“What?” Asked Reeve, and stepped towards her.
Maeve couldn’t explain it, but Kietel was dead. The lurking unfamiliar Magic that had plagued her for months was gone.
She looked up at him. He was closer now. His chest sunk and his mouth turned down.
“Who the fuck did that to you?”
Maeve had nearly forgotten her bruised face split lip. “Who do you think?”
Reeve looked down at her. His mouth opened to speak, but he closed it. He looked down at her in remorse. She held his gaze for a moment.
“The most powerful being in the world,” she said softly. “And you let him take me.”
His remorse vanished. “You know nothing of controlling something like what is inside of me.”
“You hesitated-”
“I calculated,” he spat down at her.
With a snap Ambrose and Mal appeared in the foyer.
She was on her feet in a flash. Ambrose slammed into her. The smell of cinnamon cigars warmed her bones. His arms were tight around her. Only when his thick wool cloak turned wet did she realize she was crying.
She unburied her head from his chest, resting her cheek on him. Mal stood only steps away, his eyes locked on her, watching every breath she took.
Ambrose took her face in his hands, forcing her gaze up at him. Small sparks of magic popped through her cheek, healing the bruised skin with a warm glow. He pressed his thumb into her lip, sealing up the cut.
She looked up at him. He pressed a kiss into her hair and released her.
Maeve stepped towards Mal, stopping as his magic brushed down her cheek, cool and calming. She felt as though she might burst into tears once more as he smiled softly at her, worry still filled in his eyes.
He had been magnificent. The very definition of divine violence. And he had done it for her.
“How long have you known?” Asked Maeve, looking at her father.
He looked to Mal and then back to Maeve. He answered without hesitation. “I’ve known since the moment he laid you on that hospital bed in the healing wing last year.”
Maeve’s throat tightened.
Ambrose looked at Mal reverently. “It’s time, Malachite.”
Maeve looked to Mal.
“I know,” he said.
“We need to call a Hexadic,” said Reeve.
“I don’t know why it’s still called that,” said Ambrose. “Only four realms truly remain occupied and you know as well as I do we will be lucky if three even attend.”
“Lithandrian will be intrigued by him,” said Reeve.
“And the other? Do you have contact?”
Reeve shook his head.
Ambrose looked back at Maeve and Mal.
“Reeve and I need to discuss some things.”
