Chapter 35
The floor was cold, wet and slimy. But it was the scent that filled Maeve’s nose before her eyes opened that caused her to gag.
She tried to bolt upright, but her whole body felt full of lead, and her head spun as she lifted it off the grotesque floor with a groan.
It was completely black save for a small slit of light pushing it’s way through a tall slit in what appeared to be a door.
Another inhale and that retched smell hit her again. Like rotted meat that had melted under the heat of the sun. Her hand shot to her face to cover her nose, and something steel and cold bristled her jawline.
Tight metal cuffs wrapped her wrists, each one set with three white stones.
No.
Fear spread through her, so intense she didn’t notice the droplets of water falling to the floor from her soaked hair, nor the dirty brown water that flowed in from the corner behind her, soaking through her pajamas and wetting her skin.
Her sapphire ring on her finger was gone.
She gasped-
She gripped at her chest. Mal’s ring lay still. Cool, magic radiating from it.
Mal.
She searched for him, to feel any pull of his soul, but the white stones had dulled nearly all of her magic. And merely trying to push out a search for his life force made her stomach flip again and again.
Muffled voices filled the tight space. She looked towards the metal door. Shadows moved on the other side through the small slit between the floor and the door. The door to the cell creaked open.
A Magical Militia solder stepped inside. He was in a different uniform. One of red. But she recognized him. He had called her a blood traitor.
“Up,” he said.
Maeve looked him down from head to toe. “You’re a Nicklefrost.” She said.
“I am,” he said. “Something I’m proud of.”
Her brows pulled together.
He frowned. “It will be beneficial for you to remember your pride.”
Maeve leaned back against the wet wall. “I have never forgotten it.”
He glared at her. “Up.”
Maeve took a deep breath and pushed off the ground. She followed Nicklefrost out of the cell and across a wet dungeon. She shielded her eyes as bright light blurred her vision at the end of the dungeon hall. They walked across a long dining hall, its floors a dark wood and pale grey walls.
Nicklefrost led her to a study. The smell of a roast hit her nose as he opened the door. There was a small table with a smoking pot of strew and a variety of bread.
Maeve’s stomach growled.
Nicklefrost shoved her down into a seat, his grip on her shoulder tight. Maeve refused to wince.
“Manners, Nicklefrost.”
They looked towards the desk. Kietel appeared from a doorway across the room. He placed a file of papers on the desk and took off his glasses.
“You’re dismissed.”
Nicklefrost saluted Kietel. And left without another word. Kietel crossed towards her. He sat across from her, unrolled a set of silverware wrapped in a black napkin, and set his plate.
“Please,” he said, gesturing towards the food between them, his tone businesslike.
Maeve didn’t move. “How long have I been out?”
“Two days.” He poured himself a bowl of strew.
Maeve’s stomach cried, begging to be fed.
“You drugged me?” She asked.
“Elixir of Somnum. Nasty what that does to a Magical. The ancient ways of keeping us enslaved.”
Maeve didn’t speak.
“And,” he said, “gave me enough time to bind those on your arms. Did you know humans in the realm actually build moonstones into their houses to ward off our kind? Or they wear it on their bodies fashionably. Clever little creatures, don’t you think?”
Maeve remained completely silent.
“Of course,” said Kietel, “most of you pious Purebloods think you are as special as it gets. When in reality, the humans are surpassing you at every bend. Something I cannot seem to make your father understand.”
Maeve’s eyes widened and lifted up at him.
Kietel smiled in an evil way.
“The last of the Sinclair line,” he said.
She scowled at him. His icy blue eyes were cold and flat.
“Reeve will be in deep shit for letting me slip away with you. Did you see the horror on The High Lord’s face?
I’ll cherish it forever. Perhaps now your father will finally hear my terms. It seems a blast of magic powerful enough to destroy thousands of lives wasn’t enough to dissuade him. Perhaps his flesh and blood will be.”
Maeve released a tight breath. He was alive then.
“What is making you smile?”
“Nothing,” she answered.
