Chapter 54
Maeve knocked on the door to her father’s study.
His voice called for her to enter. Maeve sat down in one of the armchairs and waited for her father to finish reading the piece of parchment in front of him.
His desk was strewn with books, newspapers, and proposed military legislation in the Double O.
Ambrose looked up at Maeve. Then at the book in her hands from his personal collection. She was researching for any information about the Dread Armor’s whereabouts.
“You found something?” Asked Ambrose, looking back down at his papers.
“He’s a pathokenesis,” said Maeve.
Ambrose looked up at her, loosed a laugh and nodded. “I don’t know how I didn’t see it.”
Maeve nodded. Ambrose’s smiled faded as he realized Maeve’s expression was one of worry.
His eyes narrowed slightly. “He doesn’t know?”
“Oh he knows,” said Maeve. “He just doesn’t. . . know. He is aware of his effect on others. But. . .”
Ambrose’s brows lifted.
Maeve exhaled slowly. “I don’t know if he’s doing it to me.”
Her father nodded in contemplation and looked away. He retreated into his thoughts for a moment before he finally spoke. “And you never will.”
“I’ve considered telling him. And asking him not to manipulate me that way.”
Ambrose looked back at her. “I don’t think there’s any harm in that.”
Maeve’s stomach filled with acid as the adrenaline of penitential confrontation kicked. And just after she had narrowly avoided his disappointment with Alphard.
Ambrose gave her a sympathetic smile and softly said, “If you don’t want him to manipulate your emotions, then make it so Maeve. You need not rely on his word alone.”
“Put up a shield?” She asked with a frown. “I don’t want to have to do that. I’m not even sure it would work.”
Ambrose nodded. “Then you’re back to your original idea.”
Maeve slipped through the study fireplace into Mal’s flat. He was behind his desk, writing with a long, black quill. She crossed towards him and placed the book down in front of him, not bothering to wait for him to finish his writing.
“What’s this?” Asked Mal.
“It’s a book,” she replied plainly.
Mal frowned and looked up at her, annoyed. Maeve smirked.
She slid the green leather-bound book across the desk towards him. “It’s a text about the power of pathokenesis.”
“Pathokenesis?” He asked with a raised brow.
He took the book in his hands and flipped open the front cover.
“Yes,” said Maeve. “The ability to sense and manipulate others’ emotions.”
Mal glanced over the first page.
Maeve said, as if it were obvious, “you’re one.”
Mal’s eyes flicked up at her. “What?”
“You have pathokenesis abilities.”
Mal flipped through a few pages, his eyes scanning quickly. He closed the book and looked up at her. “I didn’t know there was a word for it.”
“I don’t want you to use it on me,” she stated plainly, their eyes locked together.
Mal shook his head. “I won’t.”
Maeve didn’t hesitate. “Swear to it,” she said.
Mal’s eyes softened. He stood and crossed around the table. Maeve turned towards him. A small smile was pulling at the corners of his lips as he brushed her hair behind her shoulders.
He spoke lowly. “You think a bright and clever witch like yourself wouldn’t know if I was manipulating your emotions with magic?”
Maeve looked up at him. “I have no idea.”
Mal nodded subtly, his thoughts far from Maeve’s request.
“Thank you for telling me. Now,” he said, his fingers traveled up her neck to her cheek, “when I master this, Maeve, there is nothing we won’t have.”
His hand moved to the back of her neck as he pressed a kiss to her forehead.
Maeve spoke as he moved away from her back towards the book. “Mal.”
He looked over at her.
“Swear to it.”
Mal’s face twisted slightly, scrunched into a confused expression. “You don’t trust me?”
“I don’t think even you know when you’re doing it,” she answered gently.
Mal’s jaw tightened. “No. Right now I don’t. But,” he tapped a slender finger on the book between them, “I soon will.”
“Alright,” said Maeve. Mal moved to sit back down. “Then swear to it until that day comes.”
Mal gripped the edge of the desk, his knuckles turning white. Maeve pretended not to notice.
She spoke again before all nerve abandoned her. “I’m not asking for much, wouldn’t you agree?”
“No,” he said, his voice low, “I don’t.”
Maeve’s mouth fell open slightly. “Why not?”
Mal braced himself on the desk, his head bowed. “Don’t do this, Maeve.”
Maeve laughed nervously. “I am asking you to promise me, with magic, that you won’t-”
“I know what you are asking,” said Mal. “And I won’t do it.”
Maeve fired back quickly. “You understand the implications of your resistance to do so?”
“And what of your implications in asking me?”
