Chapter 45 #2
“I have training tonight.” Maeve pushed off the counter and called to Mr. Bogstrum in the next room.
“Mr. Bogstrum, I’m going to use your fire!”
She heard muffled cursing from the other room. Mal shook his head.
Once she was back home, Maeve spent the rest of the day avoiding Ophelia, who had pestered her multiple times, ensuring that Mal would be attending dinner the following day.
She ducked into her father’s study, quietly closing the door behind her.
“Mal coming tomorrow?” Ambrose asked.
Maeve laughed and sighed. “Yes.”
“Are you ready for tonight?”
Maeve nodded.
“Are they giving you a hard time?”
“Of course they are,” said Maeve. “And I don’t even blame them.”
She sat in one of his oversized armchairs.
“Which ones in particular?”
“No,” said Maeve, unwilling to divulge which fellow Bellator in training were being rude to her. “Distance, remember?”
Ambrose raised his hands in surrender.
“Tonight will determine the Optimum,” said Ambrose. “They will see that you are not merely there because you are my daughter.”
And Ambrose was right.
Optimum was placement for each level and class of Bellator. It was a series of duels with only one winner per rank, who would earn the titles of Optimum. And in three weeks, be challenged once again by those in their fellow rank.
It wasn’t about age. It was about Power. It was likely Maeve and Roswyn, who had also been offered Bellator, would move into the higher ranks quickly.
Ambrose didn’t even smile when she won that night. He pinned the new badge on her black high collared vest without any emotion. Right next to a bright shiny S. She placed her fist over her heart and looked up at him. He gave her a nod and strolled away. Arman walked at his side.
“Congratulations, Sinclair,” said Hennington, Captain of the Bellator, and her direct officer. He was a few years her senior. A true Supreme, and a decorated Wizard.
“Thank you,” she said.
She looked down at the matte black pin with optimum written across it.
“Best of luck hanging onto it,” said Hennington, no condemnation in his voice. He was merely stating facts. “No cadet ever keeps the title of Optimum longer than six weeks. Most of these Magicals haven’t harnessed a fraction of their power in school.”
Maeve looked up at him. “Nor have I.”
His eyes narrowed. She had no intention of letting her status as Optimum go.
“If I may sir?” She asked.
He nodded once, and she stepped away, leaving the arena without meeting eyes with the rest.
“Suppose I should have seen that coming.”
Roswyn stood leaned against the smooth pillars outside of the Bellator training arena.
Roswyn lasted nearly to the end of the trials. But a boy named Mumford from America beat him. Leaving Maeve and Mumford at the end.
Mumford had been privately trained his entire life. He was two years older than her. They had only just become acquainted, but Mumford scowled at her like he had hated her for years. And he wasn’t the only one.
They hated her for her last name. For her pureblood. For being better. For being close to Mal.
Mal was the reason so many of them joined. Most of the recruiting class of Bellator cadets he trained personally, or Magicals that heard of his valiant return and were desperate to fight in his war to come. Mumford moved from America to join Mal’s cause.
Mumford appeared from the doors behind her.
“Don’t ever get inside my head again,” he grumbled as he walked by.
“Don’t let me,” she replied.
He stopped on his heel and turned towards her, his nostrils flaring. Roswyn appeared at his side, grabbing his shoulders before he reached Maeve.
“Come on,” said Roswyn. “Mal wants to meet you.”
Mumford shook Roswyn off.
“He wants you there too, Sinclair.”
Mal looked at the Optimum pin on her black simple uniform.
“Well done,” said Mal, as she crossed the doorway of his flat.
They didn’t touch. Or embrace. Maeve walked to the fully stocked bar she was certain Mal would never partake in and poured herself a glass of sparkling water.
She leaned against the windowsill as Mal and Mumford shook hands.
“This is a great honor,” said Mumford.
Mal smiled softly.
Mal gestured for Roswyn and Mumford to sit.
“Would you like a drink?”
