Chapter 42
A square piece of parchment lay on top of Maeve’s notes and writing on Shadow Magic.
She read it with heavy breaths, exhausted from traversing Shadow’s mind of her time at Vaukore, and then practicing her technique on Reeve.
The lettering was unmistakably Abraxas’, but the words read nothing like her cousin’s hand.
“Earth,” she said with a sigh. “The leader of the Magical Militia remaining on Earth has agreed to encourage the leaders of the human world to stand down.” She shook her head. “Not that it matters. Mal could take it all without a fight.”
“From what I’ve gathered, ‘leader’ is a generous term. The Magical society and the militia on Earth are pure chaos.”
She read over the words once more and shook her head. “Why doesn’t he just use his Pathokenesis abilities and force the Magical Militia left on Earth to comply? I don’t understand,” she said bitterly and closed her eyes and sank further into her chair.
Reeve made a face between pity and agreement. “Do you remember how disruptive the bombs on Earth were to Magic?”
“Of course,” said Maeve.
Reeve nodded. “I felt them here. In this very palace. Realms away. The pathways of energy and Magic transcend space and time.”
“You think Earth’s defenses stand a chance?”
Reeve shook his head. “No,” he said. “I think their offense does.”
Maeve remembered the impact of those atomic bombs, as they were called. She’d felt their power so deep in her core, her entire nervous system wanted to lie down and die.
“You fear humans bringing their wars here,” she said, understanding.
“I do,” he admitted. “If they learned, or were given, the ability to Portal. . .I fear Aterna would be the first to be conquered in the name of salvation. Ripped of all the power these lands offer a human.”
Maeve was silent a moment. “It sounds like you may fear them more than Shadow.”
“Not more, just. . .differently.”
“Shadow wants to conquer and absorb Dread Magic,” said Maeve, her words feeling like dangerous unspoken territory.
The pill was hard to swallow. “But. . .it was always Mal’s desire to create a utopia under his Magic.
It is his drive to rule all seven realms. She has merely corrupted his means of achieving said goal. ”
Reeve didn’t answer, but she knew he agreed.
Spinel rubbed against Maeve impatiently, dissatisfied with her current position as she leaned against the altar where Maxius lay. Reeve stood in the doorway, watching her from across the hall. She didn’t look up from her book, one hand petting Spinel absently in the late hour.
“How long are you going to just stand there?” she called, eyes still down.
“I wasn’t sure you knew I was here,” he replied.
“I can feel whenever you are near.”
At last, she looked up from her book. He was dressed casually with a loose-fitting shirt that exposed a few of the black lines of Magic permanently marked across his tanned skin.
“I want to show you something,” he said.
“I’m reading,” she said.
“You’ve read that book before.”
“The second read is always more enlightening than the first.”
“Come on,” he urged. “Or you’ll miss it.”
She chewed the inside of her cheek and caved, setting her book aside. She ran her fingers down the crystal casing holding Maxius and silently bid him goodnight. Each day, she wondered when it would be safe again for him.
When she reached Reeve, he offered her his hand. She slid her fingers over his, and before she could ask where they were going, he Obscured them. The dim crystal lights of the palace twisted and collapsed as they landed in darkness. Reeve’s fingers remained holding hers.
The grass beneath their feet was dusted with a light snow, and the breeze was frigid.
Only for a moment, of course, as Reeve ensured his invisible bubble expanded to cover her.
He’d dropped them high in the Dark Peaks just above Crystalmore and the Celestian Palace.
They were a soft dot of light down below them.
When she looked at Reeve, his eyes were up.
“The clouds have been blacking out the sky for weeks, but there’s finally enough of a lull in the snowstorm.”
Maeve followed his gaze to the starry night. Vivid constellations dotted across the canopy. With a wave of his hand, the snow beneath them cleared like a fresh blanket had been dropped. Reeve tugged her down gently, as they sat shoulder to shoulder.
He leaned back and placed his arms behind his head, suddenly looking younger.
“Do you know them?” he asked, looking up at the constellations.
Maeve looked away from him and back up at the sky. “Yes,” was all she said.
They were different from Earth’s, but she had learned them all the same.
A warm hand gently found the small of her back. She didn’t look at Reeve as he gripped the fabric of her top ever so slightly and tugged her down to the ground beside him.
“What is that one?” he asked, pointing at a constellation, his voice casual.
“That one,” said Maeve, scanning the sky to get her bearings, “That one is. . .wait.”
“I thought you said you knew them,” said Reeve with a chuckle.
“Shut up,” said Maeve with a smile. “I do.”
“Well, it seems like you would know Valahidi instantly. That’s a major constellation.
Maeve turned her head towards him and raised a brow. “That is absolutely not a major constellation.”
