Chapter 38
It was difficult to listen to The Disintis ramble on endlessly, when Maeve’s thoughts continuously drifted back to the way Mal’s hands felt across her chest. Especially when Mal seemed equally bored and kept sending little wafts of magic winding up her legs. Each one growing higher and higher.
No one objected to their being there. Everyone knew what Mal had done, and soon they’d know who he was.
The Disintis was a Magical. Each of the realms in attendance had rolled a die in order to see who orchestrated the meeting and held the title of Grand Disintis for the duration of the meeting. The Magicals won the roll. And so Orator Moon’s Press Secretary stepped forward.
Maeve learned that The Orator and her father had an agreement: as soon as the humans dropped those bombs, they stopped all communication between the legal and militant sides of the government.
Reeve had been right. Kietel and his rebels were watching and attacking the fires and Portals.
It was better that Moon and her father were in the dark of one another’s moves.
The Queen of the Elven Realm was in attendance. She brought with her an audience, as did Reeve. Their inner circles and courts and high ranking officials all came.
Ambrose portaled Mal and Maeve personally to The Dark Planet, where Shadow Magic once flourished and thrived. It was now an unoccupied realm, completely deserted.
Neutral ground.
They gathered in what once was an amphitheater, with open air and stacked seating. The sky above was in a perpetual state of twilight. The Dark Planet’s star system was nothing like Earth’s. Multiple moons and foreign star systems.
Finally Reeve interrupted Moon’s secretary.
“Grand Disintis,” said Reeve in a bored tone. “Do you have a point?”
He looked at Reeve incredulously. “I think the point is that we cannot afford to compromise our forces any further.”
Two men sat on either side of Reeve. One Maeve recognized from the Summer Solstice Party.
He was part Elven. His long white hair lay flat down his back.
His tipped ears were covered with piercings that looped through one another.
He watched the room with careful caution.
His hands crossed in his lap. His sword a grab away.
To Reeve’s left was an Immortal, like himself.
His hair was chocolate brown. The sides were shaved completely.
He, like Reeve was covered in various tattoos, even up into the shaved parts of his head.
His bow and arrows slung around his back.
He reclined against the stone seating with his legs crossed.
“How many have you lost, Premier?” A musical, childlike voice said.
Lithandrian, Queen of the Elven Lands, sat next to her husband.
Her skin glowed like moonstone, her delicate features were like Zimsy’s, like those of a bird.
Her hair was golden with spirals of white running through it.
It was braided intricately atop her head.
Elves were not Immortal, but they lived far longer than Magicals, hundreds of years sometimes.
“A third,” replied Ambrose.
Arman was at his side. Rowan was there too, his usual scowl was present rows behind Ambrose, along with the top Bellator. Orator Moon and his cabinet from The Double O were next to them.
“You called this meeting Ambrose,” said Lithandrian. “I hope it was worth traveling to his forsaken planet.” She smiled at him.
Ambrose smiled back. He stood and addressed the room, his hands behind his back.
“My duty to Magicals is clear: protect. The vows I took as a Bellator, then as a Magical Militia, then as a Captain and then as The Premier were not taken lightly. I will always do as my conscious dictates to protect the innocent from any evil power that seeks to corrupt or destroy. It is my honor as The Premier of the only Magical race of people left to introduce you all to Malachite Peur.”
Ambrose gestured to Mal. Maeve looked up at him.
Mal stood. Abraxas had picked his attire. It was modest and simple, almost plain, as to not draw attention to himself, but to his words.
“My name is Malachite Peur,” he said, calculated charm and just enough humility oozing out of every word he spoke. “I’m honored to sit among you, the most renowned and powerful leaders, minds, and fighters across our worlds.”
“You are the boy who held up Vaukore,” said Lithandrian. “And who killed Kietel.”
Malachite nodded. “My mother was a human born Witch. And my Father was descended from Artemis Orion the Dread. I am the last of House Dread. And the first in three hundred years to wield their Magic in my veins.”
The shift that slammed through the room caused pride to well up in Maeve.
Maeve looked to her father, expecting a smile. But Ambrose was not. He sat straight up and his gaze drifted slowly throughout the room.
When his eyes landed on Mal, he have him a small nod.
“The Premier and I have discussed these matters at great lengths. I have no intention of running from my destiny,” said Mal. “But there is an order. I do not wish to throw our world out of balance.”
“Balance?” Said Lithandrian. “From where I am sitting there is nothing but chaos on Earth.” Lithandrian observed him with watchful eyes as she said, “what says the High Lord of Aterna?”
Reeve was kicked back in his seat, balancing on its back legs, his hands behind his head.
Reeve was silent. In fact, he ignored her completely. The Grand Disintis cleared his throat softly. Reeve looked at him and then at Lithandrian.
