Chapter 47
“Premier Sinclair,” started Mal but was quickly cut off.
“I’ve told you a hundred times, son, call me Ambrose.”
The Premier smiled cooly at him. He saw Maeve in that smile. He relaxed into his chair.
Mal gave him a polite smile back. “May I be candid with you, sir?”
Ambrose puffed on his cigar and laughed. “What have you been so far?”
Mal chuckled softly.
“Firstly,” started Mal, “I am sorry for dinner last week. This is your house. I worry I overstepped my bounds speaking to your Mother in Law in such a way.”
Ambrose puffed on his cigar. “Do you know what delights me?”
Mal raised his brows.
“My daughter being protected.”
Mal’s stomach turned.
He hadn’t seen her in a week. Not since he found out Alphard Mavros was to be her fiancée. Every time he pictured her face, he was on the brink of losing control. The foyer hallway in his flat had taken the brunt of that anger when he returned home that evening.
Maeve had no desire for Alphard. She desired power and glory.
Wealth maybe. . . Vain little thing that she was. And the Mavrosi were the richest Purebloods.
Perhaps that thought alone is what caused his anger to linger.
But that didn’t change the simple fact that he wanted to crush Alphard’s skull with his bare hands at the thought of their engagement.
Ambrose’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. “She has always been rebellious, you know? Could never just do as she was told.”
Mal smiled softly in agreement. His eyes traveled to Ambrose’s mantelpiece, where a small photograph of Maeve was framed.
“What did you truly come here for today?” Asked Ambrose.
Mal wasted no time. He set aside the cigar he had only accepted purely to appeal to Ambrose. “What can you tell me about Di Inferi? I came across the term in a banned book, in connection to the underworld. It alluded that centuries ago necromancy was prevalent in the Dread Lands.”
There was a slight twitch in the corner of Ambrose’s mouth. He looked away from Mal and took his time finishing his cigar. Finally, after many long moments, Ambrose looked at Mal with a twinkle in his eye.
“This isn’t a Study conversation. What say you and I visit my basement?”
Mal eyed the tapestry on the far wall. Ambrose saw his gaze and answered before Mal asked.
“Dragonskin. The last Ironclad there was. My great-great-grandfather killed it himself on the Dark Planet. Killed him too.”
Ambrose nodded to the giant dragon skull at the center of the room.
The scales on the dragon skin glittered in the light of the torches that wrapped the hall.
“What do you think of my collection?” Ambrose plopped himself in a black leather armchair and pulled another cigar from his pocket, proudly gesturing around the basement.
“I think it will take me quite a bit of time to read all those books.” Mal smiled charmingly. “And that,” he pointed to a particularly tattered trunk, “one reminded me about a recurring nightmare I had as a child.”
Ambrose laughed. “Yes. You’ll get many repressed memories from that one. Best not to open it when you’re feeling vulnerable.”
Mal strolled around the circular room, hands in his pockets, taking in everything as though he would never be granted access again.
“How did you come to all these things, sir?”
“Most of it’s been in my family for hundreds of years, and some of it I sought out on my own.
There’s a scroll Merlin himself wrote- I paid a pretty penny for that one-an essay on the effects of Pycerwyn.
He was in our court, you know. He never completed his studies at Vaukore. So enamored by those Humans.”
“I read that.”
“Ah,” said Ambrose, as he puffed a ring of grey smoke inside another, larger circle.
Mal stopped in front of an emerald green velvet box. It reminded him of Maeve.
“How’s she feeling?” Asked Ambrose. “She just lies to me about it. Hides it from me.”
Mal wondered if it was a coincidence that Ambrose brought Maeve up at the exact moment he, too, thought of her.
“Fine, I believe. Better.” Mal ran his finger along with the box. “Though she tries to hide it with me too.” He looked up at the tall shelves, filled with the knowledge he knew he had to get his hands on.
“How do you know she’s lying?”
“I infiltrate her mind,” said Mal calmly, turning back towards Ambrose.
The Premier chuckled and turned his head to the side, unsure if Mal was joking or serious.
“Does that alarm you?” Asked Mal.
Ambrose took a puff off his cigar. “Does she know?”
Mal nodded. “I wouldn’t invade her private thoughts if she didn’t wish me to, Ambrose. She taught me how. I only have access if she allows it.”
“Her shields are strong.”
“Stronger than any other Pureblood I have tried on.”
Mal strode over and took a seat by Ambrose, and continued.
“But your daughter and I share a strange connection too,” said Mal in a low voice, staring across the hall. “I don’t always have to be in her head to know what is happening to her.”
Ambrose nodded, obviously intrigued by the idea. “She’s mentioned.”
“Would it be alright, sir, if we visited here regularly?”
Ambrose nodded. “You can take a few at a time home with you as well,” said Ambrose gesturing to the endless library.
“I’d like to tell you something, sir,” began Mal, his voice dropping to a low tone.
Ambrose shifted in his seat, placing his finished cigar in an ashtray.
“I hope it’s not too bold,” started Mal.
Ambrose shook his head. Mal looked at him. Maeve’s father. The only person she worshipped more than himself. Mal spoke with a calm conviction.
“She will not marry Alphard Mavros.”
Ambrose didn’t move. He listened to Mal carefully with a vacant expression. Mal continued.
“She will be sworn in as my second in two months’ time. And on that day, any obligations to The Bellator, The Double O or Committee of the Sacred will be null and void. If she is forced to uphold those obligations, then I will step in after my coronation.”
Ambrose laid his head back in the armchair, the hint of a smile on his lips. “She won’t go down without a fight.”
“I am certain of that,” said Mal. “But you warned me, neither will they.”
Ambrose inhaled slowly. “They won’t.” Ambrose reached for a dark mahogany box and pulled out another cigar. “Any closer with another artifact of the Dread Armor?”
“The records for the auction of the Goblet are closed, but I am pursuing a hopeful path towards it.”
“Good,” said Ambrose. “I was certain one of those rich disasters that comes to my home would have it.”
Mal nodded. “I believe you were correct. Though getting to it has presented an entirely different set of obstacles.”
“Oh?” Said Ambrose.
Mal looked across the basement at the dragon’s skull. He grinned. “I’ve never had a problem with persuasion.”
Ambrose laughed heartily. Mal smiled at the sound and met his eyes. The Premier looked at him pridefully.
“Are you ready for The Autumn Gala?” He asked.
Mal crossed his legs. “I think you have prepared me as well as I can be. Do you think Lithandrian will come?”
“There are always surprises at these things.” He puffed on his cigar. “Now,” said Ambrose. “About those Inferi.”