Judyth’s neck, wrist, and ankles were bound in solid Elven steel, laced with all manner of stones meant to suppress her Magic. Judyth’s face was wracked with horror as she watched the young man who was at her side in all of her memories of Vaukore, Nevian was his name, bleed out.
“Take a look, girl,” said the man gripping Judyth’s hair. “That’s what happens when a filthy Shadow clings to the delusion they are stronger than the Dread.”
His fingers tightened, drawing tears at the corners of her eyes, as his grip on her hair became unbearable. The soldier called out to the others as he heaved her to her feet. “Search the entire school,” he ordered, “leave no Shadow filth alive. You’ll know them by their silver wings pin.” Jerking Judyth away from Nevian’s dead body, he brought his lips to her ear. “All but you, of course. The Dread King is expecting you.”
The memory shattered into darkness, propelling Maeve back to where she lay, still pinned beneath Mal. The memory had come and gone so quickly and had been so fragmented, she tried to recount it as accurately as possible.
“She has your eyes,” blurted Mal, his expression vacant, his voice cold.
Maeve’s heart raced faster.
“Those are your eyes, aren’t they?” he continued. “I think about them all the time. They are the only part of her I think about.” His fingers against her throat moved, dancing up her jaw with a hesitation Mal never had. “She never lets me think about you.” His fingers moved back to her throat, and his other hand joined them. “Not even right now.”
Magic pulsed in the Dread Ring on her finger in warning, sharpening her reflexes. As dirty and dark Magic burst from his hands, her two fingers collided with his chest, sending a defensive blast of lightning through him at point-blank range. She twisted onto her knees and scrambled to her feet as her lightning knocked him backwards. She clutched her throat as her vision doubled, then tripled beneath the weight of his own attack.
At first, thinking it was a defect in her faltering vision, a great shadow cast over them, blocking what little moonlight drifted through the snow clouds. Mal’s eyes shot up to the sky, his glowing green orbs filled with dissatisfaction.
Maeve looked over her shoulder as a great, black-and-amethyst dragon slammed into the earth with a snarl. Cracking the ground beneath it. Wind slammed into her, whipping her hair backwards. Her own heartbeat stilled at the sight of him. Glorious wings stretched across the open valley as he snarled, violet fire flared behind his teeth. Enormous black claws sunk into the ground as Reeve crawled towards her, his barbed tail snapping behind him.
He was almost to her—
A pinch of skin on her leg brought a gasp of surprise from her lips. A tingle that dripped through her spine. She looked down to her thigh, where the hilt of the Dread Dagger was buried. It sat splintered through her armor, perfectly centered on the top of her leg.
Her eyes lifted to Mal as the real pain began. His back was tall, his arm still extended from his throw.
Then ice, so cold it burned, set her skin ablaze.
“You shouldn’t get so distracted in the middle of a duel,” said Mal.
Maeve’s arms disappeared from feeling, then her face, then her legs as she stumbled backwards. The only feeling remained deep in her stomach: sorrow. Cosmic night swirled behind her where Reeve’s dragon form had once been. Warm tendrils of Magic wrapped her body, keeping her upright.
Reeve stepped forward from that black twister of night and grabbed her.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered with one arm around her back, pulling her into his chest. Warm steel met her cheek as her head rolled against him. He never looked down at her. His eyes were set on Mal, but his words were directed at her. “Why the fuck didn’t you answer me?” He was furious, rage and fear pulsed through him without control.
She fell more into that darkness, shivering in the burning cold, and Reeve’s grip on her tightened as she became limp. Warmth slid through her body, caressing her skin. But it wasn’t enough as the poisoned dagger seemed to sink deeper inside her.
“Look how she clings to you for dear life.” Mal laughed, but he didn’t smile. “You’re welcome.”
“You’ve lost this battle today,” said Reeve, disregarding Mal’s comments. “Run back to your Shadow master now and tell her the Dreaded Dead are ash, and the Senshi chose us.”
Their voices faded in and out as Maeve fought for consciousness.
“There are more Dreaded Dead than you could possibly count,” said Mal, a sneer developing on his sunken face. “How are the Senshi yours still?”
“You miscalculated,” said Reeve. “Assumed. You traded me a sworn blood oath for free Magic.”
“I felt the transfer. It’s not possible you deceived me in such a way.”
“You still don’t get it, do you?” snapped Reeve, his breath quick and his furious temper still present. “I am a fucking God!”
Power rippled from him in all directions at lightning speed, shaking the earth. A barrier, like the line of Magic that had existed for centuries until recently, slammed up, spitting the ground between them and Mal. Even in her weakened and collapsing state, she felt the barrierrock across the Black Deep and into the Dark Peaks, once more separating the Dread Lands and Aterna.
Mal surveyed the wall of Magic, and then his eyes fell lazily to Reeve. Then, to the Dread Dagger buried in Maeve’s thigh.
“Hmm,” said Mal. “We’ll see how that Godly power treats you once my Queen is fully restored.”
Maeve’s vision blackened, flickered, and Mal was gone.
