Chapter 67

She paced across her chamber, shifting through the Magic that coursed through her. Reeve had done it before-spoken into her mind. She wasn’t sure how, as she had sworn to never call upon him that way.

But Mal needed her.

Maxius needed her.

She swore under her breath. She was too frantic, too quick. With the wave of her hand the curtains along the wall of her chambers pulled tightly closed, blocking all moonlight. She snapped her fingers and all the candles sparked little glowing flames.

She sank to the floor, crossing her legs under herself. She brushed her hair behind her shoulders and looked down at her palm.

She closed her eyes and steadied her breathing. In and out, in and out, until her heartbeat was steady.

“Worth a try,” she muttered, opening her eyes.

With two pointed fingers she sliced across her palm in a willing sacrifice.

Show me how to call to him. Mind to mind.

Dark magic moved through her. It was cold and relentless as it ripped through the wound, taking her offering in exchange for knowledge. Her teeth cracked together as the Dark Magic took its payment.

She felt it then. A soft glow of warm Magic. It was brittle, barely held together. It smelled like Reeve. It breathed like Reeve.

She called his name across that Magic.

Reeve?

The air around her shifted. Warmth flitted into the room, steady, like a heartbeat.

Are you alright?

His voice moved through her mind in an echo. His tone was casual, but she sensed his concern shift through her.

Yes , she replied into the void. Is there someplace I can meet you?

Now? He replied.

Yes.

Silence fell. She wondered if she had lost him.

“Sanctum.”

“What?”

The void shifted, her head spun slightly.

I’m already there now. Just come to me.

I don’t know how.

Yes, you do.

She pulled his warmth towards her, tendrils of it circled up her arm. Magic swirled around her, Obscuring her out of her chamber.

Three trees twisted together before her, their limbs wrapping one another in supple wood. She’d been there before. The memory was ash in her mouth. Behind the trees stood Reeve. She ascended white stone steps towards him. Clear water slipped around the winding roots and ran beneath the floor.

“Have you been here before?” Asked Reeve, his eyes on the trees.

Maeve nodded, unwillingly to elaborate. “Though I do not know what it is, or why it is.”

Reeve looked up at the altar. “Highest point on the planet,” he said softly.

“So it’s a temple?”

Reeve nodded. “You could say that.”

“Are we in The Dread Lands or Aterna?”

“Neither,” he answered. “We are standing on neutral ground.”

“I need a Healer,” she blurted.

“What?” Asked Reeve, snapping to attention. “You look fine.”

“It’s not for me.”

“Then who?”

Maeve looked up at him. “For Mal.”

Reeve’s face hardened, and he paused a moment. “Alright.”

“You’ll allow it?” She asked.

Reeve scoffed. “Am I truly the villain in your mind? You think I would deny him a Healer?”

Maeve didn’t answer right away. “When can the Healer come to Castle Morana?”

“They won’t travel to the Dread Lands now. He will have to come to the House of Healing in Aterna.”

“He’ll never agree to that,” she argued. “They’ll have to come to us. And possibly. . .in secret.”

Reeve’s face hardened once more. “They won’t, Maeve. They aren’t going to come there. Some of them were there the last time the throne was occupied and they haven’t forgotten it.”

She stepped towards him. “Then make them come.”

“That is not the ruler I am.”

“Then you sentence him,” she seethed, “and if he falls, I will hold you personally responsible.”

“So be it,” said Reeve with a calm reserve. “It’s pointless anyway. I will not sacrifice my people for him. Nor for you. Not a single one. This is not the curse of some mere Magical or a flesh wound. The healing he needs cannot be done by even the greatest Healers in Aterna.”

“What was in that mountain?” She asked quietly. “What is it that occupies his mind? That poisons him against me? That speaks to me in shadows of whispers? I know that you know.”

“The darkness I drove into those lands was that of nightmares.” He spoke in a hushed tone.

“It’s her isn’t it?” She asked, her voice nearly breaking. “That Shadow you spoke of.”

Reeve paused a moment. “I believe it is her, yes.”

“You didn’t kill her.”

“I may have thought I did. But I was never prophesied to destroy her. That is not my destiny.”

“What if it’s not real?” Asked Maeve. “What if these prophesies are just that? And I am a fool for hoping he can still conquer this evil?”

“You already know what you did, Maeve. You already know who you released on Mount Morte. Why do you doubt it?”

“Because you once told me Shadow Magic was deception and lies. I can no longer believe my own reality. Maxius. . .”

Reeve’s face saddened, but he smiled softly at her.

