Chapter 51
Warmth brushed against her cheek. She moaned and settled into the feeling, not wanting to open her eyes. She needed less sleep now, but after so many nights without it, and the aftermath exhaustion of maintaining contact in both Mal and Shadow’s minds, she’d gladly closed her eyes.
Reluctantly, she opened them.
Reeve moved one finger over his mouth and looked beside her, where Lyrux lay between her and Abraxas.
Maeve followed his gaze to the sleeping little boy, his hair draped messily across his face, and then up at Abraxas.
Her cousin sat reclined in the bed, awake and running his fingers through Lyrux’s white blonde hair.
She blinked sleepily.
Reeve wrapped his hand around her middle and gently pulled her from the bed, scooping her up like she was nothing more than a few pillows.
“Is it time?” she whispered, her eyes back on Reeve.
He nodded. Maeve looked back over at Abraxas. His gaze remained on Lyrux.
“You can change your mind, Brax,” said Maeve softly as Reeve set her down. “We can evacuate the Dread Lands without you.”
“Not efficiently, you can’t,” he answered, his fingers still wrapping his son’s silken hair. “No one knows that place like I do.” He paused. “Not even Mal.”
Abraxas stood and lifted Lyrux with ease, gently placing his head on his shoulder. “I’ll take him to Zimsy and meet you down there shortly.”
His footsteps were soft as he left them. Maeve watched him go. Watched the tender way he held his son, and ached to hold hers. Maeve wrapped her arms around herself, feeling a cold that had nothing to do with the winter air seeping through the stained-glass windows of her chamber.
Reeve took her face in his hands, and her eyes instantly shut. He bent until their foreheads touched. Maeve smiled softly at the gesture.
“I wish I could have let you sleep,” he said. “You looked so peaceful.”
Maeve placed her hands on his chest. Her only reply was a hum as she nestled closer to him and his addicting warmth. When she pulled back and made to step away, Reeve protested at once.
“Not so fast,” he said, holding her in place with warm hands pressed against her cheeks. He bent forward, his frame devouring hers, and brushed his lips across hers. “Not so fast,” he mumbled again, against her lips.
Maeve melted into him. Their kiss was slow, sleepy almost, as she let herself drift into a final fleeting moment of bliss.
Castle Morana was a ghost. She and Reeve stood in the silent Entrance Hall. Their presence seemed meaningless. Minuscule and unnoteworthy. The grand staircase stood tall, climbing to the floor above, covered in a thick haze of toxic Magic.
Magic that no longer affected her.
She stepped forward, her footsteps silent in the thick atmosphere. The firelights were out, casting a look of abandonment over the emerald marble.
“I imagine this is what it looked like before Mal breathed life back into it,” said Maeve, her voice low.
Reeve followed her without question.
Deeper into the castle they ventured, following the singular pull of Magic in the desolate space. Maeve knew where her feet led her. She knew the room that awaited her.
She never wanted to set foot in it again.
She hated that room.
But as they crossed the dense air into the Throne Room, Maeve stopped.
Shadow sat at a small table, decorated with the finest place settings and silks Castle Morana could offer. A single candle floated at the center, and dripped wax accumulated in a hardened chunk beneath it.
Maeve’s stomach sank.
The Dread Crown sat atop her head. The silver was dulled, but the emerald eyes of the winding snakes glowed, and the ruby tongues that flared from between their bared fangs pulsed with Magic.
She wasn’t sure why the sight brought her blood to a boil. Perhaps it was many reasons. Shadow’s unworthiness. The image of Mal wearing it.
Or perhaps it was the memories of what Maeve herself had done to ensure he reached the long-lost crown.
“Take that off,” said Maeve, her voice low.
“I was worried you wouldn’t come,” said Shadow, ignoring her completely. “Sit.”
The table was set for four. Maeve looked at the empty seat next to Shadow.
“Please,” she said, though there was little room for declining.
They crossed the Throne Room in silence and took the two seats opposite her. The singular flame cast a red glow, illuminating half of Shadow in the otherwise darkened room.
“As I said, I wasn’t sure you’d come,” she said, leaning forward to pour a large goblet of wine. Her pale white hair draped across the table, long and healthy.
“Funny thing,” said Shadow after a long sip of her wine. “You were in my head.” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, the movement slow and precise.
“I was,” answered Maeve plainly.
