Chapter 11
“Good morning!” Chimed Maeve cheerfully as Abraxas slumped into a horse-drawn carriage for the ride down the mountain to the Portal the next morning.
Abraxas grimaced. He grabbed his head and motioned for her to be quiet.
“I can’t imagine why you aren’t feeling well,” said Maeve with no attempt to lower her voice.
A group of students on horseback running by singing Christmas carols at the top of their lungs sent Abraxas reeling. He laid down in the seat and dramatically threw his coat over his face.
Maeve was nestled in the corner. Her mind wandered as she attempted to read with her legs propped up on the seat.
The carriage was warm and cozy. She was undoubtedly excited to see her father over the holiday, and she had never contemplated staying at school for Christmas before now.
As the horses began their leisurely pace across the vast grounds, their hoofs crunching against their snow to the gates of Vaukore she felt conflicted for the first time.
Her thoughts drifted to Mal’s invitation for her to stay. . .and what that might entail.
She had other purposes for going home, though, besides just the holidays. She was dying to hear about Keitl from her father, and she had promised Mal she would bring him as much information as possible regarding his possible heritage.
This gave her enough purpose to put aside her strange and newfound desire to remain at school over the break and focus on the tasks at hand.
Everything was as expected back home. Her father, Ambrose, threw his arms around her the moment he saw her step out of the Portal in London. Maeve had coerced him over many letters to not give her a private escort again.
“Is that a new coat?” He had asked.
“Yes.” Maeve grinned from ear to ear, showing it off. “Velvetina’s.”
“It looks lovely on you,” beamed Ambrose.
Her mother, Clarissa, had given her a polite smile and nod as she and Ambrose entered the foyer of Sinclair Estates. She then immediately began ordering Maeve’s maid Zimsy to put away all her things, and Maeve didn’t see her mother again until dinner.
Her father, of course, wanted to know all about school and how her past few months had been. Ambrose had already arranged for tea in his study so they could properly catch up. Maeve obliged with great joy.
Her father nearly shed a tear when Maeve told him she used two fingers only a few nights ago. His youngest daughter was a Supreme.
Christmas came and went rather quickly. Maeve received quite a few lovely gifts, but her favorite was the dress her Grandmother Agatha sent her. It was a custom-made gown from Persia, silver and gold, and it was absolutely stunning.
“Mother intended for you to wear it to The Rosethorn’s for the Sacred Party,” said Ambrose.
The Sacred Seventeen Party, a time-honored tradition for Maeve’s family, was not only thrown by The Committee of the Sacred but it was held on the twenty- ninth of December, between Christmas and New Year’s day.
It was exclusively for the families of the only Pureblood Magicals left and sometimes their honored guests.
The holiday season in general had proved to be a difficult day for the Sinclair family in the wake of Antony Sinclair’s death.
“Of course,” said Maeve, holding the dress against her body and admiring it. “I love it.”
Arianna opened her dress for the Sacred Seventeen party next. Arianna smirked when it was more expensive than Maeve’s. Maeve rolled her eyes.
An hour later, when all the presents were opened, Clarissa didn’t hesitate to begin clearing the room of boxes and bags. Though she herself didn’t lift a finger. She only ordered the Elven servants in the house to do so.
The fire between her and her father danced warm shadows across the room. Maeve slipped off her shoes and pulled her legs onto the lounging chair.
“I want to ask you about Kietel,” she said plainly.
Arianna’s shoulders pulled up, but she didn’t look their way. She was nose deep in a new book.
“What about him?” Replied Ambrose.
“Do you think that it’s true?”
“Unfortunately what I think doesn’t matter,” said Ambrose. “I must treat the threat with validity.”
“Threat?” Asked Maeve with a quick laugh. “If he is the Dread Descendant, then is it wise to go against him? You know the prophecy of his return as well as I do.”
“I do,” said Ambrose. “And his claims align with that of the prophecy.”
“Then I don’t understand what makes him the enemy. Some made up Human line of land?”
“No,” said Ambrose. “Some of Germany’s Magical Militia have pulled from the treaties we have with the humans. My men. They are not fighting the same war we are anymore.”
“So what are they fighting for?”
“Domination. Under a new flag. Under a new regime.”
Maeve leaned back in her chair. “I read his speech. The one from this morning that the Starlight Gazette printed and you threw in the fire.”
Ambrose pulled a cigar from a golden box on the side table, the tip lighting instantly as it touched his lips.
“Where did you get a copy,” he asked casually.
Maeve ignored him and continued. “He seeks to free Magicals from their confinement.”
“Ah,” said Ambrose. “But that is not the prophecy, is it?”