Maeve eyed him. “Do you know?”

“That he is your son?” He nodded. “Strange though, I am only just remembering. Like shards of Magic slowly chip away around his existence.”

Her breathing hitched. “I cannot protect him. I have never felt so completely incapable.”

Reeve looked over at the three intertwined trees.

“Do you know why The Dark Planet sits empty, void, and eradicated of Shadow Magic?”

Maeve shook her head.

“They once occupied this realm with Dread and Aterna, when Magicals outgrew Vaukore’s realm. All was neutral ground. All three branches of Magic lived amongst one another. Shadow Magic rose above the rest. There have been many wars across Magic. Shadow Magic died because there were those who sought to eradicate it. It didn’t happen by chance or circumstance.”

“They were killed,” she stated plainly, understanding his words as she looked down at the three stars branded in Magical dark ink on her wrist.

Shadow Magic. Aterna Magic. Dread Magic.

“They were enslaved. Destroyed and broken. To be of Shadow Magic was a curse.”

“Who waged war on them?”

Reeve hesitated. “The Dread and Aterna at first. They lost their place in this realm and were forced to The Dark Planet. But their misery did not end there. The Dragons of The Dark Planet did not take kindly to them either. They wanted to put an end to the lies of Shadow Magic and all its deception.”

“The same dragons my family hunted and slaughtered to their own extinction?”

“The very ones,” said Reeve.

“Is the cycle of death and destruction ever going to end?”

Reeve smiled softly, in pity. “Maybe one day. But that is not a future history predicts if we are to believe in its repetition.”

Maeve grew quiet. “I think I’ve seen her. She is what haunts my dreams and–”

Reeve’s eyes widened. He looked like he may take a step back. Maeve looked up at him.

“Show her to me.”

“No,” said Reeve quickly. “You have already seen her. You know it’s her.”

“Why won’t you let me see?”

Reeve shook his head. “I cannot let you inside my head.”

Maeve scoffed. “Now who paints the villain?”

“We were painted long ago,” said Reeve with a gin, “and keep smudging the paint, never allowing it to dry.”

Maeve sighed.

Reeve continued. “She poisoned the last Dread Descendant, just as I imagine she has poisoned Mal. Sooner or later, she will have hold over it all once more.”

“Ghost, his children called her,” she said quietly. “I think she destroyed them, too.”

The Library at Castle Morana held nothing about Shadow except the servant’s account from Orion the Dread.

“But then how does Mal exist?” She muttered.

“Because Orion hid them. While Shadow was trying to take my head, his ancestors were fleeing to Earth. Willingly abandoning all Dread Magic in their veins in hopes that she wouldn’t want to consume their Magic if they had none.”

Maeve’s nostrils flared. “And you knew all of this,” she said. Her hands lifted in defeat and then fell to her sides. “So easily held your tongue all this time.”

Reeve did not glare at her like she anticipated. He inhaled and smiled. “Spells are breaking left and right.”

Silence fell between them. Maeve relinquished her pride and accepted that the circumstances were irrelevant to what she must achieve.

“I want to save him, Reeve. I believe I can save him.”

He looked away from her and spoke with genuine sadness. “I know you do.”

Warmth flitted towards her. She could so easily step into it, into him, and have a moment of respite from the perpetual chill she’d grown accustomed to.

Reeve’s eyes moved back to hers. The Vexkari running down the side of his face and across his neck made her lonely and despairing thoughts drift further than she could allow.

The most powerful being alive. Not anymore. Not now that Shadow returned. He may not have been her enemy, but her father had taught her that it would rarely be so black and white.

Trusting Reeve seemed impossible.

“Maybe there’s something in your Library that could help Astrea heal him.”

His head fell backwards in defeat.

Maeve shook her head with a slow sigh. “I see,” she said quietly.

Reeve trusting her seemed equally impossible.

“If one good deed in all my life I did, I do repent it from my soul,” he recited the Shakespeare without looking at her.

“Titus Andronicus,” she said. “My mother didn’t care for that one.”

“I imagine not,” he replied.

Maeve rubbed her eyes in exhaustion. “Is there anything I can do?”

Reeve looked down at her. “You can run.”

Maeve looked away from him. “That’s what Mal said,” she whispered.

“Then you might heed his words. Despite all else, I do not dispute that he cares deeply for you. Buried though it may be.”

Maeve shook her head and touched her chest, where, under her clothes, lay her own Dread Mark. The first he’d ever given. “I swore an oath. It is not in my blood to run. Usque ad Mortem, Sinclair,” said Maeve.