Maeve scoffed. “I came to you honestly. I didn’t want to have to protect myself with Magic. I wanted us to come to an agreement.”
“You think your shield would stand a chance against my magic?”
Maeve’s eyes narrowed. “The one in my mind would.”
Mal couldn’t disagree. He was only able to slip into her thoughts, speak to her silently because she allowed it. Her mental shields were impenetrable if she wanted them to be. Her mind was a fortress of Magic that was unlike any other.
Maeve turned on her heel and headed for the fireplace in his penthouse. She didn’t bother asking if he’d be at the Christmas Party the following evening.
Maeve watched Mal from the bar at the Rosethorn’s Christmas Party. He was surrounded by the Bellator that worshiped him, and Abraxas at his left.
She frowned more every time he laughed.
“Lover’s spat?”
Maeve licked across her teeth and didn’t look over at the High Lord of Aterna as he leaned against the bar. “Have you ever considered minding your own business?”
“Unfortunately, it is absolutely my business what the second and third most powerful beings are doing.”
Maeve glared at him.
Reeve smiled as he said, savoring the insult, “You’re third.”
“How generous of you,” she muttered.
“You are in a fine form tonight it I must say so, kitten.”
Maeve slammed her crystal goblet into the bar sharply and she turned towards him. “Don’t call me that.”
Reeve eyes traced over her face and his head cocked to one side. “Then how will I provoke you?”
“I am certain you’ll find a way.”
Reeve’s mouth hung slightly open as he studied her from head to toe with royal ease. His playful expression faded as his eyes sparkled with flecks of fire.
“You are a magnificent creature,” he said slowly.
Maeve’s eyes widened at the change in his tone. She looked up at him. Panic flooded her mind, chilling her skin and kicking her heart into motion.
“Must be terrible though,” he said, his eyelids heavy and his voice raspy. “To fear compliments from another man.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said tensely.
“You think I can’t feel your magic? I don’t need to be in your mind to feel your anxious heartbeat.
It’s practically screaming at me.” Reeve looked down at her chest, his voice low.
“We Immortals have heightened senses you know. I smell your fear as it seeps from your pores.” His eyes lifted back to hers.
“So pretend all you want, but I know that deep, deep down, buried beneath your delusion and pride, that you are afraid of him. . .deep deep down. And you should be.”
Maeve couldn’t speak. She settled for glaring at him.
“Hmm,” said Reeve. “All that magic flowing freely. It’s intoxicating.”
Her stomach dropped.
Reeve smirked at her, satisfied.
The prick.
Maeve slammed the rest of the sparkling water before her and wiped the corner of her mouth delicately with a finger as she slid off the bar stool, careful to remain close to him, but not to let their bodies touch.
“Let me ask you something, High Lord,” she whispered, looking up at him.
He did not meet her gaze, but stared behind her at the bustling party.
“If the second and third most powerful beings alive are joined together and you, the most powerful, stand alone, wouldn’t you say that makes Mal and I the most powerful force alive? ”
Reeve’s smirk never faltered. He merely looked down at her and said, “your faith abounds.”
She slid around him and left him without another word.
Maeve stalked out of the party. She felt Mal step into the foyer behind her.
“Going so soon?” He asked as she headed for the fireplace.
The Rosethorn’s Elf servant appeared with a light popping sound sound and handed Maeve her coat. Maeve thanked her and slipped it on.
“Yes,” was all she said.
Mal slipped his hands in his pockets.
“I have better things my time could be occupied with other than these endless and ridiculous parties.”
“These parties are buying me a crown, Maeve.”
“Then go buy it,” she gestured back towards the party.
“What did Reeve say to you?”
“What does it matter? Why don’t you just manipulate my emotions to your desired outcome?”
She turned and stepped into the fire without even looking at him.
The books from her father’s collection were strewn across the sitting table in her room. She was no closer to finding the Dread Armor now than she was months ago.
She blinked rapidly as the words on the page blurred. It was late into the night. The only light in her room came from the candles floating beside her chair. Her thoughts kept shifting to Reeve. He had said she was the third most powerful being alive.
No one had ever called her that.
Her room flashed green. She didn’t look over her shoulder at the fireplace. Mal stood behind her. His face lowered to the side of hers.
“I will not use my pathokenesis abilities on you,” he whispered in her ear.
A trickle of cold magic moved down her neck and slowly infiltrated her chest. She shuddered and closed her eyes as the magic took hold. Her head tilted backwards.
After a moment, heat returned to her skin. She turned in the chair, the book in her lap sliding to the floor, and sat on her knees facing him. She took his face in her hands and kissed him tenderly.