Chapter 40
“Why are you training with a blade?” asked Zimsy curiously as they walked to the Senshi Armory and arena.
“Because wielding one will grant me access to Aterna Magic.”
Zimsy hummed.
“And since when do you watch me train?” asked Maeve with a knowing look.
Zimsy didn’t look over at her. “We’ve been apart for some time,” she said. “I thought you’d enjoy my company.”
Maeve shook her head, fully aware it was not her company Zimsy sought. Eryx stood in clothes that were casual for an Immortal, similar to what Reeve wore on most days at the palace. It was rare she saw either of them in Aterna formal or in their armor.
It was clear Eryx’s greeting was all for Zimsy. “Good morning,” he said.
When Reeve told Maeve Eryx had offered to train her on a blade, Maeve had merely smiled.
“Making nice, then, I see,” she had said.
Reeve had popped a single finger on her nose and said, “You be nice.”
Until then, Maeve had been practicing siphoning the Magic in various swords and daggers, letting it flow through her and back out at her target. A target who, until then, had been a training simulation in the form of Reeve’s Magic.
Eryx wrapped his hands in a long piece of linen as Maeve picked a small blade off the wall.
“Bigger,” said Eryx. “I can’t fight with something that small without shattering it.”
Maeve’s hand remained on the hilt of the sword she wanted. “Then control yourself and pull back. I don’t do well with a larger blade. It throws off my balance.”
Eryx didn’t argue further. He picked a blade still more substantial than Maeve’s, and they entered the Arena. Zimsy took a seat silently.
“Let’s start slow,” said Eryx. “I want to see how you move on your feet.”
Maeve nodded as they took their positions opposite one another. Eryx gave her a quick nod and advanced. Maeve sidestepped him with ease, their blades not even making contact. She countered, raising her sword as he dodged her in return. Their pace quickened into a steady sound of metal on metal.
One particular shift, and Maeve’s blade tapped against Eryx’s shoulder.
She smiled.“What’s got you so distracted?”
Eryx scowled, but Zimsy rocked forward in her seat and her lips curled into one another.
“How are you so arrogant?” he said, circling her. “Yet again.”
Maeve shrugged. “In my blood, I guess,” she said coolly.
“Were you trained in the sword before?”
Maeve made a sound like that was partly true, then said, “I was quite good at fencing at Vaukore.”
Eryx laughed. “And I took ballet in the Elven Lands.”
Maeve’s head cocked to one side as she surveyed him. “I bet you did.”
Eryx’s expression didn’t change. “We’ll see who is laughing soon enough.”
Eryx advanced on her, done warming up. His moves were smooth and fluid, with the weaponry experience she lacked. The dance was similar to that of a duel with Magic, when she’d use only her hands, but the added weight and extension of her blade was still a challenge.
Just when she thought she’d settled into his rhythm, Eryx changed it. Again and again, ensuring she never had the upper hand. But adapting was a lesson in itself, she supposed. He changed quicker, knocking her off balance with a quick jab of his elbow. She tumbled to the stone, recovering quickly.
Maeve rolled as his blade slammed into the ground just where she had lain, flashing a spiraling color of violet light across the point of impact.
She groaned, frustrated that he could Obscure and she could not.
She scrambled to her feet and tossed the blade into her left hand, pointing two fingers at her side.
No lightning, Maeve.
Her mouth fell open as Reeve’s voice shot across her mind. He was close. Not there watching, but she could feel he was close.
You’re there to adapt to Aterna Magic, he continued. Not to win.
Maeve’s fingers curled into a fist. But then that means he wins.
You could both win if you’d set aside your pride and take the lesson.
A small bit of warmth flickered through her, as if licking a wound.
Go away, she said, but there was no bite to it. You’re distracting me.
Eryx laughed, charging towards her. “Trying to cheat?”
His exhilarated laughter continued, drawn from his love of a fight. Maeve’s mind shifted to another sound.
Shadow and her wretched laugh. The way her fingers danced across Mal’s chest without his consent. Without him being able to say no. Her fingers through his hair and her mouth moving in tandem with his—
A blow landed across her face, sending her sideways. The blade slipped from her hands as they instinctively moved to brace her falling body. But the landing never came. The smooth, crystal floor of the arena plummeted, sucking down into a thin line, and her line of sight shifted.
Vaukore.
The school was unmistakable.
Two students stood before her, their clothes ancient, a style she had never seen. On their breast pocket was a silver pin in the shape of two expanding, feathered wings. The boy was unfamiliar to her, but a nasty bruise was mid-healing across his face.
The girl was terrifyingly familiar.
Her long white hair cascaded down her back. Her pale skin was youthful, with a glow of adolescence. Her white lashes were long as she looked up at the boy before her. She was radiant.
“Stop it,” she said as the boy stepped towards her, but there was longing on her face, not fear.
