Chapter 56
A tall slit of sunlight spilled onto Maeve’s bed, forcing its way through the closed velvet curtains. They hadn’t been drawn magically that morning. She felt Spinel curled up in the crook of her knees.
There was a tray of pancakes next to the bed. Maeve pushed up and looked at the small paper calendar next to her bed.
“No,” she whispered, reaching for Mal’s ring around her neck. But it was gone. He must have taken it.
She had been asleep for days.
She looked on the nightstand and food tray for a note or message from Mal, but there was none. Maeve laid her head back down, exhausted.
Whatever it was that tried to kill her nearly succeeded, and she was still recovering. Her eyes became too heavy to hold, and she rolled over, falling back asleep.
Another day later, Maeve was on her feet. She was weak, but she was moving.
She sat on the stool of her vanity in complete disbelief at her reflection. Her fingers traced the lingered black lines that shot up her neck light bolts of lightning. They traveled down her arms, and into her finger tips.
No part of her was spared.
Maeve wiped the tear that silently dripped down her cheek.
Zimsy’s hands brushed through her hair, gently weaving it into a braid.
“It isn’t fading,” she said softly from behind Maeve.
Maeve wiped another tear with the back of her hand.
It wasn’t going to.
Dark Magic leaves traces.
Zimsy took her downstairs, where she opened her presents from the Christmas festivities she missed. Ambrose was careful not to comment on the now permanent marks on her skin.
She hadn’t seen Mal at all. However, he had sent her a Christmas gift, which was a vintage pearl layered necklace wrapped in silver and emerald paper with a cameo broach. It was perfect.
There was a short note as well.
Lucky for you, I purchased this weeks ago. Otherwise, saving your life would have sufficed as a gift itself.
Maeve missed the Sacred Seventeen Party, for which she was grateful. She found out from Abraxas that the Committee announced no engagements at all. He speculated the current state of affairs prevented them from making any movements currently.
Later that evening, Zimsy walked into Maeve’s bedroom, where she sat up in bed reading a book.
Zimsy smiled.
“You have a visitor.”
Maeve threw the book aside, knowing from Zimsy’s smile it was Mal. Without his ring, she couldn’t tell if he was close or not. She tossed the covers aside and grabbed her dressing gown.
She nodded at Zimsy, who left and returned a moment later, much to Maeve’s happiness, with Mal. Zimsy bowed her head at Mal and left them. Maeve stood from the edge of her bed, and Mal reached out to assist her.
“I’m alright,” said Maeve, slightly, lying, holding up a hand to Mal. “Please.” Maeve gestured to the armchairs in her room.
He seated himself in the chair, keeping his eyes on her the whole time as she walked his way. Maeve noticed the Dread Ring on his finger.
“I’m glad to see that you are,” said Mal.
“What happened?” Asked Maeve bluntly. “What on Earth was that, and how did you know exactly what to do?”
Mal sighed, being equally blunt. “That was something similar to a Vexkari I did not intend to make.”
Maeve’s mouth dropped. “What?”
His eyes swam with remorse.
“I believe when we were in Albania, and I killed those men, and I was doing so much dark magic, some things got crossed, and when you and I….”
“Oh,” whispered Maeve.
“I also believe that’s why you spent months feeling ill,” said Mal.
“I suspected for a while that something may have accidentally rooted in you, but nothing drastic ever changed. You were ill, and then fine, and ill and then fine. I kept feeling for something foreign attached to you. I never felt anything strange. Because it was me.”
Maeve bit her nails, looking down at the floor, disturbed that a part of him had nearly killed her.
“I don’t have all the answers,” said Mal. “But I am terribly sorry, Maeve.”
He spoke with sincerity.
“You saved me, though.”
Mal gave her a small smile that didn’t meet his eyes. “Each time you have been in peril over the past year, it was because of gross negligence on my part. It won’t happen again.”
Maeve knew better by now than to argue with him. She owed him her life three times now. It wasn’t his fault.
“Thank you for the gift. And the gown, even though I didn’t get to appear in it,” said Maeve.
Maeve knew he had purchased those things with his own money earned from working at The Daydreamer.
He smiled softly at her, “Here.”
He slid his ring off his finger. Maeve held out her hand.
“Where’s the chain?” Asked Maeve.
“You won’t need it anymore,” he said. “I’ve bewitched the ring to fit any finger that wears it.”
Maeve commended him. That this was a brilliant idea. She slipped the ring onto her left hand, and it fit perfectly.
“Speaking of the gown you didn’t get to wear. I got the loveliest bit of information from Ophelia the other night.”
Maeve frowned.
“Stop that,” he said and ignored her pouting. “She introduced me to her Great Aunt Vetus Willus. Claims she’s a descendant of a broken Sacred Magical Bloodline.”
“Oh?” Said Maeve, intrigued. “That is interesting.”
“More so,” continued Mal, “is her boasting her possessions and collections.”
“Such as?”
“A rather personal artifact of King Siris, two Dread Kings ago. A goblet.”
Maeve sat up. “She bought it in the auction?”
“Yes,” said Mal. “She keeps a tight lip on her treasures, though. Ophelia only speculated Vetus might have something of interest to me. I finally was able to meet her at the St. Beveraux’s Christmas party and get her to open up to me. I’ve been writing to her for weeks.”
A sinking feeling of embarrassment washed over Maeve.
“What’s the matter, Little Viper,” said Mal tauntingly. “Realizing my only interest in Ophelia was her Great Aunt’s collection of treasure?”
Maeve bit the inside of her lip and suppressed a smile. “You could have just told me.”
Mal leaned back in his chair. “I’ll admit I like having leverage on your infatuation with me.”
Maeve laughed and played with his ring on her finger. He watched her for a moment. His expression content.
“I’m glad to see you feeling better.”
They sat in silence for a moment. After a long inhale, Maeve spoke.
“So, I am assuming Ophelia’s Great Aunt what’s her name took a liking to you?”
“I’m meant to have tea with her tomorrow morning.”
Maeve smiled at him. He continued.
“Do you feel strong enough to alter memories?”
Maeve nodded.
“So we’ll meet close by and go together,” said Mal.
Maeve had not been expecting an invitation.
“Don’t you think it would go better if she has you to herself?”
“Probably. I’ll need your expertise, though.”
Maeve understood. She would be there for memory clean-up.
“I wonder what other things she has in her collection,” said Maeve.
“I thought something very similar.”
“Your coronation is in five days,” said Maeve. “And your birthday. What better present than a piece of The Dread Armor.”
Mal’s eyes traveled down her neck, then shifted to her hands at the black veins. He placed his elbow on the arm of the chair, cupping his chin. He looked at her with uncertainty.
“I’m sorry,” he said finally, a guilty sadness in his voice.
“It’s not important,” she lied quickly.
Mal took a long breath.
She didn’t want to think about it. She didn’t want to look at herself.