“Please drink,” said Shadow, suddenly alert. Then her expression twisted, and her eyes landed on Reeve. “I haven’t poisoned any of the goblets.” She smiled and brought her gaze back to Maeve expectantly. “Drink.”
The second command was less inviting and more demanding. Maeve didn’t move.
“I don’t drink,” she replied.
Shadow leaned back, bringing her wine glass back with her, nearly sloshing it carelessly over the rim.
“How could I forget? The Dread Viper is so afraid to be out of control.” She paused and looked to the empty seat beside her.
Then her eyes snapped back to Maeve. “You weren’t very helpful in my mind. ”
“No?” answered Maeve.
“No,” repeated Shadow. “In fact, I’m worried I took things too far with our dear Mal. I don’t think he’s. . . capable anymore.” Her lips puckered, and her nearly invisible white brows pulled together. “It’s not fair he gave you the heir.”
“Maxius will never wear that crown,” said Maeve with certainty.
Shadow sipped her wine, a long silence falling between the three of them. “Aren’t you hungry?”
Maeve shook her head casually. “No. Oh, that reminds me.” She rested her head against the tall back of the chair and rolled her head towards Reeve. “Do we actually have to eat?”
“No,” replied Reeve, a small smile on his lips as he took in just how effortlessly and fearlessly Maeve controlled the room. “In fact,” he said, playing into her brazen display, “you can drink that wine and not feel a thing. Might as well be water.”
The corners of Maeve’s mouth pulled up, and together they returned their attention to Shadow.
She giggled. “So emboldened, isn’t she, Mal, darling?”
As his name rolled off her tongue, the affectionate name reserved only for those he deemed worthy of calling him such, swirling black mist materialized in the empty chair at her side. In its wake sat Mal. Mordred appeared at his side, as he had been since nearly the moment they met.
If Mely’s appearance had been corpse-like, then Mal was already six feet under.
His eyes were still a sharp green against his devastatingly pale skin, but they were dull.
The glow they’d once carried under Shadow’s possession was gone.
His cheeks were hollowed, dipping into sunken shadows of decay.
His fingers, once a deadly weapon, sat useless in his lap.
Thin skin covered each knuckle and bone.
Maeve clung to the image of him in her mind when they’d last spoken. Just as she’d promised she would. But the sight of just how close to death Shadow had dragged him allowed wrath to root inside Maeve.
Maeve’s attention slid back to Shadow, unable to waste any more time now that Mal was before her.
“I’ll make this quick today.”
Her arm jetted forward, her Magic latching onto Shadow’s mind. She dug deep, finding the claws of Shadow Magic latched in Mal’s psyche, and began disintegrating them one by one. With lethal force, she ripped the connections of poison in his mind from the beast feeding off him.
Shadow’s hands slammed onto the table between them, as she bent forward like a wounded animal. Her face of disbelief twisted into horror as Maeve successfully infiltrated her mind and controlled it. With a bang, one of the endless claws embedded in Mal’s mind released.
A wave of negative energy surged through Maeve. It was vile and turned her insides to ice.
Mordred growled in uncertainty. Maeve almost admired his loyalty. Almost. Mordred had not protected Mal from the evil woman at his side any more than she had.
She glanced quickly at Mal and wondered if the version of him before her even recalled the conversation and the plans she’d laid out to him in their connected minds.
She returned her eyes to Shadow.
“How?” Shadow seethed, all teeth and breath, fury now radiating from her at Maeve’s power. Her long, pale nails dug into the table.
BANG. Another claw triumphantly destroyed.
Maeve contracted her fingers, like choking the air in front of her, tightening her hold on Shadow’s throat.
“Because I am simply better than you.” Her eyes narrowed.
Then she said. “I freed you, remember? There is an Enslavement Curse on you still. Bound to me by the blood I traded for you.” Maeve looked up at Mal.
His eyes slid to Shadow. Maeve followed his gaze to the gaunt queen, who looked back at her with her own blue eyes.
“Or were you hoping I wouldn’t figure that out?
That’s it is my blood that chains you now. ”
More of Shadow’s sharp claws lifted from Mal’s mind.
Shadow smiled. “You think I won’t have his mind if you break my hold? Go on then. See just how much life I took from him. See just how little is left of him now. There is but an ounce of Dread Magic left in him. Consider it a gift from your queen, Mal darling, that I allow you to keep it.”