“Nearly?” quipped Maeve.
“There are some exceptions,” answered Kaeren, her voice hurried. “You just need to lay your hand on the jewel at the breast,” she said, pointing to the centermost crystal of the armor.
Maeve reached out, her fingers barely bristling the smooth stone, and in a swirl of Magic, warm and inviting, she was transformed. The armor clung to her, perfectly fitted and lighter than a thin linen.
She made for the door of the armory and quickly addressed Kaeren. “You made all this? All the Arerna weapons and battle armor?”
Kaeren nodded proudly.
“Thank you,” said Maeve.
Kaeren nodded again, following her into the open courtyard where Maeve’s father’s horse, Spitfire, was saddled and ready for her.
“May they keep you safe,” said Kaeren, but Maeve barely heard her as gratitude swelled in her chest at the sight of Spitfire.
Maeve threw her leg over the dappled horse and muttered a greeting just for him. His mane was braided and woven with pale-blue ribbon. She rolled her eyes with a smile. Where did Reeve find the time to devote such attention to her?
Maeve took the reins. “Why are you called a Starsmith?”
Kaeren answered at once. “Because Aterna Magic was harvested from a star.”
Maeve smiled softly. Of course it was. She straightened on Spitfire, withdrawing her hand from petting his neck.
Reeve, she called to him.
Magic swelled around her, tightening at her stomach.
Warmth spread into her bones. He was smiling, feeding off the electric energy her gifts of power gave her. She spoke to him again.
Bring me to you.
A Portal barreled open before her. Swirling violet fire and black stars grew and grew. She gently squeezed her legs together, and Spitfire stepped forward into the light.
Reeve and Eryx waited just on the other side, sitting atop their own horses. The late, cloudy sky provided little light across the snow-dusted valley below them. Small flecks of snow continued to fall from the sky.
Reeve looked her over, leaning forward casually on his saddle, triumph in his eyes. “Fits just like I hoped it would,” he said.
“Your sword looks smaller, High Lord,” said Maeve. “Peculiar.”
Reeve shrugged. “It was over the top. Plus, I can’t wait to tell Shadow I melted her blade and gave part of it to you.”
Maeve looked over at him without a smile and spoke sincerely. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”
His smirk faded, and he looked out over the calm valley. It wasn’t the battle she was expecting to step into.
“Where are they?” asked Maeve.
“The Portal the Dreaded Dead are moving through is farther south. This is the southernmost village, and my lines of Magic are a ways from here for that purpose.”
Maeve remembered breaking his old barrier, one that had existed for hundreds of years, and what that had done to her.
“What good are the barriers if they can just break them?” asked Maeve.
Reeve’s head tilted to the side. His hand reached out and pinched her cheek. “Think of it as more of a light veil I lowered so acertain someone could get some sleep.” He let go of her cheek. “Raising a full barrier wouldn’t have pleased our Dread friends much, I don’t imagine.” Reeve smiled, his eyes on the horizon as a faint green glow appeared. “And I’ve quite enjoyed letting them think I was so easily broken.”
Maeve followed his gaze, the Dread Ring on her finger alerting her to the incoming force. Her skin turned cold, each hair on her arms and neck rising.
All manner and matter of dark creatures in various stages of decay swarmed the valley below. An array of muted and cool greens, grey-blue, and white was their skin, their fur, their flesh, and their bones. They moved with haste in an unorganized manner. Maeve wondered if Eryx had experience in that sort of attack. So unplanned and uncivilized. A thousand mindless creatures barreling towards their men.
