Chapter 25
The most anticipated party of the summer arrived, and lucky for Maeve, it was the Sinclair’s turn to host it. Abraxas whined as Maeve was still changing her hair in her enchanted vanity. It was pulled up in a loose twist.
“Come on,” said Abraxas. “I want to hear about your duel with Arianna.”
“Patience,” said Maeve.
She looked in the mirror once more and envisioned her hair pulled back in braids, with soft curls falling to her shoulders. The magic of the vanity took effect and adjusted her hairstyle perfectly. She wondered if Mal would like it way.
“How’s Mal doing down there?” Asked Maeve as she observed herself in the mirror.
“Charming everyone, as expected,” said Abraxas.
Maeve smirked and started to change her hair once more.
“No. That looks fine,” said Abraxas snappily. “Don’t change it again. The party started an hour ago.”
Abraxas pulled her downstairs and into the drawing-room. They took a seat as Maeve recounted every detail of her duel with Arianna to him.
“About time,” said Abraxas, slapping her on the leg. “Sure Mal was proud.”
Maeve shrugged, though she knew he was.
“Miss Sinclair, Mr. Rosethorn.”
They looked over as Mr. Carroll Iantrose plopped himself down opposite them. He was utterly intoxicated by the sluggish look of him.
“Mr. Iantrose,” said Abraxas. “Good to see you.” Abraxas turned his attention back to Maeve. “Oh- I almost forgot. We have tickets to the Hapstrum World Series at the end of the month-”
“I see you brought a boy home,” said Mr. Iantrose, smacking his lips together in such a way that Abraxas recoiled at the sound.
“Well, when you put it that way, it does sound a certain type of way, doesn’t it?” Maeve said cooly.
She had little interest in conversing with Mr. Iantrose, who was known to spew nonsense once he had one too many drinks.
“Anyway,” said Abraxas, “if you want to-“
“I’m saying I wouldn’t-t-t tado that,” interrupted Mr. Iantrose.
Much to Abraxas’ annoyance, Maeve entertained the conversation.
“Why is that, sir?” She asked.
“Because of the curse!” Slurred Iantrose dramatically. Maeve chuckled lightly. “What curse it that, sir?”
“The one between sapphire and emerald- Volaticus and and Serpen-“ he coughed on his brandy- “S-s-s-erpentine.”
“Oh? My whole family was of Serpentine Court, sir, as well as many dear friends, and as you know, I belong to Volaticus house-”
“Oh, bloody friendship. No! Love- dear girl! I’m speaking of lo-ve.” He took another large swig of his drink. “No inhabit- itit-able romance there, none at all. Always ends. . . Vio....lent”
“And who cursed this particular union?” She asked, half- listening to him and hoping he would pass out soon.
“Unrequited love!” Iantrose laughed loudly, becoming more inebriated by the second.
“I see,” said Maeve.
Iantrose’s eyes were slowly closing, and he sunk deeper into his seat. After a few moments of silence, Maeve turned her attention back to Abraxas.
“Continue,” said Maeve.
Abraxas looked to Iantrose once more to ensure the drunk was out cold.
“Right. I was saying if you’d like to-”
With a loud gasp, Iantrose shot up. “HE MURDERED HER in cold blood, after all. Rightfully so stills wears the chains of his-er-um..crime.”
Iantrose’s face was inching back towards the side table. His eyes rolled in the back of his head.
“Who?” Asked Maeve.
“WHO?” Iantrose startled, his eyes wide.
“Oh Merlin, I’ll talk to you later,” said Abraxas with an exaggerated sigh as he stomped out of the drawing-room.
“Who murdered whom, sir?” Maeve asked, frustrated. “No, he killed himself after!”
“Yes, ok, but who is he?”
“Oh- the- bloody-”
THUMP!
Iantrose was out and snoring as though his head hadn’t just slammed into a slab of marble. A few people nearby chuckled at the old drunk.
“Bloody hell, indeed,” whispered Maeve as she stood.
“Interesting conversation?” Asked Mal, arriving at her side.
He looked exquisite. The tux Ambrose purchased was tailored to every part of his body.
The black pressed pants accented his long legs, and the crimson velvet overcoat clung to him in a dazzling way.
His hair was combed neatly back, but the few dark waves that had escaped their place around his face was what caused Maeve’s knees to buckle slightly.
“Oh, quite,” she said sarcastically. “Mr. Iantrose has been slurring nonsense at my father’s parties for years. A few years ago, he told Arianna that he was descended from Herpo the Foul himself.” She laughed. “How are you making it?”
“Fine.”
She could tell, however, that he was not fine. Something had angered him. He guided her out onto the balcony.
“Your father is bragging about you left and right. You surprised him this summer.”
“Surprised myself, really.”
“Not me. I knew you had every bit of that in you. Besides,” he traced the ring around her neck, “you had a little help.”
