The human stood there, hunched over, his hands on his knees. Mal appeared behind him, circling to his side. He bent to the man’s ear.
“Now what was that you said you were going to do to her?” His voice was sinister and slow.
The human couldn’t speak.
“Your friends are already dead,” said Mal. “Funny. I needed only one. Now I’ll have two.”
The human dropped to his knees, his hands in a prayer motion, shaking them up at Mal. “Thank you,” he cried. “I -I promise I won’t speak a word of their death-”
“You misunderstand,” said Mal. “Just because I’m not going to kill you, doesn’t mean she isn’t going to ensure you live a horrible half existence.”
The human trembled. He turned towards Maeve, falling over onto his elbows. “I beg of you.”
Maeve looked up at Mal. His hands were in his coat pockets.
“You know what to do,” he said. “You’ve been thinking about it for a long time. You’re capable.”
She swallowed. “How do you know?”
“Because I see you, Maeve. We are going to ensure all of that Pureblood of yours is harnessed.”
Maeve looked down at the weeping man before her. “Can you image what it must feel like? To be broken in such a way? I wonder what it will do.”
The ally was silent save for the human’s prayers. She pointed two fingers at him.
“Frangere,” said Maeve.
The word rolled off her tongue like silk. A spell that had never been used to her knowledge. But spells were merely the will of Magic. The possibilities endless. And Maeve’s will was strong.
She slammed through his mind, like a sharp blade slicing through butter.
He didn’t scream. He didn’t jerk forward or even fight. He fell limp to the ground, over on one shoulder. His fingers jittered. His chin shook back and forth. His eyes were wide, glossed over as he stared into nothing.
He was breathing. His body alive. But his mind was shattered. His soul trapped to exist in between life and death. Never finding release.
Maeve sucked in a sharp breath. Her hands trembled and her legs dipped. Mal was in front of her suddenly, his hands on her arms as he Obscured them to his room at the Inn. Maeve broke away from him and turned her back.
The floor felt soft beneath her. The fire in the corner was too hot.
“What did you see?” Asked Mal.
Maeve didn’t meet his gaze. Her mind looped at the image of the man’s broken body. “All the women he’s raped. The children he hurt. The innocent he sold disgusting substances to and the dying families he stole food from.” She took a moment and turned towards Mal. “He never will again.”
“Congratulations on your new magic,” said Mal, his voice strained.
“You were right,” she said. “I have wanted to try that for some time.”
Mal nodded. “A Magical’s mind will not break so easily.”
“I know.”
He stepped away from her and discarded his cloak across the back of a chair.
“It was difficult not to kill him too,” said Mal. “I can’t image letting anyone live after speaking to you in such a way.” He ran his fingers through his hair and looked up at the ceiling. “Even now, I want to return and finish him.”
She jumped at a knock at the door. Mal’s finger tip swarmed red. Maeve recognized the Inn Keeper’s voice.
“No,” she mouthed, motioning for him to relax his hand.
