“You once told me that Shadow Magic was deception. That to be near it was to lose sight of reality. That is what you are to me. I cannot see clearly around you! I cannot trust you.”
“And I take responsibility for it.”
“Shut up!”
Reeve did, his eyes never leaving hers.
“I won’t do it,” she said, her eyes burning. “I won’t do it, and you can’t make me.” She sucked in sharply with jagged breaths. She shuddered a blubbering cry, her words broken and muddled. “I hate you. I fucking hate you. I hate that I love you.”
Something cracked open in her chest. Her mouth fell open in a silent, airless cry.
Her knees gave way, and she let them. Reeve’s arms braced her as she fell limply into him, and he lowered them to the floor. He cradled her head against him, his fingers firm but gentle.
“I can’t do this,” she cried, her voice raw, her fist finding his chest and curling into the fabric. “I hate you for this, and I won’t do it! I can’t, I can’t beat her, I can’t save him or you or Maxius—”
Reeve held her tighter and tucked his head atop hers. “Scream and cry and hate, but don’t you dare start giving up. Not now.” He stroked her hair tenderly and spoke with soft intensity. “You’ve only just been thrust into the fire, only just begun being forged. Now the warrior is made. Now is your greatest hour, Maeve Sinclair.”
She raised her head, not caring that she was a complete mess. Reeve looked down at her, bringing a hand to her face.
“I love you,” he said a second time. “I never stopped loving you. And even after you Inherit from me, I will still be with you in that Magic, our Magic, and you will feel all of my love forever. That is a promise.”
The Inheritance was not stoppable. It was written in Magic: she would take his life-force.
“Why did I have to fall for you?” she cried.
Reeve as he stroked her hair, and smiled softly down at her. “Why is that such a bad thing?”
“Because,” she replied. “What point is there?”
Reeve’s hand stilled. “What point is there? Life is the point, Maeve. Living is the point.”
“But everything—”
“Always comes to an end, yes,” he spoke with intensity. “That is the even flow of our universe. What always was cannot always be, and what will be cannot have always been. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t live.” His broad hand brushed across her face, his fingers moving smoothly across her skin once more.“Gods, Maeve, you shouldlive.”
She threw her arms around his center and sobbed in his protective hold.
Chapter 47
Maeve waited in Reeve’s massive study, Zimsy now seated at her side, for Abraxas and Eryx to arrive, where Reeve would tell his best friends and closest allies that she was his Inheritor, and that they were moving forward with a potentially suicidal mission to retrieve Mal and evacuate the Dread Lands.
Reeve was across the room, pretending that he couldn’t feel Maeve’s Magic studying him like a book. Her mind was racing, calculating, determining. So many factors. So little time.
“He could have easily killed you that night,” said Zimsy softly. “He could have won. And then had a new Inheritor in the cycle. One he could control, possibly.”
“Yes, I had already deduced that myself,” said Maeve.
“Then why are you so angry at his honesty?”
His honesty.
Maeve’s fingers on her biceps tensed as she realized she was sitting in the armchair like a petulant child.
“I’m not angry, Zim. I’m furious.”
How could she voice that her outrage wasn’t even with Reeve’s actions, despite how hateful her words to him had been only an hour ago? Her fury, as she said, was directed at these so-called gods. It was directed at fate.
How many times would she lose those she loved? How many times would she prove her loyalty, be the strongest, rise to the occasion, and still have them be taken?
