Chapter 44
Maeve was speaking, throwing out sentences before she even registered where she was or who she was addressing.
“Arianna and the twins—and—”
“They are all here now.”
“Earth isn’t safe for them now,” she continued, “he’ll find her.”
“Your sister is here, Maeve. She is fine, as are your niece and nephew.”
“Antony? Is he alright?” she asked quickly.
“Yes, he is. Back on Heims.”
“My grandmother? She’s with Arianna?”
Reeve paused. “Maeve.”
She met his eyes at last. His next words were delivered with grace.
“Agatha passed on Earth.”
Another section of her insides began to chip away. Another hole that would need mending. Another goodbye forgotten. Denied. Maeve shook her head and swallowed painfully.
“Why?” she asked.
It was, of course, rhetorical, and she expected no answer from Reeve.
She wasn’t asking for the logical explanation of her ancient grandmother’s natural death.
She was asking why she had to suffer the loss of the closest thing to a mother in a time like this.
She was asking why fate saw fit to deny her a chance to have one last tea.
Frustrated, she pushed up, sliding her back up the pillows, and warning signals fired off all across her body, each one narrowing down to a singular spot on her leg.
Reeve’s hands were on her instantly, wrapping her torso in careful strength.
She let her body loosen as he aided her in sitting up against the headboard.
His hands retreated, and he settled himself next to her.
They were alone in her chamber.
She pulled the thick velvet blankets to the side, exposing her bare leg.
She pulled back the hem of the cream nightgown that brushed her thighs, exposing the bright red and black skin that peeked out from beneath thick stitchings, stitchings that almost glowed.
The wound was swollen and raw, black at the center, with a red starburst shape surrounding it.
Maeve reeled, a wave of nausea crashed over her as shock splintered through her system.
Reeve reached for the decanter on the nightstand and began to pour her a glass of water. “Zimsy dressed you.”
She didn’t even care about that. She didn’t care if all the healers saw her naked, and Reeve himself stared unashamed. She just wanted the pain gone. The Dread Dagger sat on her nightstand, gleaming and innocent with a clean tip. As though it wasn’t the source of her agony.
“Your healers can’t even numb the pain?” she asked weakly.
“They say nothing can subdue the effects of the dagger. It is darkness that is intended to hurt.”
Maeve rested her head back. “That was far from the triumphant encounter I envisioned.”
“It was your first.”
Maeve raised her brows.
Reeve handed her the goblet of water. “You should never expect a victory during a first battle.”
“This was not my first battle,” said Maeve icily.
Reeve ignored her tone and remained casual. “Like this it was.”
Maeve could feel her every heartbeat resonating from her thigh. Reeve watched her carefully.
“Drink, please,” he said.
Maeve’s eyes moved slowly back to him, and she sipped on the water.
“I never imagined I’d be on the receiving end of such a weapon.
” She looked back down at her leg and sighed.
“Yet another scar for me to bear. By the time this is over, my body will be nothing but flecks and lines of white flesh and black veins.”
Reeve’s eyes traveled down her neck and chest, where those darkened veins ran wild. “I don’t see anything other than a warrior,” he said softly. “One that has fought for her life, and for those she loves.”
He took her hand in his, examining the bright-white scars across her palm from slitting it open again and again.
“A warrior does what they must in a moment’s notice.” He lowered his lips against the palm of her hand. “You have never been afraid to fight. That is what I see in your scars.”
Maeve’s eyes traveled to the thick white line across his own neck. The one she knew to be from an unsuccessful, but should have been fatal, blow from Shadow. She sipped the water once more.
“I saw something in Shadow’s mind when I was with Mal,” she began.
“Oh,” said Reeve, “you mean when you weren’t answering me?”
Maeve sighed, a sigh that took too much energy, and said, “I’m in pain, I don’t want to be lectured like a child.”
Reeve shook his head, no trace of his playful or flirtatious demeanor. “When I ask if you are alright, I expect an answer.”
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Reeve’s hand lifted, his fingers brushing up her arm in a caressing motion. “Tell me what you saw.”
