“It’s his, is it not?” He asked.
“You’re skipping my questions,” said Maeve.
She reached to pour herself a bowl of stew. Kietel snapped his fingers, and the table cleared.
“We are done with that,” he said. “You answer my questions or you starve.”
Maeve placed her hands back in her lap. A wave of nausea crashed over her. She needed food.
“It is Mal’s ring, yes.”
“I assumed.” He held up his hand. This thumb and pointer fingers were burned, blistering bright red.
Relief washed over her. His magic was here with her, even if hers was suppressed.
“How did you do it?”
Maeve’s brows lifted.
Kietel was scowling. “How did you get into my officer’s mind that night?”
“Impossible to explain,” said Maeve.
“That’s what everyone said.”
“Do they think you killed him for no reason?”
His head turned to the side, and his eyes narrowed on her. “Why do you think he’s dead?”
Maeve hesitated. “I felt you kill him. . . It felt like you were. . .”
“Killing you?”
Maeve didn’t answer.
“I’ll admit I thought he intentionally had you there, that he was a spy, a traitor. But you were in his mind without his permission, weren’t you?”
Again. She remained silent.
Kietel laughed softly, no joy in the sound. “You truly don’t know how you do it?”
She shook her head.
“Incredible,” he said.
“Spare me,” she said.
“It didn’t take me too long to figure out it must have been you. There’s talk of a young witch at Vaukore with the power to jump from mind to mind, to create flawless, false memories. The Orators Office would have been smart to keep a tight lip about you. Your father should have known you’d be a desired weapon.”
“That’s what I am to you? A weapon?”
“You are many things, Miss Sinclair. A weapon is among them, yes.”
“What terms did you send my father?”
“Simple ones. His Magical Militia are to stand down. He is to resign. I would wager, for you, he’ll do anything.”
Maeve gazed down at the now empty table. Her appetite gone. “You never answered my first question,” said Maeve. “Where is my ring?”