Maeve knew exactly where they were. The second floor, just outside a practice hall that was usually dominated by Combative Magic students.
“They’ll take us away, Nevian,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “We cannot touch.”
“I don’t care anymore, Judyth.”
“I do,” she hummed. “I can’t carry your demise on my conscious.”
“What does it matter? Haven’t you heard?”
Shadow, then still just a girl named Judyth, shook her head.
Nevian laughed, a hollow and broken sound. He flicked the pin of feathered wings on her chest, “All the Shadows are being enlisted at dawn. Order of the Dread. We’re done here.”
Judyth’s eyes liquified, glassing over. “No. No. They promised students would be safe from the war.”
Nevian’s hands moved towards her face, tentatively cupping her cheeks. “Please, Judyth,” he begged. “We don’t have much time left together.”
“No,” she argued once more, but didn’t pull away from him. “They said we were accepted here to learn, to assimilate with a new society, a new world—”
Nevian hushed her gently. “We were allowed here to be trained,” he said. “In chains. Like always. Coming here to perfect our Shadow Magic wasn’t an act of graciousness by the Dread King. It was a lie.”
The ground of the arena in Aterna made contact with Maeve’s side, where bruises would surely form along her leg.
Eryx stood above her with a blade pointed at her forehead.
“Dead,” he said plainly, but Maeve hardly heard him.
She pushed up, sitting on the smooth floor, her mind racing. She’d been in Shadow’s mind, observing a memory from long ago. From a time when Shadow studied at Vaukore.
“I need to go,” she said at once, pushing up and sprinting across the arena and into the palace.
Finding Reeve was easy. He appeared before her in just one corner turn, his face a calm look of worry.
“What’s got your heart so quick?”
“I know how I can perfect my Shadow Magic.”
Reeve remained silent and waited for her to continue.
“If I can jump to her mind and view her time at Vaukore in her memories, then I can learn Shadow Magic from her classes and studies there.”
Reeve fell silent. A long silence.
Maeve held her too-hot-to-drink-yet tea in one hand as Reeve came up with all the reasons why her plan was terrible.
“You entering her mind gives her direct access to target yours. Something she is not able to do right now.”
Maeve didn’t reply.
“If she finds out, she may attack us before we can attack her.”
She blew on her tea.
“You don’t even know that all the memories are there. What if they are unstable and you get trapped in her mind somehow?”
“I won’t,” she said.
“How do you know that?”
Maeve sighed gently. “Tell me another way to get this done?”
Reeve’s mouth fell open, and he shook his head.
“There is no other way,” she argued. “This is the way.”
“No, it’s not,” said Reeve, disbelief in his voice. “You don’t need to perfect it. You can perform it just fine right now.”
Maeve frowned at him. “If I am to get inside her head, it will take more than some good-luck jumping.”
“Then we scratch that plan—”
“No,” she snapped, firmly this time.
His eyes bore into hers, a final silent plea to reconsider.
“I’m doing this,” she concluded.
Arguing that Reeve not be there, watching her like a hawk, when she jumped into Shadow’s mind and traversed her memories was futile, and so Maeve didn’t protest.
Piecing together the world around Judyth and Nevian in her memories proved more difficult than observing her lessons at Vaukore. Though the familiar and nostalgic setting distracted Maeve often.
When she pulled herself from Shadow’s memories, she grabbed her ink and quill at once, expelling her thoughts from the lesson.
“Any indication she can feel you in there?” asked Reeve.
“I don’t think so,” said Maeve. “I don't think even she recalls these memories because of how far back I am.”
“It terrifies me when you go in there,” admitted Reeve.
She looked up at him. “Because you think I’m going to become like her?” said Maeve, a little too much heat in her tone.
Reeve held her gaze. “I am not afraid of the darkness inside of you anymore, Maeve. I have seen you withstand its corruption.”
Maeve looked back down at her notes, scribbling away as a burning confession slipped from her lips.
“That’s why you left the first time, isn’t it?” she asked softly. “Not because of my father. Because you were scared to care for someone like me.”
Reeve moved, and the quill vanished from her hand, replaced by his own hand. He waited until she looked up at him to speak.
“Yes,” he answered honestly.
“But you aren’t anymore?” she challenged calmly, aware of the weight of her words.
He shook his head slowly, his voice as sure as a promise. “Not anymore.”
She believed him. Her fingers moved beneath his, gliding across his palm. Reeve’s chest swelled, and his grip tightened fractionally.
“So I can practice on you?” she said, deflecting from the very conversation she started, testing his conviction.
His response surprised her, and judging by the smirk on his face, he knew it would. His fingers brushed over her knuckles, and he withdrew his hand, placing the quill back in her grip. “Anytime.”
It was clear Reeve wasn’t expecting a confession from her and was content to continue their cat-and-mouse game. For that, she was grateful. Coming to terms with her desire for his protection and affection was entirely possible.
She just had to save Mal first.
She had to save Mal.