Chapter 39
Her morning was quiet. Reeve was not present in the dining hall, but there was a note by her breakfast spread that expressed she needed to be ready by noon for their journey.
Upon reading his words and remembering his promise to take her with him, she realized the entire affair had certainly not been a dream or a hallucination.
She nursed the raging hangover that ached through her body, unaccustomed to such a feeling as her mind slipped into what might have been if he hadn’t said no.
Immortals were different in every way. Their bodies were taller, their shoulders broader. They were physically stronger. Larger. If he could control his dragon shift—
She suddenly remembered all those books Lavinia had given her at Vaukore.
She scolded herself under her breath for thinking such unimportant thoughts.
But. . .
He had not rejected her, not totally.
“Are you hungover?” Zimsy’s musical voice drew her away from her thoughts of Reeve. Thoughts that, if he could see, would have his head exploding with ego.
“Yes,” said Maeve, not bothering to hide from Zimsy, not that she could.
Zimsy’s eyes grew large.
“Zim, I’ve already been lectured. I don’t need another one,” said Maeve.
“I don’t lecture you,” she replied, stacking pancakes on her plate.
Maeve looked around, her brows pulling together. “Um. What?”
“There’s a difference between telling you what I think you should do and lecturing you.”
“No, there is not. The literal definition of lecture—”
“You really should eat your breakfast,” said Zimsy casually, slicing her pancakes into triangles. “You need to regain your strength. The food here is so terrible, I don’t know how you didn’t starve.”
While the food in Aterna wasn’t as abysmal as Zimsy claimed, she was right about one thing: nothing compared to Zimsy’s cooking. And so Maeve didn’t argue. She ate her breakfast and met Reeve at the edge of the Black Deep, just outside the palace.
“You don’t look nearly as bad as I was expecting.”
Maeve frowned at Reeve. It didn’t affect him. His hair was pulled back messily as he strode towards her. The under shave she, only hours ago, had visualized running her fingers across—
“Did you sleep well?” he asked wickedly.
She regretted ever taking a single sip of that vile drink she’d lifted from his stash.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“The Dark Planet.”
“That’s where you first transformed? Why?”
Reeve lifted his hand, palm flat, and created a swirling Portal. “Patience,” he said.
“Where’s your sword?” she noted, slightly nervous at its absence on his hip.
“I won’t need it today,” he answered. “Well, I suppose I don’t need it on any day, but I find it helps me control my Magic.”
Maeve played absently with the band of the Dread Ring on her finger.
“Come,” said Reeve, nodding towards the Portal. “We shouldn’t keep them waiting.” He stepped away from her, preparing to enter the Portal.
Maeve’s brows pulled together. “Them?”
Reeve stopped and turned back towards her. He bent over, bringing his face to hers. “So distrusting today,” he said, but there was no bite in his tone. “And here I thought we’d gotten past that. What with you practically dragging me into your bed last night and all.”
Maeve’s fingers shot out, lightning dancing across the tips. Reeve looked down at where the silent threat lingered, an arrogant grin on his face.
“I was drunk,” she countered.
Reeve half rolled his eyes at her deflection and stood to his full height. He turned back towards the Portal and beckoned her over his shoulder. She trailed him through the swirling mass of color, where a faint blur of brown mixed in the center.
The atmosphere changed at once as she moved into a different realm.
Though, courtesy of the bubble of soft warmth Reeve provided at all times, she didn’t feel it.
The Dark Planet was barren. It was a planet of rock and solid matter, long abandoned.
But her mind shifted back to Reeve’s words. Who would possibly be in this place?
Its desolate nature was why Zimsy was dumped there to die. The thought forced her to focus on her breathing.
The grey sky hung low, dipping into the thick fog all around them.
As the Portal closed behind her, Reeve spoke.
“I feel I should prepare you for what you are about to see.” Reeve’s eyes lifted to the sky, watching carefully, waiting for something. “Despite how much I enjoy hearing the affection in your voice when you refer to me as ‘the last Dragon’, I am not.”
Lightning cracked across the grey sky in the distance, followed by a low rumble. Her eyes were drawn to it at once as she took a step closer to Reeve. The sky darkened further, and more bolts of bright golden lightning soared across the mountainscape.
“You’re kidding,” she breathed in awe.
A thundering clap, like a boulder cutting loose from the side of a cliff, slammed behind her. She whipped around as another shadow formed along the slope of the closest peak. She hadn’t realized her fingers were wrapped around Reeve’s forearm until he spoke.
“They won’t hurt you, Maeve.”
“Oh, I know,” she said, a smile of anticipation at her lips. She hadn’t grabbed him in fear. She had grabbed him in an expression of her awe. “I have lightning too.”
Reeve chuckled and said lowly, “There’s my girl.”
