He and Mumford finished their drinks and left.
“Well done,” said Mal.
“They hate me.”
“They envy you.”
“Same difference,” she muttered.
“What did you tell me once? None of it will matter in the end?”
Maeve glared at him. But his eyes sparkled in dark swirls of brown with flecks of red.
The sun was beginning to rise across the city. Blues and greens pressed into the stone and stucco buildings, illuminating their cream coloring, turning his flat into a grey hazy dream.
The leather couch behind them called her name.
“Roswyn made it to the end?”
Maeve nodded as a yawn escaped her lips. “He did well.”
“You held back.”
“How do you know?”
“He said it took you forty-seven seconds to beat him,” said Mal.
“He’s strong. His Magic is wild.”
“But your Magic is certain. You could have defeated him in half that time.”
“Duels are cumbersome.” Said Maeve. “I can’t move with haste. I can’t slam into their minds. I can’t slice through their bodies. It takes control to beat and not kill. Killing would be easier.”
Mal chuckled. “Indeed.”
Chapter 46
Everyone seated around the Grand Dinner Table in the Dining Hall the following evening. Much to Maeve’s happiness, Ophelia’s father had shown up that morning and whisked Ophelia away a day early.
Grandmother Primrose and Grandmother Agatha had fawned over Mal through drinks and appetizers in the sitting room. Mal had both old ladies eating out of the palm of his hand.
Agatha cried twice telling Mal how much she wished her late husband Alyucuois could have met him.
“He always knew you would come,” said Agatha as she bowed her head.
Mal took her hands in his own and thanked her for her support.
At dinner Agatha asked lightheartedly, “have you given any more thought to that Orator’s Office job, Maeve?” Asked her Grandmother Agatha. “Or are we certain of the Bellator path? I heard you made Optimum. Will you join the Magical Militia?”
Maeve had been dreading this topic of conversation, but knew it was bound to come up.
“No, actually. I haven’t. And no I’m not.”
Agatha frowned slightly. “So, what are you doing, darling?”
Maeve smiled at her grandmother sweetly. “Figuring it all out, I suppose.”
Mal smiled softly.