“It’s part of it,” argued Maeve.
“It’s not, Maeve. You so badly want it to be true?”
“No,” said Maeve. “For what it’s worth I don’t believe he is the Dread Descendant.”
A smiled tugged at Ambrose’s lips. “I figured not.”
“The prophecy speaks of those with Golden Blood being freed.”
Ambrose nodded.
“Purebloods.”
He nodded again, all trace of that smile gone.
“As you can see, that puts me in a precarious position with the Orator’s Office.
And the other realms. It is not my duty to protect only Magicals with Pureblood.
It is my duty to protect the Magical world from evil actions, regardless of those actions being magical or not. ”
“I know. Have you seen Reeve recently?”
Ambrose eyed her. “The Immortal High Lord,” he corrected, “is not meant to make an appearance at the party.”
“What does he say?” Asked Maeve.
“Alright,” said Ambrose as he clapped his hands on his knees and stood.
“What?” Asked Maeve, feigning innocence.
Ambrose smiled and flicked her nose. “That doesn’t work on me.”
Maeve batted his hand away and he chuckled, planting a kiss on her forehead. Arianna, who had been pretending not to listen to their conversation, crossed her legs and eyed Maeve.
“What’s your problem?” Asked Maeve lazily.
Arianna shrugged arrogantly and Maeve ignored her sister for the rest of the evening.
The Sacred Seventeen party was at Rosethorn Manor, which greatly excited Abraxas. He loved a good party. Maeve received many compliments on her dress, which Grandmother Agatha took full credit for every time.
After a brief, but lovely, dance with her father, Maeve was seated outside on the balcony. The grounds at Rosethorn Manor were enchanted to give off a warm fuzzy feeling, which was preferable to the icy climate they were currently in.
Up the balcony, steps came a familiar face. One that had, in the past, brought butterflies to her stomach.
Alphard Mavros stumbled towards Maeve, laughing with a younger gentleman Maeve didn’t recognize.
Alphard stopped in his tracks and smiled upon seeing her. His eyes raked over her body quickly, but she didn’t miss it. He stood up tall.
“Hello, Alphard,” said Maeve before he could speak.
“Maeve,” smiled Alphard. “How’s Vaukore?”
Maeve shrugged. ‘Same as ever.”
His chin lowered. “You wound me so easily.”
Maeve smirked. Alphard took a long swig of his drink and nodded to his friend to move along.
“Abraxas says you and Malachite have become chummy.”
“Abraxas says a lot of things. He is my tutor.”
Alphard clicked his tongue and eyed her. “Didn’t think clever witches like you with perfect scores needed tutors.”
“You don’t know anything about what I need,” said Maeve playfully.
“Don’t I?” Smirked Alphard.
“You’re picking on me now.”
“You make it so easy,” he teased, taking a seat beside her.
Maeve suddenly felt like he was too close. Though she and Alphard had been much closer upon a few occasions, panic rushed through her as his arm brushed hers.
“I heard you made Paragon again as well,” said Alphard.
“Checking up on me, I see.”
Alphard laughed, raising his hands in omission. He looked her over for a moment. Maeve inhaled sharply as his eyes glazed into a lustful look, shifting down to her lips.
His voice changed. “Let’s go take a walk,” said Alphard, taking her sparkling water from her and setting it down.
Maeve glanced up at him. Alphard was like all the Mavros family boys.
Dark skin and hair, ruggedly handsome, broad shoulders, full of ease, quick tempered and nothing but rebellion in his blood.
And now, after just a few short months as a Bellator in training, his build was stronger.
Not to mention the Mavrosi were the wealthiest Magical family in the world.
Alphard and Antony’s abundance of gold got them out of quite a few pickles in their glory days as young teenagers.
Alphard loved to start fights. Antony loved to finish them.
But as Alphard took her hand, she pulled it away gently.
“The duel is about to start,” said Maeve, making an excuse. She smiled at him as her stomach twisted.
He scoffed softly and narrowed his eyes at her mischievously. “Whatever you say, Sinclair.”
He downed the rest of his drink and made his way inside. Maeve remained where she sat, feeling guilty for having turned him down.
Ambrose came through a set of double doors a moment later, motioning for her.
“The duel is starting, love.”
Maeve didn’t hear him. She was staring off across the lawn. Ambrose made his way over to her.
“Maeve.”
She jumped as his voice pulled her abruptly out of her thoughts.
“Yes?” Asked Maeve.
“Is something wrong?”
She couldn’t muster the feigned smile she would have typically given him. “I think I just need some air.”
Ambrose leaned against the banister.