“I saw her at Vaukore, like the other memories, but this was. . . different. There was an army of Magicals, Dread Magicals, that were there to kill all the students who possessed Shadow Magic. All except her. The soldier holding her captive said the king wanted her alive.”
They sat in silence, mulling over Maeve’s words. She looked away from him and put her attention back on her leg. She spoke first. “She had to watch the boy she loved die by order of the Dread King.”
“Careful,” said Reeve, “there’s sympathy slipping into your tone.”
“Not sympathy, Reeve,” she argued. “Understanding. From what I’ve gathered, she went to Vaukore at a time when Shadow Magic wasn’t permitted to be used freely.
She and Nevian and the others were there with special permission to learn Shadow Magic.
But, even in her memories of Vaukore, they weren’t wholly welcomed.
They ate in a different hall. They didn’t sleep in the dorms like I did.
I don’t think they were there to study Magic.
I think they were there to be studied.” Maeve shifted her leg, groaning.
“I’ve been so preoccupied shifting through her memories in classes and lessons, I never thought it would be helpful to.
. . look at her life.” She paused, her mind on the day she’d released Shadow onto Mal.
“Why was it my blood that released her?”
“She was sealed with blood Magic of my own. Foolish Magic. The spell I placed sealed her away unless an offering of Shadow blood was made. I believed her to be the last of Shadow Magic, just as we all believed. Until I came face to face with it once more.”
“When did you learn that I was of Shadow Magic?”
A sorrowful look overcame him. “When I met your mother,” he said softly. “When she was carrying you.”
Maeve stared down at the space between them.
“I prayed you’d never come to be,” he continued. “And yet here you are,” he smiled. “Defying my will with your mere existence wasn’t enough, it seems. You had to become bonded to me and restart the very war I ended once already.”
Maeve met his eyes. “Well, you did a terrible job ending it.”
Reeve laughed lightly. “That I did.” Then he asked, “Did you get into Malachite’s mind?”
Maeve nodded gently. “A fortress. One it's unlikely I can break.”
A long breath rose through Reeve.
“That doesn’t mean I’ve given up,” she continued.
A soft smile pulled at the corner of Reeve’s lips. “You never do.”
She found it impossible not to find comfort in his praise. Her mind traveled back over the battle.
“How is it the Senshi are still yours? You traded them.”
“No,” said Reeve. “I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did,” she pressed. “I felt the transfer of Magic. I felt the Enslavement Curse move into your Magic’s hold. I felt the Senshi Warriors move into his.”
“What you felt,” said Reeve gently, “was the same Magic that they have been under for over three hundred years. Which is my Magic, in their blades, their arrows. But their allegiance to me was never bound in Magic. It will never be bound in Magic. Not as it was before.”
“Before?”
Reeve hesitated. “Before,” he repeated, his words careful, like he was testing them, “the Senshi were under a sort of Enslavement Curse to my father, to Aterna’s ruler before him, and the rest.”
“Why did the Inheritor process begin?”
“I don’t have a perfect answer,” said Reeve, “just that thousands of years ago, the people of Aterna placed all their Magic in one ruler, chosen by the gods to protect Aterna Magic. And each Inheritor that is picked is chosen by them as well. A god’s power, handed down by the mercy of even greater gods. ”
“And who is yours? When will they come and take you from me?” she asked, suddenly feeling groggy.
Reeve smiled, but Maeve’s heart ached when it didn’t meet his eyes. “No one’s going to take me from you.”
“So you’ll leave me willingly? Because some other god decided your time was up?” she asked, her eyes heavy.
Reeve’s hand cupped her face, his fingers sliding across the nape of her neck and through her hair. “Never willingly. Not again.” His forehead pressed against hers. He sighed. “You need to rest and heal. Now is not the time for this conversation.”
Maeve didn’t argue, not because she didn’t want to, but because her mouth wouldn’t listen to her mind. Her body wouldn’t obey her command to speak. Reeve shifted beside her, placing her head against him. As he pressed a kiss to her hair, sleep found her.