She looked down at the matte black pin with optimum written across it.
“Best of luck hanging onto it,” said Hennington, no condemnation in his voice. He was merely stating facts. “No cadet ever keeps the title of Optimum longer than six weeks. Most of these Magicals haven’t harnessed a fraction of their power in school.”
Maeve looked up at him. “Nor have I.”
His eyes narrowed. She had no intention of letting her status as Optimum go.
“If I may sir?” She asked.
He nodded once, and she stepped away, leaving the arena without meeting eyes with the rest.
“Suppose I should have seen that coming.”
Roswyn stood leaned against the smooth pillars outside of the Bellator training arena.
Roswyn lasted nearly to the end of the trials. But a boy named Mumford from America beat him. Leaving Maeve and Mumford at the end.
Mumford had been privately trained his entire life. He was two years older than her. They had only just become acquainted, but Mumford scowled at her like he had hated her for years. And he wasn’t the only one.
They hated her for her last name. For her pureblood. For being better. For being close to Mal.
Mal was the reason so many of them joined. Most of the recruiting class of Bellator cadets he trained personally, or Magicals that heard of his valiant return and were desperate to fight in his war to come. Mumford moved from America to join Mal’s cause.
Mumford appeared from the doors behind her.
“Don’t ever get inside my head again,” he grumbled as he walked by.
“Don’t let me,” she replied.
He stopped on his heel and turned towards her, his nostrils flaring. Roswyn appeared at his side, grabbing his shoulders before he reached Maeve.
“Come on,” said Roswyn. “Mal wants to meet you.”
Mumford shook Roswyn off.
“He wants you there too, Sinclair.”
Mal looked at the Optimum pin on her black simple uniform.
“Well done,” said Mal, as she crossed the doorway of his flat.
They didn’t touch. Or embrace. Maeve walked to the fully stocked bar she was certain Mal would never partake in and poured herself a glass of sparkling water.
She leaned against the windowsill as Mal and Mumford shook hands.
“This is a great honor,” said Mumford.
Mal smiled softly.
Mal gestured for Roswyn and Mumford to sit.
“Would you like a drink?”
Mumford nodded. Mal personally poured Mumford and Roswyn a glass of Bottomless Bourbon.
They clinked their glasses together and Mal took a seat in a large throne like upholstered chair.
“Congratulations on second place. You’ll have to get used to Maeve beating you if you want to file in my ranks,” said Mal.
