She looked up at the mural ceiling. The woman depicted was surely too beautiful to be the gaunt woman who invaded her dreams.
Her eyes fell back to the text. She flipped the page to the next entry. Chunks of pages were ripped from the journal, leaving jagged edges of paper sitting up from the spine. The next entry was hardly even the same handwriting, much farther back in the book. It was messy and written with a shaking hand.
Today we laid to rest the last in the Dread Bloodline. They were burned, as is tradition. Their ashes were spread in the Greywood, as is tradition. Orion can barely stand. His eyes are so green now.
Ghost remains. She is always present. She is always watching my mind.
She tells him relentlessly she knows he bore another. One he kept secret.
She is always watching our mind.
Maeve flipped the page. There was nothing further. She closed the book with a discontent sigh. The possibilities of the missing, torn out pages ran through her mind.
Her gaze lifted back to the ceiling. It was unlikely there had been another like her- with such striking features-
In a blink, she was in Mal’s study.
Standing in the center of the room.
No idea how she got there. No idea where she’d been before. Her eyes darted around the room. Mal stood shirtless over his desk, with disheveled hair as he clutched the Dread Goblet. He filled it with a dark, amber liquid.
Her body tensed. “What are you doing?” She asked quickly.
Mal ignored her. His skin gleamed with sweat as he gripped the goblet with trembling hands. Only then did Maeve see the brown liquid already dripping from the corner of his mouth.
“Stop it!” She screamed, Obscuring to him.
Mal downed the contents of the goblet at once, tossing back the dark liquid before she could knock it from his hands.
Maeve’s stomach plummeted. Her hands tingled as fear overtook her.
Mal gripped the Dread Goblet tightly and threw it across his study. It collided with the wall and hit the floor with one solid boom.
Maeve’s eyes stung. Her pulse accelerated.
Mal looked up at her, his breathing heavy. No trace of green in his eyes. He stumbled backward, putting space between them. “Stay away.”
Maeve disobeyed. She pressed him on shaking legs as he fell back against the wall. Tears slipped along his sunken cheek bones as he slid down to the floor.
Maeve fell to her knees before him.
“It won’t kill me,” he cried.
Maeve shook her head in a mixture of disbelief and comfort. “What?”
“The Dread Goblet cannot kill me.”
Maeve looked across the study to where the gold goblet lay on the floor.
The Magic that had killed her father was completely dormant, not a trace of it lingering in Mal.
Ismail had said it. Even Reeve had. They just hadn’t understood. “It was not meant to kill the Dread,” she recited in a scattered whisper.
It was poisoned to kill someone…something else, Ismail had said.
Shadow, Reeve said. He intended to kill Shadow with such lethal Magic.
“How?” He stammered with dilated eyes. “How could it have so easily killed Ambrose when, no matter how many times I try to rid myself of this darkness, I cannot find release?”
“They never intended to kill House Dread,” she said. “It was intended to save the Dread.”
Mal beat his head against the wall behind him. Then again. Then again. Then again, until Maeve’s hand swooped behind his damp hair, cradling his skull. Her knuckles took the brunt of the force. She didn’t feel it.
“How many times have you tried to poison yourself?” She asked, her voice heartbreakingly soft.
Mal did not reply.
The whites of his eyes were covered in scattered red lines. Underneath them was dark purple, thin skin.
Maeve touched his face with her free hand. His eyes snapped to her, but they remained their dark chocolate color.
“Come and rest, Mal,” she said gently. “On Earth. With me.”
His frightened eyes never left hers as he nodded.
A moment later, they arrived at Hapswitch House. Mal sunk into the sofa, his head rolling back into the dark leather.
“I want to try something,” she said. “Something to make you relax.”
He did not respond. Maeve pulled the Dread Dagger from its concealed spot on her thigh and sliced across her palm. His eyes snapped to the wound as the smell of blood singed their noses.
Maeve kneeled over him on the plush sofa as she brought her bleeding palm closer to his face.
He snagged her wrist weakly. “How do I know it's you?”
Her heart constricted. “Ask me something only I would know,” she said with calm patience, hoping he couldn’t see just how close to breaking she was.
His dark and lifeless eyes looked past her. After a moment he asked, “When did you know I loved you?”
She brought her woundless hand to his face. His eyes moved slowly back to hers. “When Vaukore fell, and you kissed me.”
He did not smile. “And when did you fall in love with me?”
“The moment you said I was a Supreme,” she said without hesitation. “As though you’d always known. As though you’d always seen me truly.”
She brushed her fingers along his skin.
“One more,” he said.
Maeve nodded.
“What was the song playing when I kissed you at the Summer Solstice party?” A small smile pulled at the corner of his lips.
Maeve smiled as blood pooled in her hand. “Symphony number nine.”
“Yes,” he said, recalling the memory.
His grip on her wrist released, and his arm fell limply to his side. Maeve cradled the back of his head and placed her bleeding palm at his mouth.
Mal slumbered deeply. His chest rose and fell in a heavy and full rhythm. She pressed her own fingers into the Dread Mark on Mal’s chest. The Magic connecting all those with the mark flickered to attention at her command.
Intentional or not, Mal had created a bond between them all.
Maeve inhaled deeply and closed her eyes. She placed her other hand across her own mark, and spoke into all their minds. Magic raced down thousands of Magical pathways.
