Chapter 43
Maeve’s hand moved across her throat. “Reeve,” she started, wanting nothing more than to run from the reality she’d seen, to feel the warmth of his body on hers again.
It was soothing. It was solid.
It was safe.
Nothing like what was coming for them.
He hushed her soothingly. “What did you see?” he asked, his voice calm.
Maeve sat up slowly and steadied her breathing. “The southern cities.”
“Are you certain?” his voice was low.
She nodded in earnest. “We have to go now.”
Reeve nodded and extended his hand to her.
Maeve looked at it, the hand that moments ago was sending her further into the blissful ignorance she longed for. She knew if she took his hand, she’d be facing Shadow and more of her destruction.
But she took it, grasping hard, because the fight was hers.
In a fraction of a second, they were back at the Celestian Palace. Reeve placed his hands on her shoulders.
“Do you want to fight?”
“Of course I want to fight,” she said, nearly insulted.
Reeve hesitated. “Do you feel ready to fight?” he asked, rephrasing his question.
“Readiness doesn’t matter,” she argued. “I will not stay here while you take all the glory.”
His face relaxed, pride shifting into his previously worried eyes, and he looked like he wanted to kiss her again right there.
“Go to the armory, the Starsmith will meet you there,” he said, dropping his hands, “then come and find me.”
Maeve looked up at him, his face a perfect expression of preparedness. Like he was ready for the challenge, ready to finally let go.
Ready for war.
“What is it?” asked Maeve, looking down at the box.
“A gift from the High Lord,” said the Starsmith.
Her name was Kaeren.
Maeve looked at her carefully for a moment before she removed the satin-wrapped lid. Pale-blue tissue covered what was beneath. Maeve delicately pulled back the wrappings. Her heart swelled.
A shining silver sword lay on bright sapphire velvet fabric. Its golden hilt was ornately carved with vines that resembled serpents. She ran her hands across the intricate carvings.
Her fingers moved up the blade. Something snapped inside her. Something that had been resting until that moment, something so instinctive she hadn’t understood its absence until it crept up her spine.
Carved into the spine of the sword were words that caused her throat to tighten.
Usque ad Mortem, Sinclair.
She traced her fingers over the carvings, pride swelling deep in her stomach.
“How much did he place inside?” she asked quietly.
“More than any other weapon I have had the honor to forge, My lady,” said Kaeren.
“My lady,” repeated Maeve with a soft smile, unable to peel her eyes away from the blade thrumming with Reeve’s power. “I am not your lady.” She looked up at Kaeren, no bite or judgment in her tone. “How soon can a horse be ready?”
“There is one ready for you,” said Kaeren.
Maeve nodded. She gripped the hilt of the sword and pulled it from its box. It was lighter than she was expecting.
“Elven steel,” she smiled. “Light as a feather and sharp as glass. Not much of it left in the world.”
“How did you make this one?” she asked as she played with the blade, testing its movements.
Kaeren hesitated. “Forged from another sword.”
Maeve stopped and looked at her. “Whose sword?”
Karen relented reluctantly. “The High Lord’s.”
“From Shadow-Slayer?” she asked in disbelief.
She nodded. “That is not all.” She moved aside and gestured to a fully displayed set of armor.
A sound of shock left Maeve’s lips. It was beautiful, designed and made for a woman who valued her femininity in both its softness and its rage.
The designs etched into the armor matched her new weapon. She smiled.
“The armor is similar to a Senshi’s, similar to the High Lord’s, plated in thin, flexible, crystalized Aterna Magic. Nearly indestructible.”
“Nearly?” quipped Maeve.
“There are some exceptions,” answered Kaeren, her voice hurried. “You just need to lay your hand on the jewel at the breast,” she said, pointing to the centermost crystal of the armor.
Maeve reached out, her fingers barely bristling the smooth stone, and in a swirl of Magic, warm and inviting, she was transformed. The armor clung to her, perfectly fitted and lighter than a thin linen.
She made for the door of the armory and quickly addressed Kaeren. “You made all this? All the Arerna weapons and battle armor?”
Kaeren nodded proudly.
“Thank you,” said Maeve.
Kaeren nodded again, following her into the open courtyard where Maeve’s father’s horse, Spitfire, was saddled and ready for her.
“May they keep you safe,” said Kaeren, but Maeve barely heard her as gratitude swelled in her chest at the sight of Spitfire.
Maeve threw her leg over the dappled horse and muttered a greeting just for him. His mane was braided and woven with pale-blue ribbon. She rolled her eyes with a smile. Where did Reeve find the time to devote such attention to her?
