He shook it out, and the red sparks vanished.
She opened the door, and the Inn Keeper stood smiling. He had an arm full of blankets for them.
“Thank you,” she said, taking the blankets from him.
“Naten e mire,” he said with the bow of his head.
“Goodnight,” said Maeve.
She placed the blankets on the chair and turned back to Mal. He was preparing himself for the second cost.
He brought his pointer finger to his hand. Without hesitation, he sliced open his palm.
“Hoc aliquid do,” said Mal three times.
Bright red blood splattered as he cut deep across his palm. The Magic took hold as three spiraling strands of blood wrapped around the others, twisting above his palm. They turned black.
Mal’s focus was strained, intense as he gripped his palm.
The fire in the room evaporated with a hiss. The walls began to crawl with black vines, inching their way from the corners.
Maeve didn’t dare step towards him. The last time she stepped forward to intervene in dark magic she was slammed back against the wall at the Peur family home.
Blood was pouring and pooling at his feet.
His jaw tightened. The veins along his arms and neck protruded. The black swirls of blood retreated towards his palm as he pulled his fingers closed around them and the wound. With a shake the room swirled back to life. The fire puffed back into existence.
Mal breathed heavily and his arms dropped to his side.
The second cost was done.
But the wound wasn’t healing; it was only pouring blood from his palm faster.
“It’s not going to stop, is it?” Asked Maeve.
Mal starred at the blood running down his fingers.
“No,” he replied.
Maeve stood silently. They were both fully aware of the implications of Ismail’s instructions for the third and remaining cost.
A mark on something innocent. There were many ways to get it done.
But there wasn’t time.
And there was only one thing left about Maeve that was innocent. She had broken sacred Magical laws. She had offered her blood for Magic. But the part of her that had never-
“I can find another way, so you don’t have to-”
“I want to,” said Maeve, the words escaping her lips before she could stop them.
She did want to. She had wanted to for some time.
Mal’s head turned slowly to her.
She willed her legs to not falter, and they did not betray her as she crossed the room towards him. Each step felt like wading through honey. Chills blistered across her arms. Their eyes never broke away.
She took his hand in her own, examining the wound. Blood spread over onto her pale skin, dripping to the floor.
