Chapter 47
Maeve waited in Reeve’s massive study, Zimsy now seated at her side, for Abraxas and Eryx to arrive, where Reeve would tell his best friends and closest allies that she was his Inheritor, and that they were moving forward with a potentially suicidal mission to retrieve Mal and evacuate the Dread Lands.
Reeve was across the room, pretending that he couldn’t feel Maeve’s Magic studying him like a book. Her mind was racing, calculating, determining. So many factors. So little time.
“He could have easily killed you that night,” said Zimsy softly. “He could have won. And then had a new Inheritor in the cycle. One he could control, possibly.”
“Yes, I had already deduced that myself,” said Maeve.
“Then why are you so angry at his honesty?”
His honesty.
Maeve’s fingers on her biceps tensed as she realized she was sitting in the armchair like a petulant child.
“I’m not angry, Zim. I’m furious.”
How could she voice that her outrage wasn’t even with Reeve’s actions, despite how hateful her words to him had been only an hour ago? Her fury, as she said, was directed at these so-called gods. It was directed at fate.
How many times would she lose those she loved? How many times would she prove her loyalty, be the strongest, rise to the occasion, and still have them be taken?
“You’re angry that he let you come to terms with your trauma on your own time, helped you train and practice your Shadow Magic, and waited until you were emotionally stable to tell you that you were his Inheritor?”
“Do I look remotely emotionally stable to you?” snapped Maeve.
Zimsy crossed her legs gracefully as Abraxas entered across the room with Lyrux in his arms. “You look better than I can recall seeing you in quite some time,” she said.
Maeve chewed on her fingernail. “For once, can’t you just side with me instead of being rational?”
Zimsy let out a musical laugh. Maeve smiled behind her hand. It quickly faded as the acid in her stomach made itself known once more. They stood and crossed towards the table at the center of the room.
Lyrux’s face lit up at them. He leaned excitedly towards Zimsy. She held out her arms instantly to accept him, but Abraxas hesitated, anxiety clear across his face. But as his eyes met Zimsy’s, and she nodded serenely at him, her cousin released his son, and Zimsy held him close.
Drystan and Eryx entered shortly after, joining them at the table.
Reeve was the last to settle into his seat next to Maeve. She didn’t look at him as he began speaking. “I’m not going to beat around the bush. You need to evacuate the Dread Lands, save as many as you can, and that includes Malachite.”
Eryx laughed. She wanted to punch him.
Drystan spoke. “The Senshi are still aiding those who are fleeing, but if we can get to the Beryl City and start Portaling large amounts of people—”
“You can’t Portal them,” said Reeve. “They have to be brought over the barrier naturally.”
“Why?” asked Drystan.
Abraxas answered, “Because the air in the Dread Lands is alive, toxic, and ready to strike. A Portal is too risky.”
Drystan didn’t argue. “So we have to get them across the Black Deep?”
Reeve nodded. Drystan nodded in return.
Eryx’s voice was sharp as he said, “You put us all in danger by allowing Malachite on this side of the Barrier now. What point is there? He has fallen.”
Maeve stared at the table, her jaw tight.
Fallen. The word was so heavy on her mind. Mal hadn’t fallen. He’d been shoved.
“There is no one else who can bring Shadow down, Eryx,” said Reeve. “Malachite is the chosen one.”
“You can,” he argued. “You have done it once before.”
“I cannot, and clearly I did not,” replied Reeve, dismissing him.“Maeve will go to Castle Morana,” said Reeve, “and distract Shadow, and retrieve Malachite.”
Eryx’s voice grew sharp as he continued to argue. “You’re truly going to bring him here, Reeve?”
“Maeve is,” he said simply.
“And where will you be?” asked Eryx.
Reeve hesitated.
Then, he said it. “My Inheritor has been chosen. And it’s time.”
Eryx’s face dropped. The room grew eerily still.
Rage coiled up and down Maeve’s arm like a purring cat. Insistent and demanding attention.
It wasn’t fair.
“It’s Maeve, isn’t it?” said Abraxas, without missing a beat.
Every head turned to him. His expression was concerned. Zimsy’s eyes were massive. Eryx’s jaw dropped, tension pulling up his shoulders. Drystan looked down.