“It looks pretty big to me,” he said, those firelight eyes swirled with mischief, and the corner of his mouth cocked up.
“If you knew it, why’d you ask?” said Maeve coolly, and she turned her gaze back towards the sky.
After a moment, Reeve asked, “Why haven’t you pressed me about my Inheritor? Do you not wonder what will come of that?”
Maeve digested his words. Her eyes remained on the stars. “Must it happen?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Reeve’s voice was cool and low. “It must.”
Maeve chewed the inside of her lip. “When?”
“I don’t know,” said Reeve. “I didn’t know when I would Inherit the power of Aterna until it was happening. Maybe, when I give up my life force, it will be the same.”
She swallowed, feeling hollowed by the thought. “I don’t want the Inheritance to happen,” she said softly, too afraid to tell him what she really didn’t want.
She blinked as a large, barely frozen snowflake slammed into her cheek. Followed quickly by more as the sky began to empty out above them. She waited for Reeve to shield them, but more snowflakes continued to assault her. Maeve wiped the melted water from her face and made to sit up.
“Absolutely not,” said Reeve as he pushed up, rolling one leg over her and placing his left arm beside her face. He positioned his chest above her, blocking her escape.
Maeve’s throat tightened as his body hovered inches from her own, suspended above her.
“It’s just a little snow,” purred Reeve. “There is no need to run.”
Maeve’s gaze moved down to his lips, and her own instincts betrayed her as she licked her bottom lip.
He hovered above her, watching every breath she took. He moved slowly, lowering his body into hers with careful control.
With one arm still at her side, his other hand glided up her arm, slowly dancing along her skin. His touch was sweetly and numbingly warm as always, washing a welcome calm over her. His touch made its way to her face, where the backs of his knuckles brushed along her cheek.
Reeve’s face was relaxed, a portrait of ruggedly handsome ease. His eyes scanned her face as his thumb moved across her cheek.
“You’re blocking the view,” she said coolly, a small smirk tugging at her lips.
Reeve didn’t smile. “My view is perfect.”
Maeve’s smile dropped, and her playfulness faded at the conviction in his voice.
Her eyes fluttered to a close as his warm lips touched down on her cheek. He moved tauntingly slow. His lips brushed down her jaw, dipping onto her neck. Maeve’s hands gripped his arm as her breathing hitched loudly.
Reeve paused, his breath hot against her neck.
But Maeve didn’t protest.
He took a deep breath and moved his lips to where her neck met her shoulder. And as his tongue licked across that soft place, she pushed her body up against his, and was unable to swallow the whimper that escaped her.
Reeve breathed deeply, the quiet rumble of a growl vibrated through her clothes and skin, and her very bones responded with shaking. She looked up at the stars as he kissed across her neck, the constellation he pointed to sparkling—
Maeve gasped and laughed as he tenderly bit a sweet spot on her neck. Reeve hummed in approval and pulled back, bringing their faces inches from one another.
Reeve slowly traced his fingers down her arm.
“How did I ever deny myself you?” His hand found her waist. “You aren’t just perfection.
You are the pursuit of it.” His fingers moved beneath her shirt.
Warm, broad fingers caressed the skin of her stomach on the other side of the light fabric.
Reeve’s eyes traced over her entire face before he spoke.
“I try to give you time and space, but all I can see is you. I envision dying for you just to prove my worth. I see the rot of my grave giving birth to hydrangeas just to make you touch them.”
“You have quite the worshipful imagination,” said Maeve breathily, as her own hands moved up to his biceps.
“You have no idea,” he groaned, as his forehead touched down on hers and their eyes closed in synch.
“If you deny me,” he hummed, “I will understand.”
Their noses brushed.
Maeve opened her eyes. “If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide,” she began, pulling a line from one of Shakespeare’s sonnets, “by self-example mayst thou be denied.”
She could feel and hear him smile at her declaration, at her acceptance.
His fingers spread across her cheeks, and his mouth pressed into her own, lips already parted, encapsulating hers.
Maeve moved in tandem with him, sliding her hands up his arms and into his hair.
Victoriously, at last, her fingers felt the smooth undercut beneath his dark hair.
His kiss deepened, swallowing her as they shared breath. Her stomach tightened with need for more. More of his taste, more of his touch—
Ice scraped down her spine and flooded her lungs. Shooting shards of frozen knives slammed into each vertebra one by one. Her vision flashed white as she saw a swarming pile of Dreaded Dead, with brute weapons in their hands—weapons glowing green.
They gathered like an army. Like a horde of soldiers preparing for battle. A Portal, unmistakably at the southern territory of Aterna, spiraled open before the mass of reincarnated and necromanced dead.
They were moving to attack—
There are more important things happening than his lips, Little Viper.
Mal’s voice shot across her mind like a backhand.