“My Militia shields human cities and homes every day, Maeve. Just because we move in the shadows doesn’t mean we aren’t moving. Give it twenty more years, and you, too, will understand humans will wage war with or without Magicals’ assistance. They are addicted to the notion, the instability, and the power it brings.”
“What do Reeve or I have to do with any of that?”
“He is an Immortal ruler of a different realm. He is hundreds of years your senior, and you have obligations to another.”
“I do not want to marry some boy I hardly know.”
“And you want to marry Reeve? You don’t know a damn thing about him.”
“I didn’t say I wanted to marry him. I only want the freedom to choose if I do or don’t. The freedom to know him.”
“Reeve is out of the question, regardless of who the Committee wants for you. He is not on the list. That’s final. He will not be returning here.”
“Then it was you!” she shouted. “You told him to keep away.”
“And he listened,” argued Ambrose. “Perhaps you overestimate his affection.”
Sheturned on her heel and stormed towards the door of his study. “That isn’t fair,and you know it.”
With a flick of her wrist, his office door slammed shut behind her—
Maeve’s eyes popped open. She groaned immediately as she registered the aching pound in her head. She ran her hands across her face, forcing her body upright as silken covers pooled at her waist. Her chamber in the Celestian Palace was quiet, calm, and dark. What felt like late-night or early morning sky filtered through her tall windows.
“Hey,” said a musical and delicate voice at her side.
Maeve turned. Next to her in the sheets was the greatest sight she’d seen in months. Zimsy sat up, no sleep prevalent on her face, as though she’d been awake for some time.
Maeve took in the sight of her, eyes scanning her with caution. Was she another memory? Another lie? She looked down at Zimsy’s arms and fingers. No blood. No protruding bones. No broken skin. She glowed like she was meant to, perfectly pieced back together.
“Are you real?” asked Maeve, the pounding in her head persisting.
Zimsy nodded and opened her arms. It didn’t take much effort for Maeve to fall into them. Their embrace was grounding, solid.
“You found me,” said Zimsy, her voice strained as she tried to be strong.
Maeve gripped the back of her head. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
Zimsy held her tightly as they tried to stifle their tears. “Are you alright?”
Maeve shook her head. “No. I’ve ruined everything.”
“No, you didn’t, Maeve,” said Zimsy, tears slipping down her cheeks and pooling along her jaw.
“You knew,” said Maeve, guilt wrecking her voice. “You were the Sentinel for me when I last altered everything.”
Zimsy hugged her tighter. “I was. And I didn’t keep you from him like I should have. I hoped things could be changed.”
It wasn’t her fault.
They stayed that way until they’d sufficiently cried out their tears, and when Maeve pulled away and they wiped their cheeks with their palms, Zimsy said, “Let’s go make some tea.”
It was days before Maeve was ready to talk to Reeve. Even then, ready was a bold word for what she was, how she felt. She hated that she’d give anything to down a bottle, a whole cauldron full, of Astrea’s potions and forget everything. All of it. She’d drown in the swirling liquid if she could.
But as her father had raised her under his own strength, she did not perish beneath the weight of her mistakes and the unfair hands she had been dealt. She persisted.
She tucked her legs beneath her by the blazing fire in Reeve’s quarters, finding some comfort in the way the chair was soft beneath her, even though the conversation she was about to have would be anything but easy.
Snow clung to the windows as the first drops of Shadow’s freezing reign reached Aterna. Reeve had already added barriers to the Celestian Palace to keep it warm. The open-air halls and rooms that once kissed her skin with sunlight fell dark. The soft sounds of the Black Deep no longer echoed through the palace as the lake stilled.
