“They brought others,” Mal stated plainly.
Maeve nodded. “They did. And some dark creatures slipped through as well.”
They watched the unicorns for a few minutes until something spooked the beautiful creatures, and they took off running. Maeve and Mal left the forest and stopped, overlooking the seaside.
His eyes burned a hole in the side of her face. He spoke suddenly.
“What do you know about The High Lord?’
“Not much. He’s a Senshi Warrior. And he’s been on the throne since shortly after the Shadow War. Which he inherited, power and all, from his father. Father says eventually he will pass that power onto his own inheritor, and he will die. That is the way of their Magic.”
“And how long has your father know him?”
“The Immortals were not our allies until my father made it so when he was first elected as Premier over a decade ago.”
“Because they refused the Magicals entry when they sought refuge from the blight three hundred years ago.”
“Where did you read that?”
“Hummingdoor told me so.”
Maeve looked out over the seaside. Reeve had insinuated that she needed to read up on the Shadow War. Maybe she did.
“He holds the Power of the Gods. Every man in that room the other night knew he was the most powerful of us all. And at any moment, it could belong to another, and his existence gone.” Mal’s face was stoic, perfectly poised and held, not a hair out of place.
“For now,” said Maeve. “He is the most powerful for now. That shield you made around the orphanage? It blocked a bomb, Mal. Father said a single bomb is the strength of a thousand Magicals. And that Magic came easy to you. So, for now, Reeve is the most powerful.”
Mal took the reins on her horse from her hands and pulled her horse closer. She looked up at him.
“Do you know that entire evening I was consumed by the thought of you in that lavender dress?”
Maeve breathed deeply. “You did look distracted in your dueling.”
Mal grinned softly. He pulled her forward and kissed her forehead with a chuckle, then released her reins.
“Would you like to race back?” Asked Maeve.
“Only if you’d like to lose,” said Mal.
The final night of summer was traditionally an intimate dinner party among only the Sacred Seventeen families, a celebration send off for those returning to school on August 1st. Roswyn’s family was hosting them in their mountain side villa.
Ambrose bought Mal another tailored suit with a new set of black robes. Maeve could think of no one that deserved nice things more than the boy who grew up with nothing but a name.
She delighted in seeing him woo the crowds once again. Irma and Peitro Mavros, Alphard and Astrea’s parents, were so happy to see him that Irma was beside herself with joy when Mal asked her for a dance.
Maeve was having a delightful evening. She and Abraxas were seated above the garden on a settee, giggling over Mr. Iantrose knocking over an entire statue and mistaking it for a party guest in his drunken state.
Maeve was the only one not drinking, but that wasn’t out of the ordinary. Alphard was cracking jokes with Roswyn.
The mountain air was cool and thin. Refreshing.
“Look, look,” crackled Abraxas, “he’s trying to help it up.”
He grabbed Maeve’s arm and tried to calm his breathing. Arianna appeared and snapped her fingers for Maeve’s attention.
“Mother wants you to come inside for the cake cutting,” said Arianna.
“Why,” grimaced Maeve, laughing. “That sounds terribly boring.”
