Chapter 11 #2
“We’re outside, darling,” said Ambrose, his face concerned.
Maeve stood. “A walk then.”
Ambrose slipped off his jacket and handed it to her. Maeve slipped it on, wrapping her arms around herself. The warm scent of cinnamon cigars nestled into her bones.
“Can I do anything else?” Ambrose asked.
Maeve shook her head. “I just need to work through a few things myself.”
Ambrose squeezed her shoulder and smiled at her before turning back towards the house.
She stepped onto the grassy lawn. The gardens were lit with floating candles along the pathway to the rocky shore, illuminating the colorful florals that bloomed year-round. Maeve’s family used a similar enchantment in their own gardens to keep everything in constant bloom.
She took her time down the path, trying to think of everything except what was eating at her. It was no use, though.
Maeve admitted to herself that she wished Mal was attending the party tonight. She would even go so far as to say an alternative would be fine- that they were at Vaukore together.
And Alphard. His attention had made her uncomfortable, when it never had before. She suppressed the root of those feelings, and walked in solitude with a foreign feeling of guilt while the rest of the party was enjoying the duels.
Perhaps Mal would be participating in the duels if he were there. He’d dazzle them all.
Outside of the gardens, she reached the shoreline.
It was suddenly cold, and the ground was icy and slick.
She pulled Ambrose’s jacket tightly around herself.
The sky was clear, but the ocean was violently slamming water into the rocky beach.
It pushed and pulled with great force. Each crash sent a cold burst of air towards her.
A wobbling light from above reflected alone the dark water.
She looked up. Small, glistening green lights floated towards her across the sky. She squinted. It was a raven. As it approached her she held out her arm. The great bird spread its wings wide and lowered itself onto Maeve’s extended arm. She took the square parchment from its leg.
Maeve,
I hope your holiday is going well.
-M
The raven pressed against her, soaring its body back into the dark nights sky.
His words were brief. . .but they were his.
Her cheeks turned warm at the unexpected letter.
“How odd,” she whispered with a smile at the raven disappeared in the darkness.
A sense of purpose surged through her. She turned sharply on her heel and quickly returned to the Manor with Mal’s letter gripped tightly in her hand.
The duels were still in progress, which enabled her to slip into the house and upstairs without being seen. The Rosethorn’s had a study on the second floor, three doors past Abraxas’ room, where she could draft a letter to Mal.
She tossed open the door to the study. Aunt Beatrice Rosethorn had a large assortment of stationary to pick from as Maeve pulled open the drawers of the desk.
She picked a random set of parchment and laid it flat on the desk.
Aunt Beatrice had dozens of quills to pick from.
Dainty blue jay quills, brown and white hawk quills, even a bright red phoenix quill.
Maeve grabbed a plain white quill and dipped it in the ink well.
She stared at the blank parchment. Her mind crept to a halt as her breathing slowed. The perfect words would not come, no matter how much she begged. And so she placed the tip of the quill on the golden parchment and wrote.
Malachite,
I hope yours is as well. There’s a duel tonight, and I imagine you’d be putting them all to shame.
-Maeve
She rolled up the parchment with a smile and sealed it with red wax and a gold ribbon. Cheers and applause echoed down the hallway from the duels below as she snuck quickly to the west tower where there was a small mail desk she knew would have access to Vaukore.
She placed the letter at the center of the desk, and after a moment, it burst into flames. Dissolving into nothing.
Maeve smiled.
She re-entered the party as Leslie Loxerman was taking the stage to make, what looked like, a toast. Loxerman was the current head of The Committee of The Sacred. She had short brown hair and a perpetual frown.
“Thank you all for coming to such a wonderful evening, and thanks graciously to the Rosethorn’s for hosting us,” said Loxerman.
The room applauded. Maeve watched her Aunt Beatrice relishing the praise.
“Now,” continued Loxerman, “One of the best Sacred Party traditions and something we all know to be the backbone of preserving our Pureblood lines. . . An engagement announcement.” There was an exciting buzz throughout the room.
Engagements were becoming more and more rare as pureblood lines died out.
“Please raise a glass to Titus Iantrose and Arianna Sinclair!”
Her jaw fell open.
Maeve scanned the crowd quickly and laid eyes on her father, who was embracing Titus happily. Her sister Arianna was perfectly poised next to Titus.
Suddenly, Arianna’s expensive dress made sense.
Maeve knew perfectly well Arianna barely knew Titus and had mentioned upon occasion that he looked like an oversized goblin. Yet here she stood, her arm wrapped around his, looking up at him as though he hung the moon.
It was her duty as a Pureblood, nothing more.
The whole affair was grotesquely fake and not the first time Maeve had witnessed two barely of-age friends rejoicing, or so it seemed, celebrating their arranged marriage.
No one had even bothered to tell her.
The crowd raised their glasses. “To Titus and Arianna!”
“Oh, Maeve,” said Juliet, suddenly appearing at Maeve’s side. “Isn’t it wonderful?”
Juliet sighed happily and squeezed Maeve’s arm. “Just think how soon that’ll be me up there.”
Maeve nodded, not paying her much attention. Her eyes were locked on her twenty-three year old sister.
“Even sooner,” continued Juliet, joy oozing from her tone, “you.”
Maeve’s stomach dropped as she plastered on a smile. “How exciting.”