The tiles beneath them were tilting, inch by inch, rubble from the castle’s destruction sliding down sideways across the floor. Her reflexes caught her and a hard wall of air stopped her from slamming into the floor. She pulled her feet under her, quickly balancing herself. Mal slid to her side gracefully and gripped her tightly, one taunt leg holding them steady. His face mangled with distress.
The stone archway behind them cracked under pressure. Mal flinched at the sound. Anger flooded his veins. It pulsated towards Maeve.
Fury like she had never felt from him.
“Don’t,” said Maeve, beginning to realize his intensions. They were sliding faster now, the portal mere feet away. “Don’t-”
His grip tightened, and his lips slammed into hers. Too quickly. That had been too quick of a kiss to be the last. But he kissed her like it was.
“Go,” was all he said as he released her.
Mal Obscured to the center of the hall, walking on air as Maeve was nearly to the portal. The green and blue waves of mist ready to take her home, to her father. Behind her, white light was pouring into her shoulders.
Rowan and Larliesl had told her they couldn’t lose Mal. Even Reeve told her to stay with Mal.
She looked at the portal before her and, as easy as cutting a ribbon, she let go of the flow of magic between it and herself and let the portal collapse.
The circle pulled and twisted in on itself, making a cyclone like shape until it compacted so tightly it was gone. Maeve steadied her breathing and turned to Mal at the center of the Hall. He was barely three feet off the ground, both his palms extended wide. His eyes white as all his magic poured from him.
She wouldn’t leave him defenseless.
Larliesl and Rowan and the rest had pushed the traitorous soldiers out of the castle and onto the grounds. Only she and Mal remained in the foyer.
The castle twisted to its upright position. The ceiling didn’t fall. The walls shook into stillness and the room grew calm. Maeve stared up at Mal in awe as he took control of Vaukore’s magic.
Air swirled around her, unsettling and. . .familiar. Her hand crept to the back of her neck as her fingers shook.
“Maeve Sinclair.”
The voice behind her was burned into her mind. She turned over her shoulder. Kietel stood across the foyer.
His icy blue eyes glowed in the darkness. His hands were tucked behind his back.
Mal was holding up Vaukore. Maeve was on her own.
She pulled two fingers together, resting at her side. Kietel looked down at them.
“A Supreme.” He said, his German accent thick. “Let’s see what you are made of.”
Shit.
“I came prepared for you,” he said. “You won’t find your way into my mind.”
Maeve lowered her chin.
“You disagree?”
Mal lowered to the ground behind her, his eyes white. He gently collapsed into the floor. He didn’t move. She felt for the magic around her neck. She felt him.
He was breathing.
Kietel stepped towards her, and Maeve stepped back towards Mal.
“I don’t think your friend is going to help you.”
She stepped back towards him again. If she could get to him, she could attempt to obscure them away. She had never done it successfully, but she could try. Or at the least put a protective shield on him.
“I see,” said Kietel. “You are protecting him.” His pursuit towards her continued. “I’m disappointed. You aren’t even trying to enter my mind. I’m afraid your father is going to be rather disappointed too.”