“From the very best.”
She looked up at him. His fingers were cold on her chest. She felt disappointed as he moved his hand away from her.
“What’s happened?” Maeve asked. “Abraxas said you’ve been charming everyone all evening.”
He sighed deeply, and his lip curled. He turned and looked out over the gardens, wrapping his fingers around the banister.
“You are a Scared Seventeen. They look at me differently.”
“Stop it,” said Maeve plainly. “Mal. None of it will matter soon once they see what you can do and come to understand your desires. Who you are-”
“It matters now,” he retorted quietly.
“Because you are letting it,” argued Maeve.
“You are unbelievably charming, and my father already adores you. This is a party with a bunch of drunks that you’ve barely gotten to spend any real time with.
Tonight is an introduction. It isn’t the end goal.
You have time. They will all see in the end.
Don’t forget most of them look down on us automatically because, in their eyes, we’re just children. They haven’t even seen you duel.”
“According to many of them, it’s your duty to continue your pureblood line. With another pureblood.”
“Like my sister already. Like poor Astrea. Cousins. First cousins.”
Mal ignored her comment. “Do you think I don’t know why they feel the need to remind me of this fact?”
Mal’s voice cut through her as they tiptoed on a topic they never discussed. In fact, since their arrival at Sinclair Estates, Mal’s physical affection had vanished entirely.
“I have no desire to lead the life that is expected of me,” Maeve spoke quietly, looking out over the party. “And I had decided that long before you.”
“I know, Little Viper.” Mal turned towards her and looked her over. His voice became soft. “I know.”
“Then smile,” she said, mirroring his movement, “because my father and The Orator are coming this way.”
“Maeve,” Ambrose’s excited voice rang out over the music. Maeve turned, acting like she hadn’t seen him coming.
“Hello, Daddy!” She leaned toward her father and accepted a kiss on the cheek. Mal smiled at her sweet demeanor. Maeve knew she was good at playing the game. And she used it.
“Leonard, you remember my youngest, Maeve.”
“Orator Moon, so good to see you,” said Maeve.
“Ah, yes! Of course, I do- of course, I do,” said Moon, taking her hand and kissing it quickly. “I must apologize for the nastiness at Vaukore back in April.”
“It wasn’t your fault, sir,” said Maeve kindly. “Orator this is my friend Malachite Peur. Paragon Serpentine and top of our class,” said Maeve as she smiled at Mal adoringly. Mal extended his hand to Moon.
“An honor to meet you, sir.”
Mal had charm still left to spare evidently.
“No introduction needed on my part, Mr. Peur. Every Magical in the Orator’s Office knows your name. Rumor has it you’ll have top pick of any job straight out of school and then perhaps the highest ranking Bellator there ever was.”
“I have no doubt,” said Ambrose. “Just wait until you see him duel.”
“Mal is quite the companion to have, sir,” said Maeve, smiling at him.
Mal met her eyes with appreciation for the compliment.
“Peur- interesting name, I think I heard of the Peur-,” started Moon, but Maeve was quicker, as though she had seen this particular change in conversation coming, her crystal glass slipped from her fingers and shattered at their feet.
“Maeve,” Ambrose reproached her quietly, clearly seeing through her rouse.
She looked at him innocently and ignored his tone. Maeve apologized for her finicky fingers and quickly began guiding the Orator to a set of iron scrolled settees to reconvene their conversation.
“Oh dear,” said Maeve, holding back a smile. “Mummy will l be sour over that one.”
She gave a small wink to her father. There was a loud POP, and the mess was gone, and four new glasses appeared on the small table they sat around.
“I’m pretty sure that was your Great-Grandmother’s crystal,” whispered Ambrose.
“I’m pretty sure it’s not anything anymore, is it?” Teased Maeve.
Maeve looked across the table at Mal. He was already watching her. He had an uncommon look on his face, one she had seen before. A look that made her stomach flip in circles. A look of hunger. The first time she had seen it in weeks.
The conversation continued to flow until it was time for the party’s duel events. Mal excused himself to prepare. Maeve couldn’t take her eyes off him as he vanished into the crowd.
Ambrose walked Maeve back up towards the house. Moon walked ahead of them. “Everyone is very taken with Mal,” said Ambrose.
“As expected,” said Maeve, suppressing a smile, “and they haven’t even seen the best of him.”
She froze. Unfamiliar Magic swirled around her. Solid as steel. Foreign. But a sister to her own. To Mal’s even. Like called to like.
“Ambrose!” Moon quickly gestured for him to hurry.
Ambrose quickened his pace up the stone steps and into the ballroom. Heads turned towards the house, eyes lit up with excitement.
Maeve’s brows pulled together.
Buzzing whispers flitted into the air. Maeve hurried up the stairs and rounded the corner into the ballroom towards that magical power.