She looked down at her clothes, still clad in a matching set of sapphire and ivory pajamas. They were wet, sticking to her skin like glue, the skin underneath turning to mush. The ivory lace trim was now stained brown, and the sapphire blue velvet was matted and dirty.
“Drink,” he said as he ate spoonfuls of his stew.
Maeve shook her head. “Where’s my ring?”
“Us ad Mortem,” said Kietel, quoting her family motto that was engraved on the ring. “What a lovely inscription on a fine jewel.”
Maeve longed for the bread before her. Her stomach growled, begging her to eat. He continued.
“Until death, I believe, that means correct?”
Maeve didn’t answer.
“Are you prepared to die for your Sinclair blood?”
Her eyes snapped to him, and his disgusted expression grew. Maeve mustered a slight scoff as her eyes narrowed.
“The Sinclair family motto has nothing to do with charging to one’s death like a nervous soldier on the front line, begging for a quick release or naively thinking their name will be honored in death.
It means that Sinclairs fight to the death, we fight to protect our own, to the death.
I will fight to the death for my father, and he for me. I will fight until I die.”
“Fight, fight, fight,” drawled Kietel, his face set in stone. “And your companion, Malachite?”
Maeve smiled, the smirk growing as she thought of Mal shredding Kietel and Nicklefrost and the rest to pieces when he got to her.
“You may have evoked horror from Reeve, but Mal will kill you calmly and without so much as a fluttering heartbeat.”
“I was impressed with him holding Vaukore together like that. I can’t help but wonder what kind of blood runs through those veins.”
Maeve glared at him. He continued.
“Those part human veins.”
Maeve’s stomach growled once more, loudly this time.
“For fuck’s sake, eat,” he said.
Maeve sighed and reached for a roll, forcing her fingers to calmly rip the bread apart and place it in her mouth, determined not to look like the starving, desperate prisoner she was. She spoke with disinterest, and just enough disdain to let him know she thought ill of him.
“You dropped those bombs on Japan?”
Kietel gave a half shrug. “The magic used for them may have been my doing, but the Americans bought it without convincing.”
“Why did you want to destroy Vaukore?” Asked Maeve.
“So inquisitive,” he said, “and so unwillingly to answer any of my questions.”
“Fine,” said Maeve, moving a piece of meat to her plate and stabbing it with a fork. “A question for a question.”
He sipped his wine and nodded. “I’ve already answered one of yours. Now it’s my turn to get answers.”
Maeve waited for him to continue.
He let his spoon fall into his stew. He entertained his fingers, his elbows pressed into the table. “Where does your friend hail from?”
“You mean Malachite?”
He nodded.
Maeve answered plainly. “He was an orphan in London.”
“No idea of his bloodline?” Pressed Kietel.
“That’s two questions,” said Maeve cooly.
Her captor smiled, but Maeve could see he was fighting a temper. “You’re a clever girl from what I’m told. Surely you understand quite plainly why your school had to go. The government has had its hand in our Magical Educational System for far too long.”
“That’s what set him off, you know,” said Maeve quietly.
Kietel’s brows raised, and Maeve answered his unspoken question.
“He loved that school.”
His brows now pulled together. “I arrived just as the last of you made it through. I think he loves more than you are willing to admit. Because you’re in denial, or because you want to protect him. But either way, I did luck up with you as my bargaining chip.”
Maeve leaned back in the chair, completely unwilling to acknowledge what he said, but now fully aware that she was bait for both her father and for Mal.
He continued. “Answer my question.”
Maeve contemplated her answer. She had two options to consider, and either one could be beneficial or potentially hurt Mal.
“If you lie to me,” said Kietel, “I’ll know.”
Maeve scoffed. “No, you won’t. My shields are not part of my magic, they are indestructible. As all Pureblood children’s are. No one get’s in my mind without my permission.”
“We will see.” No smile laced with venom. A simple threat.
Maeve sighed and looked at her dirty nails with boredom as she answered. “Mal’s bloodline is irrelevant.”
