Chapter 65 #2
Arianna covered her mouth in shock as Maeve unveiled the secret she had known for months.
“I spent the past four months scouring every corner and crevice of his mind while he let me work my memory charm experiments on him. I know everything. I know you did not bare me and were disgraced into pretending that you did. And I know that my real mother died at the hands of the Committee just like Atony and just like Father.”
Clarissa spat. “Don’t you dare speak about my son and that trash your father lay with in the same sentence.”
Maeve scoffed. She dropped her napkin on the table and stood. She looked to her sister. “I’m sorry, Arianna. I’m sorry for everything.” She meant it. “I’m sorry you lost your father too.”
Arianna’s eyes swelled with tears. “It’s your fault.”
Maeve swallowed and spoke softly. “I know it is.”
She turned on her heel. Clarissa called after her.
“Always ungrateful for everything I have given you. And how will you fare then?” Shot Clarissa. “How will you get by without all the wealth that would be handed down to you if you had stayed in line?”
Maeve didn’t stop. “While you dangle your precious gold above me, I know that when you married my father, the Rosethorns had nothing left. The Sinclair’s money was their saving grace, delivered in exchange for you.
You, who had nothing when you married him, dare to lecture me on what you have given me!
When it was never yours in the first fucking place. ”
“I have grown tired of you.” Spat Clarissa.
Maeve stopped and turned back towards her. “Fuck you.”
“Go and marry your Prince boy then. Your blood is perfect for him.”
Maeve shook her head. “You still don’t get it, do you? I don’t care about marrying him. I don’t care about losing my inheritance. You can keep your precious blood money.”
She turned once more and walked out of the dining hall.
The house was filled with eerie silence as she made her way to the third floor. She pushed open her bedroom door, and there stood Zimsy, carefully packing all of Maeve’s belongings into a trunk.
“You’re leaving,” said Zimsy quietly.
“Yes.” Maeve strode past her to her vanity, which she found empty. “You already. . . ”
Zimsy nodded. “All of your personal and private things are tucked away. Your favorite books, all your clothes.” She gestured to the trunk.
“You fit it all in there?”
“Extendable charms.”
“Of course,” said Maeve awkwardly.
They stood silently for a moment. Zimsy took a step towards her. Maeve took a step back.
She swallowed hard. “You’re free to go.”
Magic severed between them, like a solid steel bar snapping in two. It felt easy to break the rest of Zimsy’s enslavement curse. Like tugging at a loose bow.
Zimsy shook her head and grabbed her chest, her eyes wide.
“No,” said Zimsy, her voice concerned.
“It’s not a trick,” said Maeve. “If I’m leaving, you should leave too.”
Zimsy’s mouth quivered. “I could come with you-.”
“No,” said Maeve plainly. “Leave. That’s an order, Zimsy.”
Zimsy rubbed her hands together nervously.
“But-”
“No!”
“I want to come with you!”
“I don’t want you to!”
Pain spread across Zimsy’s face as she disappeared with a light SNAP.
Maeve sighed and ran her hands across her face. A lump rose in her throat as she made her way out of her room to gather the rest of the things from the house that she wanted.
She didn’t look back at it. She couldn’t look back at it.
Ambrose Sinclair’s study lay untouched, as though he would walk through the door at any moment and pick up his unfinished brandy.
But many books and pictures were gone. Magical items had a way of presenting themselves to their new owners in death.
Ambrose had likely promised many of his readings and trinkets to others that now possessed them.
The basement as Sinclair Estates lay empty.
Maeve sat behind his desk, staring across the room. She would never be here again. And she was glad of it. This room harbored too much happiness. Joy. It was a burden.
Two books sat in front of her. One she was taking for herself and one for Mal. Across the desk were strewn article clippings, letters from several different officials, and handwritten notes by Ambrose himself.
There was a brief knock at the door. Xander stood in the doorway. “May I come in?”
He didn’t wait for her response but strode across the room and stood in front of Ambrose’s desk, where Maeve had just finished off a bottle of her father’s fire-whiskey. There was not much left, but it burned Maeve’s inside’s all the same.
She didn’t look at him, but continued to stare at the notes on his desk.
“That was quite a display down there,” said Xander. “And at The Dread Prince’s coronation.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” said Maeve emotionlessly.
“I’m terribly sorry about your father. Lithandrian sends her regrets as well. Everyone adored the Premier.”
