Chapter 21
Explaining what being a Magical felt like had always been impossible for Maeve.
She had no frame of reference for what it felt like to be human.
Normal. Without blood forged in power. She’d never been able to grasp the magnitude of strength she carried, or the physical weight of what ran through her that granted her supernatural ability.
Until then.
Now she was starved.
Her fingers felt rotten. The center of her chest was hollow. Carved out. A heavy weight, oppressive and constant, locked on the edges of her mind. A solid chain. It wasn’t there before.
“I have to say, I wasn’t expecting you to act with such desperation.”
Mal’s voice was a dark hum.
“I’m not complaining, though,” he continued, her heavy eyes focusing on him at last. “A spell I could have never cast with all that Magic running through you.”
With his hands tucked behind his back and his posture pristine, he loomed over her in the empty room. There were no windows. The only source of light was a small firelight that floated alongside him as he crossed the vast room.
Her own prison cell.
“The thought really only occurred to me after your Elven friend reminded me just how easily I could bind you to me, despite the fact that I vowed to never use my Pathokenesis abilities on you. This works much better. The same Enslavement Curse used on Zimsy.”
Zimsy.
She would vomit any moment, she knew it.
“Unable to disobey me,” he said, dropping into a crouch before her. “It’s unfortunate that I had to use Magic to assure it. You had so many opportunities to get in line.”
“Zimsy didn’t deserve that,” she said, her voice cracked and sore.
“Perhaps she did not deserve it, but you most certainly did deserve to watch.”
A nightmare. This was a horrible nightmare. She buried her face in her knees, the images of Zimsy and Abraxas, their blood pooling on the marbled floor.
Her father’s blood pooling on the marbled floor.
“Look at me.”
She shook her head, still buried in her knees. At the disobedience, a whip of Magic pierced her mind, the shock ringing through her whole body. Her head shot up, back slamming into the wall behind her as she looked up at him.
Her head throbbed. Her body took the blow like a full-force curse filled with malice. Sweat pooled at her forehead and neck, between her breasts. She nearly toppled sideways.
The pain of Mal’s Magic was entirely different without her own. Exaggerated and so, so deadly.
“Still so rebellious,” he murmured. “I doubt that will last long, judging by how that small act of defiance seemed to affect you.”
How had Zimsy ever survived this feeling? Had Zimsy even survived Mal?
She held his gaze, hot tears threatening to spill down her cheeks.
“Pathetic,” he said dryly.
Such uncaring cruelty from the lips that had once promised her nothing but affection pushed tears from her eyes. He was lost to her. She pushed down on the guilt that it was her fault.
Shadow’s possession was so paramount within him, she could barely sense anything of the Mal she’d once shared a life with. Created life with.
Mal’s hand reached forward and pressed against her temple with not an ounce of tenderness. “Incredible,” he said, though it was far from a compliment. “Those shields in your mind are even stronger.”
His hand withdrew, and he remained crouched before her.
“Give me the spell,” he commanded.
Maeve’s jaw tightened and her eyes squeezed shut, anticipating a long blow as a result of her disobedience. But it never came. That oppressive chain in her mind lay still. She waited another moment and slowly looked back up at Mal.
He nearly rolled his eyes. “You are infuriating.”
Mal stood and stepped away from her. “Where is Maxius?”
“I don’t know,” she answered, truthfully and without hesitation.
No whip of Magic bore down upon her.
“Then I guess we’ll find him together.”
She remembered it then, that thread of warm Magic she’d begged to take Maxius. To keep him safe. It was there, barely burning, like the edge of a wet leaf struggling to maintain a fire.
Her mouth fell open as she remembered him fully.
Reeve.
Too many thoughts. Too many colliding thoughts.
“Come,” said Mal, extending his gloved hand for her. “My right hand is needed.”
His right hand?
“How am I to be your right hand if my Magic is gone?” she asked, taking his hand at once, fear of another shattering blow sharpening her reflexes.