“Oh doth she speak to me?” He asked in an affected tone. “I thought surely after three centuries of the silent treatment you’d have something more interesting to say than that.”
Lithandrian’s tongue ran across her top teeth.
Reeve stared at her casually, his head resting on the back of his seat and his arms folded across his chest. His voice returned to its normal tamber. “The High Lord is gladly and dutifully remaining in alliance with the Magicals.”
Lithandrian looked towards Ambrose. “And what say you?”
“I must be missing the part where you were put in charge of this meeting,” said Reeve.
Lithandrian did not look to him again.
Orator Moon answered defensively. “Malachite is well aware The Orator’s Office supports his claim. I will do my duty as an elected official to the people.”
“Premier-” Lithandrian started.
Reeve groaned.
“I am merely curious about the state of things, High Lord. Do not forget it is I who was begged to attend this meeting today. It is my realm whom you desire alliances with.”
“It is not just alliances that are desired,” said Maeve, the words slipping from her mouth. “It is about returning to a Magical utopia, where all realms lived in harmony.”
At last, her gaze fell upon Maeve. She studied her for a moment, as though she hadn’t noticed her presence yet.
“I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“My name is Maeve Sinclair,” she answered without hesitation.
Lithandrian’s eyes widened slightly.
“Can I see?”
Maeve didn’t move.
“Come now,” said Lithandrian. “I’ve heard rumor you are capable of ensnaring the mind entirely. I want to see.”
“No.” Ambrose spoke with authority. “This is the most important meeting in a century. She can show off for you later if that is what you desire.”
Lithandrian smiled at Ambrose.
“And why is your daughter present?” She asked with no condemnation in her sing-song voice.
“Maeve is to be my second,” answered Mal.
Lithandrian looked over at her husband. He sat to her right, just as Maeve was at Mal’s. She smiled knowingly. “Entangled, aren’t we?”
“Actually, I am confused about why you were begged to be here,” said Reeve. “What does the Elven land offer us? You have no magic.” Reeve shrugged.
“My army is thrice the size of your Senshi Immortals,” she replied with a laugh. “Perhaps I misheard you just lost a third of your Magical Militia, Premier?”
“I thought the goal was harmony,” said Reeve. “What do we need armies for?”
“The blight,” said Mal. “I will need armies to fight that darkness.”
The room was silent for a moment. Reeve’s all too casual demeanor vanished. “Indeed, you will.”
“You are not the first to claim the Dread Lands,” said Lithandrian. “How can we be certain of your Magic? I believe your Magical Government was nearly overturned not a fortnight ago.”
“Kietel did not come close to overthrowing the Magicals,” said Mal with a soft smile.
“And I do not wish to overthrow. My only goal is to return my people to their planet, where their magic can flourish. I do not wish to seek power by force, or topple governments. I desire to restore Dread Magic and our home,” said Mal.
The Magicals in the room stood at once, their fists placed over their hearts in a motion of honor. Maeve watched Lithandrian. Her brows flicked up.
“It seems your have already moved some of your kind. But it will take time for change to be accepted,” said Lithandrian. “I wish you the best, Malachite Peur.”
Mal bowed his head at the Elven Queen. “I do not take your affection lightly. Your allegiance would mean a great deal in writing the wrongs of the past.”
“Stay the course,” said Lithandrian. “And you shall have it.”
Mal smiled at her with reverent charm.
Lithandrian looked back to Ambrose. “Did you receive a reply from the North?”
Ambrose shook his head.
“To be expected. Kier and his ice planet have cut all contact with the other realms.” She looked back to Mal. “You should travel to him, young Dread Prince. I promise he would open that wall of ice for you.”
Kier and his people lived in a realm Maeve knew little about aside from the fact that it was perpetually a frozen land, and Kier, a human, had been King there for years. He closed their planet from all other realms the day his Father died and he was crowned.
Giants, werewolves, goblins, centaurs and all sorts of winged human-like creatures occupied Kier’s ice planet called Hiems.
“Thank you,” Mal replied to Lithandrian.
“You ended one war just to begin another,” she said softly.
“I was a child when that shadow overtook the Dread Lands. My father was a picture of strength. I never saw fear in his eyes until that shadow came for us. Rest assured, young wizard, it is still there, lurking in the Dark Peaks, sinking in the Black Deep and buried in the vines and roots that snake across the land.”
Mal nodded at her.
Ambrose spoke now. “Mal’s coronation will be on the thirty-first of December in four months time.
We have all been given a choice. The Dread Lands are neither your burden Queen Lithandrian nor yours, High Lord of Aterna.
But should you decide to aid us in our fight, that is the day to pledge yourself as allies. ”