The rumbling and light display grew closer and closer until the Earth beneath them rocked. Reeve’s barrier, like an invisible shield around them at all times, kept them unimpacted. As rock and debris flew by them, not even a single hair on Maeve’s head was blown out of place.
Steady, unhurried steps of a monster crept closer to them, casting them in complete darkness. Through the fog, a glimpse of shining and leathery gold became visible. The dense mist around them parted beneath a growling exhale.
“Reeve.”
The voice was deep and booming with a menacing quality that made her question why Reeve didn’t turn and run immediately.
A few more earth-quaking steps and most of the creature’s form was visible.
Glittering, golden scales covered its massive form.
It was larger than Reeve’s dragon form, much larger. Its scales gleamed like polished metal.
The dragon held an air of grace as it twisted its humongous frame down towards the earth to level its slit-like eye with them.
“Demevirld,” said Reeve.
More boulders slammed together all around them, circling them in.
Demevirld exhaled, shooting out more steam as his attention fixed on Maeve.
“A Sinclair,” he said, his voice vibrating through her bones.
She loosed a breath of disbelief. A dragon stood before her. Ten dragons surrounded her. An impossible fact, yet her eyes, and the blood coursing through her, said otherwise.
“How do you know my name?” she asked politely.
“Your scent,” he answered. “I have smelled it before.” Demevirld inhaled loudly, a hum of approval vibrating in his giant neck. “You share blood with Alian Sinclair.”
“You knew my Uncle?”
“Alian Sinclair was the last Magical to ever lay eyes on the Dragon. Before you.”
Maeve stammered. “He. . .” Then she understood. “He said he killed the last of you. . . he lied to protect you.”
Demevirld’s head lowered. “The Sinclair boy brought to Earth the skull and skin of Varra, who died of old age when he was here.”
“But why did he come here, if not to hunt you?”
“The Sinclair boy came here seeking knowledge. Knowledge of beastly afflictions.” His eyes traveled to Reeve. “Like the one on your brother, Antony Sinclair. Like the one on the Aterna at your side.”
A curse. Her father had told her, even back then: Reeve had been cursed. The Vexkari markings that traveled down his face made sense. He had been scarred by a curse.
“My Dragon form is not Aterna Magic, as I’m sure you’re understanding. Nor is it part of the Magic I inherited from my father.”
“No,” said Demevirld. “I placed a curse on you, boy. And I placed it well, it seems. How many moons did it take you to control your rage?”
Reeve smiled. “Many.” Reeve turned to Maeve.
Demevirld’s snout raised. He sniffed deeply.
“That is why you cannot transform freely,” said Maeve. “It was not a gift of power. It was a curse.”
Reeve nodded. “If I wanted to be human again, I had to learn to control my temper. My rage. After the Shadow War, after my father lost his mind, and Leandra died, I was so angry. More fury than one should know. I am ashamed of the beast I became. I just happened to come across Demevirld here on The Dark Planet, trying to escape the things that awaited me in Aterna. When I sought to take my fury out on him, he showed me just how pathetic I was.”
“The lesson was necessary,” said Demevirld. “Rage was consuming you.”
Maeve looked up at Reeve. He looked upon the ancient and deadly creature with respect and admiration. Demevirld snarled and spoke directly to Maeve, pulling her attention back up at his magnificent size.
“You are of Shadow Magic,” said Demevirld, and Maeve’s stomach tightened in fear. “I thought my grandfather eradicated such a thing.” The slits of his eyes narrowed and moved to Reeve. “You failed as well.”
“I did,” said Reeve. “Shadow lives.”
“No,” grumbled Demevirld. “You let the Sinclair with Shadow Magic live.”
Reeve hesitated. “I did.”
“I advised you not to.”
Reeve inhaled, long and slow, and then exhaled. “You did.” He looked down at Maeve. “But look at her, Demevirld. Have you ever felt such Magic?”
A low growl built in Demevirld’s throat, like fire swelling up. “It is a great source, a vessel like human bodies have not seen, I would imagine. I sense no Dread Magic beyond what sits on its finger.”
“She withdrew it all,” said Reeve, his voice laced with pride.
Demevirld’s pupils dilated. “Have you brought it here to defend your choices, Reeve?”
“No,” answered Reeve with a laugh. “She got drunk and invited herself.”
Maeve’s mouth fell open. Reeve continued.
“I am here to ask you to help defend Aterna from Shadow and her Dreaded Dead army. If Aterna falls, Earth is next.”
Demevirld snarled, the sound similar to a laugh.
“Earth.” He fell quiet for a moment, then the sound that erupted from him brought Maeve’s hands straight over her ears.
The shrill spikes, mixed with pulsing guttural booms of sound, danced across the mountains.
When he quieted, a reply came from a nearby concealed shadowed creature.
Then another. Demevirld continued to communicate with the other Dragon in their natural tongue.
At last, he exhaled, the wake of it steamy and hot.
“We will consider your words.”