Maeve took the reins. “Why are you called a Starsmith?”
Kaeren answered at once. “Because Aterna Magic was harvested from a star.”
Maeve smiled softly. Of course it was. She straightened on Spitfire, withdrawing her hand from petting his neck.
Reeve, she called to him.
Magic swelled around her, tightening at her stomach.
Warmth spread into her bones. He was smiling, feeding off the electric energy her gifts of power gave her. She spoke to him again.
Bring me to you.
A Portal barreled open before her. Swirling violet fire and black stars grew and grew. She gently squeezed her legs together, and Spitfire stepped forward into the light.
Reeve and Eryx waited just on the other side, sitting atop their own horses. The late, cloudy sky provided little light across the snow-dusted valley below them. Small flecks of snow continued to fall from the sky.
Reeve looked her over, leaning forward casually on his saddle, triumph in his eyes. “Fits just like I hoped it would,” he said.
“Your sword looks smaller, High Lord,” said Maeve. “Peculiar.”
Reeve shrugged. “It was over the top. Plus, I can’t wait to tell Shadow I melted her blade and gave part of it to you.”
Maeve looked over at him without a smile and spoke sincerely. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”
His smirk faded, and he looked out over the calm valley. It wasn’t the battle she was expecting to step into.
“Where are they?” asked Maeve.
“The Portal the Dreaded Dead are moving through is farther south. This is the southernmost village, and my lines of Magic are a ways from here for that purpose.”
Maeve remembered breaking his old barrier, one that had existed for hundreds of years, and what that had done to her.
“What good are the barriers if they can just break them?” asked Maeve.
Reeve’s head tilted to the side. His hand reached out and pinched her cheek.
“Think of it as more of a light veil I lowered so a certain someone could get some sleep.” He let go of her cheek.
“Raising a full barrier wouldn’t have pleased our Dread friends much, I don’t imagine.
” Reeve smiled, his eyes on the horizon as a faint green glow appeared.
“And I’ve quite enjoyed letting them think I was so easily broken. ”
Maeve followed his gaze, the Dread Ring on her finger alerting her to the incoming force. Her skin turned cold, each hair on her arms and neck rising.
All manner and matter of dark creatures in various stages of decay swarmed the valley below.
An array of muted and cool greens, grey-blue, and white was their skin, their fur, their flesh, and their bones.
They moved with haste in an unorganized manner.
Maeve wondered if Eryx had experience in that sort of attack.
So unplanned and uncivilized. A thousand mindless creatures barreling towards their men.
There was a distinct difference between these Dreaded Dead and the ones she’d faced previously. In the hand, or in some cases hands, of the creatures were savage weapons that glowed faintly green. It seemed Shadow had taken a page from Aterna’s book as their weapons pulsed with Dread Magic.
She looked at Eryx as he scowled down at the creatures of the night.
“Filth,” he spat. “Any day now, Reeve, they’re getting dangerously close to the town below.”
“Someone’s pissy today,” said Reeve playfully.
A prideful smile tugged at the corner of Eryx’s mouth.
Reeve’s arm swung wide, like he was welcoming the Dreaded Dead. A portal burst across the valley below them, like nothing she’d ever seen. It must have been a mile long. She watched the empty, swirling lights of the Portal, and then she smiled.
Antony stepped through the Portal, four massive black as night paws stalking across the patchy snow-covered ground. More wolves joined him, of all sizes and coloring, along the wide Portal, fanning out across the valley.
It was a beautiful sight, but Maeve’s smile quickly faded. Despite the lethal ferocity of the wolves, they lacked a certain skill set required to kill a Dreaded Dead.
“How are they any match for the undead?” asked Maeve. “They must be burned or they’ll regenerate.”
Reeve’s sharp smile was feral. “You can leave the burning to me. The shredding I’ll leave to them.”
Below them, Antony was already charging towards the line of Dreaded Dead, and the dozens of wolves behind him, still stepping through the Portal, also began to pick up speed. Eryx was already gone, barreling down the cliffside to claim his own quarry.
Maeve pulled on Spitfire’s reins, readying herself to join them below, but Reeve’s voice stopped her.
“The Aterna power in your blade yields fire. Use it well. I know you thirst for bloodshed, but keep your eye on your real battle. If Malachite appears, try to expel Shadow from his mind just like you’ve been studying to do.”
Studying with no real practice. No hands-on training.
Reeve reached out and grabbed her chin, yanking her closer. His lips crashed into hers, and then vanished with a wet smacking sound.
“And hold onto that pretty new sword,” he said with a grin, letting her chin go.