A smile spread across Reeve’s lips. “Yes. I know you not to be of cowardice.”

“Could I take her?”

Reeve’s eyes widened. “Have you gone mad?”

“I’m genuinely asking–”

“No, Maeve,” he said hastily. “I’m sorry, but you are not strong enough. If Malachite succumbed to her, then you are no match for her. I was barely a match for her. I got lucky. Very lucky.”

“I don’t care,” she said at once.

Reeve shook his head. “Well, I do. You will die at the hand of that darkness.”

“Then help me!”

“I have tried,” he fired back. “You do not like my solutions.”

Maeve turned her back on him and marched down the white steps past the trees.

“Maeve!” He called after her.

She didn’t turn back towards him.

“Are you able to see what I saw in this temple? Does it show you the curses it once showed me?”

Maeve didn’t answer.

She buried the images of Dark Magic deep in her mind and refused to acknowledge their presence. There was too much darkness already. She could not harbor more.

Maeve stormed into the Healing Hall, her eyes scanning the room for Astrea.

Alphard was at her side. Abraxas was kicked back in an armchair, smoking a cigar with tired eyes.

Astrea’s eyes widened upon seeing her. “Well?”

“There’s nothing he can do,” said Maeve plainly.

Astrea’s eyes fell to the floor.

“What’s your plan?” She asked Astrea. She looked to Abraxas. “Does anyone have a plan?”

Abraxas set his cigar aside. “We move forward until a way to help Mal has been found.”

“We attack Aterna you mean?” Snapped Maeve.

“Yes,” he snapped back. “Do you have another way to keep us all alive? You are likely the only one able to Portal off realm at this point. Mal has blocked the Magic altogether. And even if you did manage to create a Portal for the thousands upon thousands of citizens here, Mal would know in a heartbeat. And even if, and it’s a rather large if, cousin, you managed to get all the Magicals in the Dread Lands to Earth, then what? We bring a planet conquering blight to the innocent humans?”

“Alright,” said Maeve, her temper desperate to slip out.

Abraxas’ mouth pulled into a thin line as he looked away from her.

“Come with me, Astrea,” said Maeve.

“No,” she said at once. “Not if you are taking me to him.”

Maeve shook her head. “You are his healer, Astrea. It’s sworn and burned across your chest, just as it is mine. Just as it is Abraxas’ and Alphard’s.”

“I studied Practical Magic with an emphasis on healing at Vaukore, Maeve. I learned to heal from my mother and Healer Kimmerance. There was no class on expelling an ancient and wicked phantom of Magic!”

“Fine,” she said. “I’ll go to your mother.”

“No!” Shrieked Astrea. “You can’t. She has Pyxis. He has to stay far away from all this.”

Maeve’s eyes narrowed in disbelief. “You think this isn’t going to affect them because they’re in some fancy tower? You think The Beryl City isn’t about to be a ruin of civilization once more?”

Astrea stood and boldly crossed towards her. Maeve’s brows raised at the look of fury on Astrea’s face. Magic swirled at Astrea’s hand.

Maeve’s eyes dipped to Astrea’s fist.

“Watch yourself, Astrea,” said Maeve coldly. “Your rage does not stand alone.”

Astrea’s chest rose and fell in broken breaths. “Tell me you won’t seek my mother for this.”

“I can’t promise you that,” said Maeve. “I am trying to save our Prince and my son.”

Astrea’s mouth turned down. “What of my son?”

“Then do better!” Hissed Maeve. “Figure out a way to heal him.”

Astrea fired on her, Magic exploding from her hand.

Maeve didn’t block it, but shot a single spell straight at Astrea, which shattered her Magic. Alphard and Abraxas moved between them at once, Alphard taking the hit from Maeve’s curse.

He winced and grabbed his sister, forcing her ready-to-re-fire hands down at her sides.

“Astrea, no,” grunted Alphard. “You idiot, she’ll destroy you.”

Abraxas stepped into her line of vision. Both his hands gripped her wrists and spread them wide.

His face was pained. “Stop,” he whispered. “Before you take it too far.”

Maeve pushed against him. She’d forgotten how strong Abraxas’ Magic was. He rarely used it for more than lighting the tip of a cigar. But it was there, steadily flickering against her own.

Maeve relaxed, but Abraxas remained restraining her.

“I’m stronger than you, you know?” Maeve pushed against him.

“That’s a bloody understatement,” he replied.

Maeve inhaled slowly and closed her eyes. Abraxas’ hold on her wrists disappeared.

Abraxas took her hand in his own. “Let’s take a walk.”

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