Mumford nodded. Mal personally poured Mumford and Roswyn a glass of Bottomless Bourbon.
They clinked their glasses together and Mal took a seat in a large throne like upholstered chair.
“Congratulations on second place. You’ll have to get used to Maeve beating you if you want to file in my ranks,” said Mal.
Mumford nodded once. “How do I stop her from getting in my mind?”
Mal smiled softly. “I don’t know that you can. Maeve’s abilities with the mind are quite a mystery.”
Mumford took a sip of his drink. “May I ask you something?”
“Yes,” replied Mal.
Mumford hesitated. “Why aren’t you a Bellator? Why don’t you wear that badge?”
Mal looked over at Maeve. “She is my second. When I am crowned as The Dread Prince she will be the rock against which the waves crash. The mountain standing against the storm. Everyone must know now that she is something to be feared.” He turned his attention back to Mumford. “Even you fear her.”
Mumford looked like he was prepared to argue, but Mal held up his hand.
“You should fear her,” he said. “I don’t want stupid men in my court.”
Mumford straightened.
“So tell me,” said Mal, his voice dipping into a dark hum, and letting some of that lethal Dread Magic slip from him. The firelights in the room dimmed. “Are you stupid enough not to fear what is more powerful than you?”
Mumford’s skin flushed. He shook his head sternly.
“Do you feel the Magic that slips threateningly from her?”
Mumford nodded. Mal’s eyes sparkled.
“Magnificent, isn’t it? Such a power.”
“What of your power?” Challenged Mumford. “Dread Magic is surely to be more feared.”
“More?” Asked Mal. “Magic is not quantified in more and less. My Dread Magic is holy and divine. It is deadly and catastrophic.” He smiled. “I will admit to you that even I fear it. It’s as though part of me is not my own. It lies dormant. Until needed.”
Mumford looked to Maeve. “I’ve been fighting my whole life. And I’ve never fought anyone like her. It was like she was ahead of me, in my mind, like a shadow slipping around me.”
“That is what she needs to be.”
“I want to be a part of your team,” said Mumford.
“Good,” said Mal. “In the coming weeks Maeve will need your support, both of your support,” his eyes slipped to Roswyn. “Stand by her as she wins. The rest will follow your example.”
Roswyn looked at Mal and spoke carefully. “They don’t like her.”
Mal’s eyes were carefully on Roswyn. “Then make them.”
Mumford nodded. Roswyn downed his Bourbon with a hefty sigh.
“The three of you must be a united front as you move up in the Bellator ranks.”
“Belvadora was there too,” said Maeve. “She did not return to school.”
“She needs work,” said Roswyn.
“She learns quick,” said Maeve.
“She came in last today,” seethed Roswyn. “That’s what happens to the enlisted and not the recruited.”
“I didn’t get much time with her at Vaukore,” said Mal. “Don’t let her fall behind Roswyn. Push her, work with her outside of trainings if you must. Any of them that need it.”
Roswyn looked directly at Mal and nodded.
He and Mumford finished their drinks and left.
“Well done,” said Mal.
“They hate me.”
“They envy you.”
“Same difference,” she muttered.
“What did you tell me once? None of it will matter in the end?”
Maeve glared at him. But his eyes sparkled in dark swirls of brown with flecks of red.
The sun was beginning to rise across the city. Blues and greens pressed into the stone and stucco buildings, illuminating their cream coloring, turning his flat into a grey hazy dream.
The leather couch behind them called her name.
“Roswyn made it to the end?”
Maeve nodded as a yawn escaped her lips. “He did well.”
“You held back.”
“How do you know?”
“He said it took you forty-seven seconds to beat him,” said Mal.
“He’s strong. His Magic is wild.”
“But your Magic is certain. You could have defeated him in half that time.”
“Duels are cumbersome.” Said Maeve. “I can’t move with haste. I can’t slam into their minds. I can’t slice through their bodies. It takes control to beat and not kill. Killing would be easier.”
Mal chuckled. “Indeed.”