Chapter 66
“Did you know?” Asked Maeve.
Abraxas’ brows raised.
“Emerie made a prophecy about my son?”
Her cousin’s eyes widened, and he looked at Emerie.
She ran her hands through her long blonde hair with shaking fingers. She looked down at the table. “He commanded me to be silent.”
Abraxas exhaled tensely. “What was the prophecy?”
“I’ll only ask once more Brax: you didn’t know?” Asked Maeve.
Abraxas looked back at her and took her hand in his own and spoke sincerely. “I swear it, cousin. I knew nothing of a prophecy that was made about you.” He rubbed his fingers across her cold knuckles and looked back at Emerie. “Recite it,” he instructed.
Emerie looked at Astrea from the corner of her eye and shook her head. “You are not the only ones with children to consider,” she snapped. “Astrea and I have babies, their lives depend on ours. I am not so foolish as to disobey the crowned Prince at a time when–”
Maeve didn’t hesitate. The Dread Magic, and Mal’s own Magic inside the Dread Ring she wore, swelled under her command. She moved into Emerie’s mind with ease, cracking her Pureblood defenses at once.
She called forth the memory in question and watched as a terrified and soaked in sweat Emerie recited her first prophecy with a thousand voices not her own:
“The blood of the Crowned Prince that was prophesied will join the blood of another and, in their bond, create Magic that is unstoppable. He will be the catalyst that plunges the Magicals deeper into darkness, but he will break the curse of this land and unite all the realms. There is no victory before his manifestation. There is no triumph until his Dread Magic is one with the crowned Prince’s.”
Maeve yanked herself out of Emerie’s mind. Her body felt feverish as her arms tingled. She gripped Abraxas’ hand tightly.
“How dare you,” began Emerie.
“Fuck you,” spat Maeve.
They stared at once another in contempt. Maeve’s stomach turned over and over as anxiety and fear made their way into her mind.
Emerie looked away in shame.
Abraxas placed his elbow on the table and covered his mouth. “Fuck,” he muttered. “Maxius is your son? Yours and Mals?”
Maeve nodded, barely hearing him as he asked another question.
Maeve recited Emerie’s hidden prophecy from start to finish in her mind. Twice. She played it over and over again in her head.
“This doesn’t make any sense,” said Astrea. “Though. . . I can feel the truth in such Magic. You did not birth him, but I know he is yours made flesh. I didn’t understand what I was feeling in him until now. He is Mal made over a hundred times stronger. And he is you in every essence possible. But you did not birth him. You did not carry him.”
Abraxas looked over at Maeve and blurted out, “How long have you been able to alter everyone’s memory to your desired outcome?”
Maeve’s eyes slid to his. Her cousin’s face was soft, void of all anger or judgment.
“Since before my father died,” she answered honestly.
Emerie and Astrea’s mouths fell open at the implication.
“I’ve only used it once,” continued Maeve. “At a ball, it wasn’t even significant.”
Abraxas shook his head. “How do you know you’ve only used it once? If you altered your mind to forget, just like everyone else’s, how would you know?”
“Gods,” muttered Astrea, her hand clamped over her mouth.
“The possibilities are endless,” said Abraxas, straightening in his chair, “and there is no use trying to figure out exactly how many times you’ve done this. How many things have you altered trying to stop something from happening? All that matters is that you tried to hide him for some reason. And I am willing to bet that reason is directly related to this prophecy.”
Something deep in Maeve’s stomach twisted and turned without reprieve.
Emerie spoke. “There is no victory before his manifestation. There is no triumph until his Dread Magic is one with the crowned Prince’s.”
No one spoke the understood implications of Emerie’s prophetic words. Maeve knew, deep in her core, she was no longer trying to save Mal just for his sake. For their sake.
It would be to save Maxius’ life, too.
Whatever resided in Mal, whatever or whoever she had so foolishly released in Mount Morte, wouldn’t stop with Mal. If Maxius was the key to their salvation. . .
Maeve turned her attention towards Astrea.
“Can you heal him? Can you, and your mother if need be, expel the darkness that has taken up residency in his mind?”
Astrea bit her thumbnail and stared down at the table. “Potions and healing spells aren’t what he needs. This is Magic I am not equipped to handle. Nor is my mother.” Her fingers gravitated towards her chest, where her own Dread Mark lay beneath her clothes. “Even with the powers of Dread Mal has allowed me, I cannot do this.” Her eyes grew large. “What about the Dread Spellbook?”
“I have already searched every page,” said Maeve. “There is nothing it has to offer us where reversing Magic is concerned.”
“What if I could get someone here who could help?”
“Who?” Asked Abraxas quickly.
“Reeve mentioned it to me once. He said, in Aterna, that they have Healers. Power ordained from the Gods, I think he said.” Her hands crept up her neck, over her blackened veins. “When I was sick, when that dark Magic had hold of me, he said the Healers there could help me.”
“Yes,” said Astrea quickly. “Do it. Every moment that I battle this darkness in him it is damaging my very soul.” Her fingers twitched nervously. “I haven’t seen my boys in weeks. I am too afraid of transferring this darkness to them.”
“I’ll write to him at once,” said Abraxas.
“No,” said Maeve solemnly. “There isn’t time.”
Maeve pushed out of her chair and hastily made her way across Castle Morana with a single thought echoing across her mind: How long have we really been here? How much time has truly passed?