“Stop talking about me as though I am not here,” said Maeve, continuing to pour all her electric energy into the crystal, despite how badly it wanted freedom.
Reeve’s eyes closed. When they opened, they remained on Eryx, who now looked to Drystan, his eyes begging him to speak up. But the small-framed and young-looking man did not. His eyes met Eryx’s, but all he offered him was an encouraging expression.
Eryx rolled his eyes and looked back at Reeve. “She was not the one prophesied to end Shadow,” Eryx reminded him.
“No,” agreed Reeve. “But I believe she’s the only one who can save the one who was.”
Eryx continued to shake his head, and another expletive slipped from his lips as his fists slammed down on the table, shaking the glassware and untouched plates of food.
It hit Maeve then. The root of his anger. She remembered the times Eryx joined Reeve at Castle Morana. She remembered who occupied his attention, his gaze. . . his hands. Cold guilt surfaced in her stomach. Images she’d spent weeks trying to forget flashed before her eyes.
Her control buckled, and bright blue lightning danced across her knuckles. “You were in love with Zimsy,” she blurted out, barely above a whisper.
With a flash of swirling mist, in a single blink, Maeve’s point of view shifted. She looked down the long table now from Reeve’s seat, and Reeve sat in hers. Eryx stood, his sword in his grip. The long blade pointed perfectly where Maeve’s face had been only moments ago. Now, it lingered a fraction from Reeve’s chest, with Reeve’s hand gripping the blade in effortless strength.
Blood seeped out against his hand, coating the shining silver blade with slick and shimmering crimson. The blade that would have pierced her skull.
She loosed a hefty breath, and her neck rolled involuntarily as lightning charged down her arm. It spiked into the small crystalsiphon in her fist, shattering it completely and sending a few sharp lines of electric Magic out across the table.
But none looked her way. Mely and Drystan’s eyes were locked on the feuding friends, just as Maeve’s were.
The silent tension was oppressive as the two men stared at one another. Reeve wore an expression Maeve hadn’t seen, or hadn’t cared to notice if she had, on his handsome features before. He looked wounded and disappointed all at the same time.
“Sit down, Eryx,” commanded Reeve, lowering his bloodied hand.
Eryx’s eyes moved down the table towards Maeve, his sword following his gaze. “The moment you falter, it will be me who ensures your eyes close and never open again.” With a wildly controlled motion, he shoved his sword back in its sheath and returned his attention to Reeve. “She may have you fooled because of some useless bond that runs between you, but you know deep down you should have snapped her neck the moment that Enslavement Curse shifted into your hands.”
The thought, the reality that he could have, was a sickening one.
Eryx turned from the table and left the hall.
Reeve didn’t call after him. He watched him silently, and once he was finally gone, he looked across the table at Drystan.
“We leave in one week,” he said.
Drystan nodded.
“Keep him away from the palace tomorrow night,” said Reeve.
Tomorrow night. Maeve’s stomach tightened. She would see Mal tomorrow night. She reached forward over the table and opened her fist. The shattered bits of crystal clinked to the table. One by one, falling loose from her palm.
“That’s all,” said Reeve, his voice quiet as he leaned back.
Mely and Drystan stood with empty bellies and left. Maeve didn’t move. No, she stayed silent until just she and Reeve remained, picking out small bits of sharp and shattered crystal from her palm.
He did not look at her.
“What aren’t you telling me about Mely?”
Reeve’s head hung, but he did not hesitate to answer. “She is experiencing more trauma from death than she ever has. A single death at that. Because it is a great force that is dying. Slowly, day by day.”
If she could have taken back asking, she would have. Reeve’s truths were, it seemed, nothing more than added burdens.
Mal was dying.
Maeve’s voice shook when she found the courage to speak. “She swore. She swore in Magic she wouldn’t kill him.”
Reeve’s words may as well have been Eryx’s long sword straight through her skull. “There are worse fates than death.”