Mal’s frown remained as he pulled her to her feet and steadied her with his Magic. It formed around her like a second skin and did not lift. “You have an eternity with me, Maeve,” he said. “I plan to make it count.”
The words rang true, like another piece of the puzzle that her mind had forgotten.
“An eternity?” she questioned.
“Haven’t remembered that yet?” asked Mal.
Maeve shook her head in disbelief. “You’re wrong.”
“I’m not wrong. I remember it perfectly. Oh, you were so easy to manipulate then, vain little thing that you were. You didn’t hesitate to exchange part of your Magic for Immortality.”
He pointed a finger at her. A small orb of silver mist drifted towards her. She held out her hand and accepted it. As the swirling memory brushed the tips of her fingers, white light flashed into vision.
She’d somehow suppressed her memory of this particular bargain. She gave Mal her blood in order to access the hidden Library in Castle Morana, in exchange for prolonged life and youth.
Her eyes snapped open, pressing his memory back towards him.
“What a wonderful trade,” said Mal, his head tilting to the side. “I got the Dread Spellbook, which has shown me more about my power than I ever imagined, and I get to keep you like a polished trophy forever.”
Maeve scowled, not even bothering to hide her resentment.
“Have you felt the way at times it bleeds from you into Maxius?” he asked, his features sharpening. “Makes it truly impossible to know just how many times you fucked up. Just how long we’ve been at this. But I can assure you now, that this is the final destination, Sinclair.”
The use of her last name burned. No affection. Nothing but the aim to hurt her. Just as she had hurt him.
The attire she’d once cherished as Mal’s second felt like a costume.
Perfectly sculpted to her body, but otherwise unfitting.
Her entire reflection in the clouded windows of the Great Hall at Castle Morana was like a distant version of herself, the bruise on her cheek from his fist still evident, healing at a human pace.
Someone, Astrea she assumed, had healed her broken arm. There was no trace of soreness there. The suspicion that Mal had instructed Astrea not to heal her face swelled inside her. She pressed down on the feeling.
A large throne-like chair was positioned at the head of the table that dominated the space.
Once a place for dinners and music, this was now a meeting hall.
She walked silently behind Mal, observing that every seat was full.
Roswyn and Mumford, always tailing Roswyn like a dog, other officials and high-ranking Bellator were there, enduring the silence of Mal’s approach. Alphard was nowhere to be seen.
Maeve’s throat tightened as her eyes landed on Abraxas sitting to the left of the oversized chair. She steadied her breathing. He was alive.
Maeve took her seat at Mal’s right.
“Show her,” Mal ordered Abraxas.
Abraxas’ throat bobbed. He hesitantly opened his mouth. Maeve prepared herself to see the result of Mal’s mutilation. To her surprise, Abraxas’ tongue was now bright silver. Mal’s Magic, no, Shadow’s Magic radiated from his mouth.
“Lovely adjustments to my most trusted,” said Mal. “Maeve can no longer disobey me, and Abraxas can no longer speak against me.”
Abraxas met Maeve’s eyes across the table. Neither of them spoke.
“A matter of the utmost importance is at hand today,” said Mal. “It seems with a recent break in Magic thanks to my cunning and selfish Dread Viper, that the whiff of a rebellion on Heims has taken root.”
Mal’s eyes moved to Abraxas. He spoke at once. His voice caused Maeve’s chest to tighten. Her cousin, previously so full of life and mischief, now spoke with reserved fear.
“Mordred made us aware of the situation early this morning,” he said. “He’s been overseeing Hiems under Mal’s rule for months, squashing small rebellions and maintaining order. But this. . .incident was different.”
“What happened?” asked Roswyn. There was no fear in his voice. He had not betrayed their king. He had nothing to fear.
“Some of Mordred’s wolves joined with a pack of wild wolves,” answered Abraxas.
“This particular group had been giving Mordred and his Guard some trouble. They killed at least a dozen Bellator, and Astrea is seeing to a handful more who are in critical condition. Somehow, they have an Alpha with quite explosive Magic. Roswyn, you’ll head to Heims and aid Mordred. Take as many Bellator as you see fit.”