“Not to me it isn’t,” said Kietel, a little too honestly.
Maeve’s eyes flashed to him. Her jaw fell open slightly as it hit her.
“You are doubting if you’re the Dread Descendant, aren’t you?
” She smiled. Kietel looked as though he was scolding himself for speaking so boldly.
She remembered Reeve, how he knew about Mal just by being around him.
How she herself had known there was something there.
Rowan and Larliesl knew somehow. “And now you have seen him. And now you doubt. . .because you can feel that power in him too.” Maeve smiled.
“You may be a powerful dark wizard who commands the German Magical Militia, but you know nothing of civilized conversation or holding your cards close.”
“Yes,” he said in a mocking tone. “You Pureblood bitches are all the same.”
Maeve laughed audibly, feeling more and more like herself every bait he took.
“That may be the case, but at least I’m not desperately hoping to be someone that I’m not.”
“Then he is of the Dread House,” said Kietel, the color slipping from his face.
Maeve folded her dirty hands in her lap and straightened. One pointed smile was all she needed to answer his question.
“It matters not,” said Kietel. “Soon I will have control of the Magicals and the Humans.”
“And you want the Humans because you think they are creating weapons you need?”
“I don’t need their weapons. I need the wars they create. War creates chaos. Chaos yields power. War sustains power.”
“War ruins everything. It is why we are here at all.”
“You need a history lesson, girl.” He nearly laughed. “Where did you get that ring around your neck?”
Maeve’s hand gripped at Mal’s ring.
“It’s his, is it not?” He asked.
“You’re skipping my questions,” said Maeve.
She reached to pour herself a bowl of stew. Kietel snapped his fingers, and the table cleared.
“We are done with that,” he said. “You answer my questions or you starve.”
Maeve placed her hands back in her lap. A wave of nausea crashed over her. She needed food.
“It is Mal’s ring, yes.”
“I assumed.” He held up his hand. This thumb and pointer fingers were burned, blistering bright red.
Relief washed over her. His magic was here with her, even if hers was suppressed.
“How did you do it?”
Maeve’s brows lifted.
Kietel was scowling. “How did you get into my officer’s mind that night?”
“Impossible to explain,” said Maeve.
“That’s what everyone said.”
“Do they think you killed him for no reason?”
His head turned to the side, and his eyes narrowed on her. “Why do you think he’s dead?”
Maeve hesitated. “I felt you kill him. . . It felt like you were. . .”
“Killing you?”
Maeve didn’t answer.
“I’ll admit I thought he intentionally had you there, that he was a spy, a traitor. But you were in his mind without his permission, weren’t you?”
Again. She remained silent.
Kietel laughed softly, no joy in the sound. “You truly don’t know how you do it?”
She shook her head.
“Incredible,” he said.
“Spare me,” she said.
“It didn’t take me too long to figure out it must have been you.
There’s talk of a young witch at Vaukore with the power to jump from mind to mind, to create flawless, false memories.
The Orators Office would have been smart to keep a tight lip about you.
Your father should have known you’d be a desired weapon. ”
“That’s what I am to you? A weapon?”
“You are many things, Miss Sinclair. A weapon is among them, yes.”
“What terms did you send my father?”
“Simple ones. His Magical Militia are to stand down. He is to resign. I would wager, for you, he’ll do anything.”
Maeve gazed down at the now empty table. Her appetite gone. “You never answered my first question,” said Maeve. “Where is my ring?”
Kietel stood and paced the length of the table. “I sent it to your father. The message should be received clearly.”
He went to stalk past her.
“I want a change of clothes,” said Maeve.
“Absolutely not.” He stormed towards the door. “And you best hope you simply being captive is enough to show your father reason, and we don’t have to stain those lovely blue night clothes crimson.”
“What’s stopping you?”
Kietel halted. She continued.
“He would spiral, and hand over power to you in despair. So why not just kill me?”
Kietel didn’t turn towards her and she didn’t look at him as she said, “because you know that I don’t bleed crimson. My blood is fucking gold.”