Chapter 26
Severin
“NOW?” MAEVE ASKS.
Her whininess makes me want to smile, but I keep my expression neutral. “Yes, now.” I arch a brow at her slowly. “Unless the storm witch is too tired from her dance practice?”
Immediately, her eyes harden, her lips pressing into a firm line.
I’ve learned that with Maeve, challenge is its own language, and I’ve never seen her back down from one.
She sheathes the sword she was using and leaves it on the stone bench, then walks to the center of the tower. “Back up,” she says. “I don’t want my magic to hurt you.”
Curiosity tugging at me, I nod once, then give her space, retreating to the stone railing encircling the spire, my own sword sheathed and stowed away beside hers.
Standing under the night sky, with her dark violet hair drifting around her face in the crisp autumn breeze, Maeve looks almost . . . otherworldly. She closes her eyes and takes a breath, her chest rising and falling with the movement. Then she holds out her hands and begins to draw on her magic.
Immediately, I can feel a change in the air, a shift in the energy all around me. The sharp, clean scent of ozone tickles my nose, and my instincts tell me there’s about to be a storm.
But it’s no simple autumn storm; it’s Maeve Vandermere.
She’s more like a hurricane, like the brutal weather that pummels the coasts of Elarwyn in the summer, sending unlucky ships plummeting to the ocean floor. There’s a tangible power to her, and it makes the hair on my arms and neck stand on end.
Eyes still closed, Maeve furrows her brow, deep in concentration.
And from the very air around her, she starts to pull energy.
Tiny sparks flicker to life around her fingers, and she gathers them slowly, drawing more and more energy, until held between her palms is a ball of crackling white light.
It’s small at first, small enough that she could conceal it within her fingers, but she continues feeding it, making it grow.
And I understand now why she wanted me to step back. Even from this distance, the energy is a physical presence in the air, humming and electric and alive.
It feels like I’m standing at the source of a lightning storm, like she’s the goddess of lightning, about to send her power crackling across the world below.
Her long hair lifts around her shoulders, caught in the energy current as if she’s drifting under the sea. I probably wouldn’t be surprised if she started to levitate.
Maeve is . . . magnificent. Extraordinary. Marvelous.
And deep inside, I realize something.
Among all those things she already is, I desperately want her to be mine.
Not just a passing interest. Not a forbidden affair that entertains us through the winter. Not a passionate night that I’ll look back on for decades to come.
I want her in a way I’ve never wanted anyone else, in a way I thought was impossible for me.
Having lived a life as long as mine, I’ve experienced more than many others will ever get to. And though I feel grateful for that, somewhere along the way, I started to lose touch with the beauty in each day, as if there was nothing new left for me to discover.
Now, I know I was wrong. And it took this one storm witch to show me that.
The white light from Maeve’s energy sphere illuminates her face and the sweat beading on her brow.
Her eyes, at first closed peacefully, start to squint, as if she’s squeezing them as tight as she can.
And even from here, I can see the way her fingers start to tremble, struggling to contain and control the energy sphere as it continues to pulse and swirl.
Then, in a burst of crackling sound and white light, the energy sphere explodes.
I wince against the bright flash, holding up a hand to shield my eyes.
A sharp crack echoes around us as the force of her power slams into the stone, and when I lower my hand, I find a fracture running along the railing encircling the tower, still lightly smoking.
Maeve’s sparks drift against the blue-black sky, like glowbugs in the summer.
And Maeve is standing there in the center of the tower, breathing hard, trying to catch her breath.
Immediately, I go to her, crossing the tower in a few short strides and taking her chin in my hand, turning her face this way and that in a worried assessment. “Are you all right?” I ask. “Are you hurt?”
She looks tired but otherwise unscathed.
Blinking up at me, she says, “I’m fine.” Her hand rises to touch mine, and she heaves a heavy sigh.
“I can’t seem to contain the energy. I’m getting better at it, but .
. .” She shakes her head and steps back from me, leaving my hand hovering there in the ozone-scented air.
“But I’m not ready for my next demonstration.
I know I’m not. But I don’t know how to improve.
” Her gaze flicks to the cracked railing, and she winces.
“I feel . . .” She lifts her arms, seeming to search for the right word, then lets them drop to her sides. “Stuck.”
“What are you hoping to achieve?” I ask her.
“It needs to hold,” she says. “I need to be able to stabilize it. Right now, I can hold it for about a minute, but that’s not long enough.
” She exhales and turns away from me, pacing toward the railing.
She runs her fingertips along the fracture in the stone, then shakes her head, her long hair swishing with the movement.
“For what purpose?” I ask, realizing that I’ve never asked her what she intends to do with this energy magic.
“It’s for . . . everyone.” She casts her gaze out into the dark, as if she can see Wysteria from here, or the tiny villages and hamlets that lie beyond it, scattered across the kingdom.
“If I can create a concentrated, contained source of energy, it could power wards, heat homes, provide light for entire villages. People without magic wouldn’t have to worry in the way they do now.
” She sighs. “That’s why I need this fellowship; it’ll allow me to continue working on this, to hone it with other scholars.
To turn it into something real instead of just a crazy idea. ”
Softly, I say, “It’s not crazy, Maeve.”
She looks up at me, the purple in her eyes shimmering in the light of the stars.
“It’s . . . exceptional.” I cross the tower to join her and lift my hands slowly, placing my palms on either side of her face. “You are exceptional.”
Beneath my touch, her cheeks heat up, and she rolls her eyes before pulling away. “Is this what you had in mind when Moonhart tasked you with mentoring me?”
I turn and place my hands on the cool stone railing. “Yes.”
Maeve flicks a quick glance up at me. “Really?”
My mouth tugs into a small smile. “I knew what I was getting myself into.” Slowly, the smile fades.
“The headmistress knows how hard I’ve had to work to control my .
. . instincts over the years. I believe this is why she feels I’ll be able to mentor you.
My instincts and your power . . . They may not be so different. ”
Maeve’s expression softens. “Maybe.”
The crisp autumn air twirls around us, and with it comes one golden leaf that’s caught in the current.
I snatch it out of the air, then roll the stem between my fingers, studying the veins in the leaf.
Maeve looks up at me, and I tuck the leaf behind her ear, making her smile.
She reaches up to touch it with gentle fingers, but she makes no effort to remove it.
“Oh,” she says, perking up. “There’s one other thing I could use help with.”
I arch a brow at her.
“Remember that application essay I told you about? The one Azula has me endlessly revising? I must be on my tenth draft.” A muscle ticks along the side of her jaw, and she sighs.
“Does your offer still stand to take a look at it? Maybe you can see if there’s something I’m missing before I turn it in to her? ”
I nod once. “Of course. I can help with that.”
Her smile looks a bit tired now. “Thank you.” She studies me for a moment, then whispers, as if she’s afraid to voice it aloud, “Do you really think I can learn how to stabilize the sphere?”
It takes no time at all for me to draw my conclusion. “Absolutely.”
Her dark purple eyes search my face, like she’s trying to determine whether I’m lying to her or not.
“You’re closer than you think,” I tell her. “Believe in yourself. You’ll succeed; I’m certain of it.”
Maeve smiles at me, that leaf still tucked behind her ear, and she shifts her hand on the railing to place it on top of mine. “I’m glad someone is.”
I spread my fingers, capturing hers between mine, and give her hand a squeeze.
She wants to light villages. Power wards. Change things for the better.
And I, a vampire who has lived long enough to know that change is slow and oftentimes grueling, find myself believing, more strongly than anything, that she’s going to do it.
And I’ll do whatever I can to help her get there.