Roswyn nodded and shared a sickening grin with Mumford.
Maeve dared a glance at him fully, wondering if he thought of Antony, too. And if he was commanded to kill those wolves, who were likely only protecting themselves from the tyranny reigning down upon them all, would he feel Antony’s disapproving stare as he did it?
Magic drifted under her chin, bringing her attention back to Mal. His eyes were already on her.
“I’m sure you’re wondering what good you are to me now that you sacrificed the only useful parts of yourself,” he said.
“Yeah,” drawled Maeve, “that’s exactly what I was thinking.”
Abraxas’ eyes flashed to her. A beg. A warning. She ignored it. Mal’s cool demeanor didn’t change, despite her lack of manners.
His head cocked to the side. “I thought you wanted to go to Heims? Remember? I said I’d take you when you were lying naked in my bed?”
Reason drained from her as that warm kindling in her stomach grew. The thread of Magic bonding her to another pulled tight. She yanked on it, setting her chest ablaze.
“Is that meant to be a blow?” she asked. “If I recall, you found release twice.”
Warmth spread through the base of her stomach, settling like ash.
Careful, kitten. Don’t piss him off so badly there’s nothing left of you for me to scrape up off the floor.
It took everything in her not to react as Reeve’s voice echoed across her mind. She swallowed slowly, watching Mal with careful interest. He showed no indication he knew Reeve had just spoken to her.
Mal stared at her, unaffected by her bold comments.
Dead eyes. Dead fucking eyes.
“Maeve,” said Abraxas, pulling her from her thoughts and directing her attention to him. He hesitated, chewing on his words, his lips twitching as he avoided eye contact with her. “This evening, the High Lord of Aterna will join us here.”
Mal clicked his tongue. Abraxas tensed. “Apologies, my King,” he said. “Reeve will join us here.”
Mal’s chin landed on his fist, propped on the arm of his chair. “There’s not much point in calling him The High Lord anymore, is there?”
“No, my King,” answered Abraxas swiftly.
“Especially not now that I understand it was he who granted the Elven Lands power.” Mal’s eyes landed on Maeve. “Some things are worth overlooking, though, when I stand to gain so much more.”
Maeve shook her head at her cousin in disbelief. “Why would he come here?”
Mal’s words carried through her. She looked over at him sharply. There was no way. Her mouth fell slightly open. “To bend the knee?”
Mal smiled, his brows pulling together as if it was obvious. And when he spoke, her stomach plummeted to the floor. “To take you.”
Her voice shook as she said, “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t you remember?” said Mal, his fingers running along the table between them. “His armies for a bride.”
Maeve grabbed that ridiculous thread of Magic deep in her stomach and yanked on it.
What are you doing? she hissed towards Reeve.
His reply was delayed. Just breathe.
This is exactly why she couldn’t stand this arrogant man. She was always in the dark. Always ten steps behind him.
Mal continued, a smooth satisfaction in his voice. “It seems after all this time, he still desires his mate above all. You should celebrate, today you are worth an entire army of trained and broken soldiers.”
Maeve swallowed, a sickening feeling replacing that warmth in her stomach.
“Oh, Maeve,” said Mal, feigning pity as she exhaled sharply. “Did you think you’d stay at my side when you can no longer fight? Your new duty as my right hand will be in Aterna, finding out who Reeve’s Inheritor is.”
She leaned towards him. “How could that possibly matter anymore? You have everything. She has everything.”
Mal leaned towards her, accepting her challenge.
“If you think I have everything, you couldn’t be more ignorant.
I have only just begun.” Mal gave one final thought, his voice laced with the unspoken threat that she wouldn’t continue to question him.
“It’s imperative Reeve’s power remains with him.
You will ensure that. Of course, you could stay here.
All it would take is the surrendering of your spell. ”
Maeve leaned back, shaking her head.
“That’s fine,” said Mal. “We have forever together, you and I. Pour toujours, a tout jamais, right?”
Forever. And always.
To hear those words twisted on her was hearing a death sentence.