The time has come to fight for your sworn Prince.
Maeve Portaled into the Entrance Hall at Castle Morana, leaving Mal on Earth. The castle was alive with haste. Bellator and healers rushed by Larliesl. Abraxas and Astrea stood waiting for her with panicked expressions .
“The Beryl City is under attack,” said Abraxas swiftly.
Maeve took a quick breath. “By who?”
Her cousin shook his head. “Not who. What.”
Her lips pulled together. “The Dreaded Dead.”
Abraxas nodded fearfully. “The Greywood is swarming with undead.”
Maeve turned to Larliesl. “Gather all our forces at once,” she commanded. “We move to attack.”
He gave a short nod and waited for further instruction.
“Get as many as you can to the city at once. Healers too. And then we are going to Mount Morte, past the Barrier, to find whatever it is in those mountains that is trying to kill our Prince.”
Larliesl took his leave at once.
“Remember, Professor,” she called after him. “Flame, alone, can kill them.”
Larliesl began shouting orders to varying officers.
Maeve turned to Abraxas and Astrea as Mumford and Roswyn appeared.
“Go to Earth and–”
“Earth travel is forbidden,” began Mumford, but Maeve ignored him and continued addressing Abraxas and Astrea.
“–watch over him. I sedated him with my blood. I don’t know how long he’ll be out for.”
Abraxas' eyes widened.
“How much blood did you give him?” Astrea asked.
“As much as possible before he fell unconscious.” She turned towards Abraxas. “Take as many Bellator to ensure he’s protected and stays there. He stays there, understood?”
Mumford spoke over her again. “You do not command and place his–”
Maeve whipped towards him at last, furious lightning crackling over her knuckles as the image of Mal, so destroyed and desperately drinking from the Dread Goblet, replayed in her mind. “I am second in command!” The room stilled as Mumford’s jaw tightened. “I do not have time to waste on reminding you that you stand leagues beneath me in both rank and power. Fall the fuck in line.”
She turned back towards Abraxas and Astrea. Neither of them held looks of shock or fear. “Go.”
Abraxas vanished at once. Astrea spoke quietly.
“To give your blood to him. . .that is a different kind of Magic. We are truly desperate now, aren’t we?”
Maeve reached forward, locking her hand around Astrea’s forearm. “Fear is the absence of Magic.”
Astrea gripped her arm tightly. “My boy,” she began.
Maeve’s stomach sank. Pyxis was his name. Emerie and Roswyn’s daughter. Arianna’s twins: Anselm and Aislin. Maxius too.
“Belvadora!” Called Maeve, as she spotted her pulling her long blonde hair back into a tight braid across the hall.
The newly Supreme soldier appeared at her side at once.
“Keep watch over the children. All of them. Your shields are the best of any Bellator.”
The accounts of Orion’s servant, the baby with unknown parents showing up at the Castle Gates, couldn’t just be a coincidence. Maxius mattered in this mysterious land.
She just didn’t know how.
Belvadora moved at once. Maeve grabbed her arm swiftly. “Find Zimsy. If Arianna gives you grief, remind her who you are, and who I am. Her pride and resentment will not stop me from protecting my family.”
Belvadora placed her fist over her heart, over her Dread Mark, and nodded.
Bellator began swarming into the castle, some still pulling on their uniforms and talking frantically. Maeve welcomed the buzz of adrenaline that filled the air.
“We are heading to Mount Morte, correct?” Asked Roswyn.
Maeve nodded. He wasn’t dumb, despite his quick temper and brute nature.
“What?” Exclaimed Mumford. “We were given specific commands to stay away from that very place.”
Maeve looked over at him incredulously, but it was Roswyn who spoke. “It is stupidity or fear that you keep thinking we are playing by some rule book. This is real life Mumford.”
Roswyn looked back to Maeve. “Alphard’s in Aterna.”
“Good,” said Maeve. “Because I’m calling on Aterna to uphold their oath.”
Roswyn shook his head slowly. “They never actually swore an oath to Mal.”
That was true. They didn’t have time. It had only been her father who vowed his Magical Militia to the Crown.
“They will come,” she replied.
“We don’t stand a chance out there without Mal–” began Mumford. His lip curled as he tried to remain calm. “The last time you went out there, Arman, who is better than a hundred of us, died. This is a suicide mission!” He grit his teeth.
The word sent Magic spiraling down Maeve’s arm. She pressed two fingers to his chest and stared fearlessly up at him. He stilled, his mouth falling slack.
“There is an enemy here,” said Maeve. “You swore an oath to protect him.” She pressed deeper into the mark on his chest, burning him. “Fucking uphold that vow.”
She dropped her hand and looked at both of them. “Go suit up.”
They obeyed with haste, Mumford muttering to Roswyn as they went.
“Are you certain this is wise,” asked Abraxas, appearing at her side, with a large group of Bellator.
They began creating a Portal to Earth for Abraxas as Astrea appeared behind him.
“No,” said Maeve. “I’m certain many are about to die. What choice do we have? What choice do I have?”
Abraxas grabbed the back of her head and pulled her in close. The cousins embraced, and when he pulled away, he looked at her with pride. “Usque ad Mortem, Sinclair.”
Fire surged through Maeve’s blood. Mal’s Magic that ran through her darkened veins ignited with determination.