“Why did you do it?” asked Maeve. “Why the fuck did you give them that army? Earth stands at risk now.”
“We are all at risk now. I did what I think will lessen casualties until a greater plan can unfold. It would have only been a matter of time before The Dreaded Dead crossed the Black Deep and slaughtered my people.”
“A greater plan,” repeated Maeve. “You have one of those?” She looked back over at him.
He held his tongue.
Maeve laughed darkly. “Of course.”
“I’m sorry, Maeve,” said Reeve, an edge in his voice. “This is all happening rather quickly, and you are somewhat of a loose cannon.”
She shook her head, a smile at her lips that was far from happy.
“I can tell you more when the time is right,” he said.
“For you. When the time is right for you.”
He fell silent.
“I’m grateful for your protection of Maxius,” she said. “But you can go now.”
She felt his eyes burn into the side of her face for a moment longer before disappearing from her periphery.
“Mely is looking for Zimsy. I do not know if she’s alive,” he said, and then his footsteps retreated, plunging her into complete silence save for the soft, vibrating thrum of her crystalized Magic.
She slid down the side of the altar, back pressing against it, and pulled her legs in. She buried her face down, forehead resting against her knees. Smooth fur rubbed against her hand as Spinel forced his way into what little space was accessible in her lap. His damp nose rubbed against hers as small purrs began to vibrate through him.
Each day in Aterna brought less sunlight. Sunlight Maeve couldn’t even find joy in. Another warmth stolen. The frozen tundra crept across the Black Deep like vines. Soon, snow would begin falling in Aterna, coating the land just like it had in the Dread Lands.
It had taken a week of sleeping on the floor with Spinel next to Maxius for Maeve to relent and move to a chamber. The entire palace sat high on the north mountain cliffs overlooking Crystalmore. With a balcony spanning down the side of the palace, she had a firsthand view of the brewing dark clouds across the Black Deep. It was visible even from the plush bed, as the west walls of her chambers were made of high arching windows.
Tempting as it was to close the drapes and forget about the evil lurking in the mountains across the sea, she left them open. No servant visited her. Nor did Reeve. Food appeared and vanished for each meal on a gold tray by the desk in her chambers.
Adjusting to a body without Magic was tedious. Sleep was endless and all-consuming. She lost track of time, and no matter how long she slumbered, it was never enough. Food tasted different; nothing was the same on her tongue. Not even bread. Even if it tasted good, her appetite was absent.
She only ate when the lining in her stomach became so desperate that she stuffed a cold roll or pastry in her mouth, and then retreated into the comfort of her four-poster bed. Her chambers were close enough to Maxius that she could feel the steady beat of his safety. Spinel slept with her sometimes, but most nights, he remained curled at the foot of Maxius’ altar, waiting for Maeve to join him each morning.
She had given up on trying to wash her skin clean in the ensuite bathroom. She would be tainted and dirty forever. The water was never scorching enough to burn away the feeling of his Magic hurting her. Each pass with soap and water across her arm was a relived memory of the bone snapping. And his fury.
She’d never imagined his hands inflicting such pain.
She tried, manically, to scrub her body free of the dark, inky veins that ran along her body. It was illogical. But she scrubbed until her skin tingled with a red coat. Where once in those veins there had been a life, a second heartbeat almost, there was only a void of connection.
A tap on the door. Maeve ignored it. A louder tap with more persistence had her pulling the covers back and stalking towards the door. She slowly pulled open one of the smooth white doors and peered outside.
A girl bowed at the neck and didn’t meet Maeve’s gaze.
“The High Lord of Aterna requests your presence at breakfast.”
Maeve surveyed her, wondering if the downward look at the crystal floors was a sign of respect or fear.
Something deep inside her laughed emptily.
“Requests?” asked Maeve.
The girl nodded. “The High Lord says if you don’t feel up to it, he will try again next week—”
That was enough for Maeve to close the door quickly with a snap. She turned on her heel, the cold floors guiding her back to the bed, and sleep claimed her swiftly.