“You really do know everything,” replied Reeve, solidifying his statement.
Abraxas tipped his head at Reeve, but his worried expression quickly shifted to Maeve. But she wasn’t looking at him. She remained staring at the wood grain with spiraling thoughts.
Magic whispered in her ear. . .things she’d seen but had never understood. Power she’d felt, but never acknowledged.
“You’re lying,” said Eryx.
“No, Eryx,” said Reeve. “She will Inherit the power of Aterna. I can feel the Inheritance picking at my skin. It’s near.”
“You’re just going to lie down and let it happen? When we are all on the brink of extinction?”
“Yes,” said Reeve, as Maeve said, “No.”
Eryx looked at Maeve at last, and then at Zimsy. He appeared to hold back his next words to Maeve, which were no doubt fueled by anger.
“Reeve,” began Eryx, “You are blinded by the bond you share with her. You cannot see that she is not worthy to possess the power of the gods. You cannot place the duty of protecting Aterna and its holy Magic with her.”
Reeve’s voice was sympathetic. “You don’t understand. You think our personal feelings should stop the Inheritance? A power ordained from life we cannot even comprehend? My personal feelings did not stop it last time.”
Eryx’s face softened. “I know that,” he reminded his friend gently.
Maeve’s fingers drummed against the table, electric Magic trickling across her hands. Reeve continued, so infuriatingly at peace with his noble decision to give up his life for her. For Mal. For all life.
“For Maeve to stand a chance in a battle against Shadow, which will be required in order to release Mal’s mind from Shadow’s grip, she must have all available strength possible.
I believe her Shadow Magic to be superior to Shadow’s own, but the Dread Magic that Shadow has absorbed over centuries will dominate her when it comes to pure strength. ”
Eryx's eyes were slits. “So you die? And she lives.”
“No,” Maeve repeated, her gaze still down and distant.
Eryx scoffed at her. “You think you can just deny what the gods will? And if you think I will stand by you as you seek to bring that monster here—”
“I will not abandon him,” said Maeve plainly.
Eryx looked down at the table. And then at Reeve. “How many times will it take? How many times will she choose him before we’re all dead? He chose his path, now let him—”
“Eryx,” said Zimsy softly, speaking at last.
Maeve entered his mind before she thought better of it.
She presented one single emotion and visual to him.
There was not a particular memory of Mal’s possession that she showed him, but more, she made sure he felt the weight of it all.
That ultimately, it had been her arrogance and cowardice that unsealed Shadow.
Not Mal’s. That his deterioration into the broken and lost form he now resided in was far from deserved.
She showed him in a blink, and when she pulled from his mind, his eyes were not full of fury. Eryx’s eyes were glassy as he diverted his gaze to his lap.
“Would you like to feel more? I can oblige. I just recently discovered that Shadow Magic is so much more than twisted memories. I can make you feel more, too, if you’d like.”
“No,” said Eryx, his voice clipped.
The hairs on his arms stood at attention as he met her gaze.
Maeve nodded. “It’s not just about him. It it about getting the Magicals safely out of the Dread Lands before they are lost completely. Before Dread Magic is truly extinguished.”
Having at last decided her course of action, she sighed loudly.
Her father had not raised her, and Mal had not brought her to power, just to be controlled.
She turned to Reeve.
“I have two things to say. The first is, fuck your gods,” she said, and the fire in her stomach ignited as Reeve began to grin. “And second, I am so sick of being cornered into choices,” she said coolly.
Reeve smiled at her. All teeth and pride.
Her eyes flared with Magic, ruthless and reckless as she said. “So, I’m going to take control now.”
She pulled the Dread Dagger from its concealment on her body and sliced across her palm, offering her blood in exchange for guidance. And oh, did it guide her.
Her left hand surged with Dread Magic, but not just any Dread Magic: Mal’s Dread Magic. Every drop, every molecule of it buried within the Dread Ring was hers to command, hers to absorb. And she did. She took it all.
With it, she placed her hand on Reeve’s arm, and Obscured, Dread Magic at her disposal at last. The floor fell from beneath them, and they twisted together, landing a moment later beneath the white trees of the temple that sat high in the Dark Peaks.
