Chapter 53
Abraxas stood in the darkened bedchamber of The Celestian Palace, his eyes on Mal.
Not a cell. No chains bound him. The bedding behind him was cold, as all things were since she took him.
He pressed his bony spine against the smooth headboard and held himself a little higher.
Dozens of armed Senshi Warriors stood, surrounding the room, making no effort to move towards Abraxas.
Only one barrier remained: the line of Magic Reeve himself cast around Mal.
It glimmered softly at the edges of the bed he didn’t recall being placed in.
Had Reeve cast it to keep Mal in? Or to keep others out?
As the tips of Abraxas’ fingers pressed against the wall of Magic, rendering him unable to pass, Mal knew at least one of them was certain.
“May we have the room?” asked Abraxas.
“No,” said Drystan, drawing Mal’s attention to the small framed archer in the corner.
He sat, relaxed in a chair, a book in hand, and answered politely.
Abraxas nodded and looked back at Mal as Drystan returned to his reading. The illusion of privacy was there, at least.
“Why are you here?” Mal’s raspy voice asked.
“Surely you can feel what is happening, Mal.”
The firelights flickered along the walls, casting a comforting warm glow on the bed. His fingers traced the fabric beneath him, and he felt her at once.
The soft floral, and clean scent of Maeve trickled into his senses, dulled. Like everything was. Like the forgotten feeling of soap and water. Like the distant feeling of water on his tongue, knowing it should refresh and revive him, but merely tasting like ash.
Abraxas kneeled beside the bed, getting as close to Mal as he could with the Magic that separated them.
Mal’s head rolled against the headboard, slowly following his Hand’s movement. “Mal? I suppose that is what you called me. I have only known another name for so long. Feels like decades since I’ve heard that name.”
“I gave you that nickname,” replied Abraxas with a small smile. “How could you forget?”
Mal inhaled deeply, searching for the memory. “Did you?” he asked fondly.
Abraxas nodded. “Stuck like glue. Of course, it was only for those of us who earned it. Otherwise, the use of such a familiar call had you glaring.”
The corners of Mal’s mouth pulled up. The feeling was strained, wrong even.
Abraxas hummed. “I remember the first time I heard Maeve call you Mal. You tried to hide it, though you hid nothing from me, but I don’t think hearing that affection from any of us landed the way it did coming from her.”
Mal looked down. After a moment of reflection, he spoke. “Nothing’s ever come close to feeling like her.”
And nothing had, indeed. Even in her absence, when she had erased them from each other’s minds, he never looked at another.
Even without the knowledge of her existence, Mal still never wanted another.
The blue eyes of others meant nothing. Their gazes were filled with nothing but a desire to be his, as the wearer of the crown.
Maeve had looked at him long before he wore a crown.
Long before he understood just how powerful he was.
Was.
His body was drained, nearly depleted of his Magic. Shadow had left him but a drop, she said it was grace on her part, but Mal could feel the vow she’d made to Maeve.
She wouldn’t kill him. And so there he lay, within an arm’s length from death, because even as she ran from him, even as she took Maxius and erased his mind, she had still fought to protect him from Shadow.
“Where’s Maxius?” he asked, the question spilling from him at last.
“He’s still under Maeve’s crystalized Dread Magic,” answered Abraxas,
“She’s fighting,” he said at last. “I can feel. . . her desperation.”
“She’s not trying to win,” said Abraxas. “They are trying to seal Shadow again.”
Yes, he remembered now. Maeve’s plan.
She had taken him from Castle Morana. Or rather, Reeve had for her benefit.
“Maeve is going to give you her Dread Magic,” said Abraxas. “As soon as Shadow is sealed.”
Mal stared at the bedding between them. “Why does she persist after everything I have ruined?”
Abraxas cocked his head to one side, forcing Mal to meet his gaze.
“Oh, Mal,” he said, his eyes sparkling, “it took all three of us in control to fuck things up this badly.”
Something familiar to warmth simmered in Mal’s chest, a long-forgotten sensation. He reached his hand forward, the action nearly taking all his energy, and placed it against the barrier that hung around him, wishing for the smallest touch of another. Of his Hand. His oldest friend.
Abraxas’ hand met his, pressed on the other side of the invisible wall of Magic.
“I’m so tired, Abraxas,” he said, the words mumbling out before he could care how weak he sounded.
His arm slid back down to his side.
“I know,” said Abraxas kindly. “But you did so well. You stayed strong, and you didn’t give up. Even when I know you wanted to.”
“Would it be alright if I gave up now? Just for a while?”
Abraxas nodded. “You’re safe now. You can rest, Mal. You can sleep for days if you need to. Let Maeve do her job as your second, as your Dread Viper. Let her handle Shadow. And we will be here when you wake.”