But she paced anyway, pressing her boots carelessly into the mud between the trees with each step.
Mal lowered his book and stared at her. “What’s eating you?”
Maeve continued back and forth, balancing on small roots as she contemplated.
“Reeve,” she said.
She had already told Mal everything Reeve told her.
“His knowledge of you,” she said.
“It only makes sense,” said Mal. “We felt him too.”
She watched as the water rippled as drops of dew fell from the tree canopy above. Mal straightened and set his book aside, frowning.
“Now, what are you thinking?” Asked Maeve.
“Reeve said there were other ways to travel here. He said your father sent him, but I don’t think that’s entirely true. I think he came without permission.”
Maeve had stopped pacing now, as she looked at him with a brave face. Her voice was barely above a whisper as she spoke. “Does that matter?”
“I think it does,” said Mal. “It means no one is trusting anyone else. Your father doesn’t trust Reeve, or vice versa. The Double O doesn’t trust either of them.”
“Reeve was eager to get away from those Magical Militia in the courtyard,” said Maeve. “But the students couldn’t see him.”
“Has Arman talked to you?” He asked.
Maeve shook her head. “I wonder if he even knows what is going on.”
A cold breeze shot across the lake, slamming into her and cutting through her sweater. She gripped her arms tightly and scowled at the wind.
Mal stood and slipped off his own long black coat, closing the gap between them.
“You don’t have to,” said Maeve, though she didn’t really mean it.
She happily inhaled his scent and warmth as he slid the coat around her.
“If it comes to it,” he said, “I just so happen to know a way out of this realm.”
It began to sprinkle as they walked back up to the castle. The Magical Militia that surrounded the castle didn’t glance at them as they passed. They hurried through the courtyard as the rain began to fall harder, rounding the archway into the foyer of the Castle.
Maeve collided hard with something.
She stepped back and apologized to the Magical Militia soldier. She recognized him a moment later.
He was a Pureblood Magical in his late thirties.
He stared down at her with a cold expression. It was almost laced with contempt. He looked over at Mal. And then pushed between them.
She barely heard it, but the soldier muttered, “Blood traitor.”
They whipped around.
“What did you say?” Mal said without hesitation.
The soldier didn’t reply. He didn’t turn back towards them. Mal moved to step towards him, his face darkened in a scowl. Maeve grabbed his wrist quickly and blocked his path.
“Move,” said Mal so quietly she barely heard him. The pulse on his wrist accelerating rapidly.