Maeve didn’t speak. He continued.
“You’re an incredibly powerful witch to create magic like that, just from your emotions.” He laughed.
Maeve looked him over. “Why are you still here? Didn’t you hear? I am not of the blood status you think I am.”
Xander eyed her. “That doesn’t matter to me.
No one knows that, and our alliance would still be strong.
Even more beneficial for you now, given the circumstances.
The Dread Prince might agree, if you asked him.
His court would have an immediate bonded alliance with another powerful realm.
The realm he is so desperately trying to grasp. ”
Maeve stared at him for a moment.
“You know what’s incredibly clear to me now, Xander?
” Maeve leaned back in her father’s chair.
“No one has anything to offer that is beneficial to me. Marrying Alphard, no benefit. Your offer was never beneficial for me. I was so confused as to why my Mother would fight for something seemingly good for me.” Maeve stood and looked out the large window.
“And then I realized my Mother pushed for it because she’d win either way.
If I agreed, I’d be a blood traitor and embarrass myself by marrying you.
And if I refused, I’d be disowned, lose my inheritance and all. She got to get rid of me either way.”
“I think you’re discrediting me too quickly,” said Xander.
He was suddenly closer than she realized, standing directly behind her.
“I think you’ll find I can be of use to you and Malachite,” he continued. “My blood, the people I know. . . And your father, I think he agreed it would be a strong realistic choice for us.”
Xander speaking of her father as if he knew him caused a wave of nausea to pass through her.
He brushed her hair off her shoulder and trailed his finger down her arm. Her stomach didn’t flip. Her skin didn’t flush.
She looked out over London as the enchanted window began to fog over.
“Could it be so terrible to be Elven Royalty too?” Xander’s voice now had that slimly quality again. “We would create an entirely new line of Magic.”
He brought his lips down to her neck. She didn’t stop him. It sent nothing down her spine. His fingers continued to trail down her arm, and he laced his fingers with hers. He brought their hands up and examined them.
“See? That’s not so bad.” He brought his lips down to her fingers and kissed them tenderly. Just as his lips brushed Mal’s Dread ring on her finger, he winced and pulled away from her.
He chuckled nervously and touched his lips, confused. Maeve watched him for a moment in their reflection.
“That was odd,” said Xander, feigning laughter again.
Maeve looked down at the ring on her left hand finger. She brought it to her lips for a moment before turning around in the chair.
“If I know Mal, and I really and truly do,” said Maeve, relishing her words, “it’s only going to get worse.”
He scratched at his lips in a panicked manner as they began to inflate and turn bright red.
Xander began to panic as the curse flared and spread across his face. Maeve waved her hand and effortlessly gathered the readings and books of her father’s she intended to take for now.
“What’s happening to me?” Screamed Xander, pathetically, dropping his facade.
“I believe, put simply, you tried to take something that is not yours. Consider it a parting gift from The Prince of Darkness,” said Maeve. “And by all means, please tell Lithandrian just how it was you ended up in such a state.”
Maeve headed for the fireplace and vanished as Xander screamed.
She stepped out of the fire in Mal’s penthouse suite. Ambrose left it to him. His name was now scrolled across the deed. Ambrose left Mal a number of things.
Mal crossed towards her and took her hands in his own. Her Sinclair family ring shining on one hand and Mal’s Dread ring on the other.
“I need to prepare the Dread Lands. I need to get my people out of here as soon as possible. I have so much work to do.”
“I need-”
“I know what you need,” he said softly. “And you will have it.” He brought his lips to her forehead. “I will give you time to grieve and mourn. But when our kingdom is ready, I will come back for you. And you will be at my side once more.”
He took her hand again and balled it into a fist. He placed it over her heart, where his Dread Mark lay beneath her clothes. She held her chin up proudly.
“Pour toujours,” she said.
Forever.
“à tout jamais,” he said in reply.
And always.
Maeve’s eyes darted between his. Her voice shook as she said-
“I’m going to kill them all.”
Mal brushed his free hand across her quivering bottom lip.
“No, Little Viper. We are going to kill them all.”
Lauren Cate Leake is an artist from Mississippi.
After decades of devotion to training and exploring the performing arts, she shifted her focus to bringing The Dread Descendant to life on paper.
She boasts no degrees (with a less than stellar high school record) and encourages everyone to pursue a better future for themselves regardless of their academic record.