Sanctum. The highest point on the planet. Maeve had been to the temple before, when she’d begged Reeve to allow her to bring Mal to Aterna. She’d been so angry at him for his denial, but she knew now it wouldn’t have mattered.
Mal could only be saved by her. Not Magical waters or hands of healers. And saved was a generous term.
She wouldn’t let him die alone.
The temple had not changed. Three pale trees, their bark nearly white, twisted together, their limbs becoming one. Save for the gentle sound of trickling water from the small flow of a clear stream that snaked its way beneath the trees, Sanctum was silent.
She gripped the fabric of his shirt and brought him close. And though the almighty Reeve of Aterna towered over her and easily overpowered her, he fell to his knees willingly. His hands found her hips, and his fierce heartbeat pounded in her ears. So loud.
The face of a man welcoming death evoked something intrinsic. What irony. To be so full of life, at the door of death.
“Maeve—” he began.
But his words were cut short. She wouldn’t let him utter goodbyes when they were meaningless, when she had no intention of hearing final confessions of adoration. She was immortal now, just as he was.
And she would make sure he spent eternity telling her just how beloved she was.
Magic erupted from Maeve, mighty and paramount. Bright-white light radiated from the single finger she pressed into Reeve’s chest. He barely had time to register his shock as his firelight eyes collapsed into darkness, and the spell took hold. His hands slid from her hips.
The blood still dripping from her palm aided her, nurturing and encouraging her Shadow Magic to its full potential as she drained Aterna Magic from Reeve.
It was nothing like Dread or Shadow. It was pure, untainted, and holy.
It filled her body. Then again. Then again.
When she was certain she’d overflow with it, it continued to amplify, merging with her blood.
There was nothing painful about it. No scraping hands, or piercing fangs.
Just. . .warm Magic.
She tugged on her bond with Reeve, feeling for how much Aterna Magic he still held. Soon, she’d stop and leave him with plenty.
When at last the scales tipped, and then tipped further, she severed the drain.
Reeve’s eyes flooded with color, wide and locked with hers.
Divine violence.
That’s what Maeve felt with the god’s power running through her. Remade and forged of something completely and effortlessly bound to her. It sat at the ready. No bargain or price need be paid. It sat sweetly beneath her skin, ready to be commanded.
She brushed her fingers beneath his chin, feeling his racing pulse.
“Are you alright?” she asked.
Reeve’s mouth fell open. She couldn’t recall ever having seen pure shock on the High Lord of Aterna.
“Am I alri—” stammered Reeve. “Are you?” he asked incredulously.
She beamed. “I am a star reborn,” said Maeve, as she took his face in her hands.
It wasn’t a far distance to close, even on his knees, and he was ready for her as she pressed her lips to his. The kiss was delicate, cherished. He smiled at her as she pulled away.
“How did you do that?”
She held up her palm, the fresh wound raw and red. “You need only ask and offer, dark Magic does the rest.”
Maeve sighed, rolling her spine as new and undefeatable energy ran through her. She laughed, high on the feeling of what they now shared.
“This temple is stained with Magic. And I could feel it the first time I came here.”
“How did you know what to do?” asked Reeve, his hands back on her hips.
“Those traces want to be seen, felt again. This is the very temple where Shadow stole many’s Dread power. I saw that too.”
Reeve nodded, grinning like an unhinged maniac. “Clever girl.”
“And I saw where the Inheritance forced you to accept your fathers’s power.” Reeve’s smile faltered. “My father, the story you told him was a lie. You did not take the power of Aterna. You do not have the power to absorb Magic. Why did you lie?”
Reeve pulled her impossibly closer and rested his chin beneath her collarbones.
“Because I was crowned in an era of chaos. There was no peace. My father had long lost his mind. I lied, so that no one doubted the lengths I was willing to go to for my people. So that Aterna might enter an era of harmony.”
“What will the gods think now that I have defied their will?” she asked, though little of her tone suggested she cared.
Reeve’s smile returned. “Defied?” he laughed. “No, kitten, I don’t think so. This was destiny. I think you were chosen for this very reason, defiance and all.”