Ambrose laughed. “Yes. You’ll get many repressed memories from that one. Best not to open it when you’re feeling vulnerable.”
Mal strolled around the circular room, hands in his pockets, taking in everything as though he would never be granted access again.
“How did you come to all these things, sir?”
“Most of it’s been in my family for hundreds of years, and some of it I sought out on my own. There’s a scroll Merlin himself wrote- I paid a pretty penny for that one-an essay on the effects of Pycerwyn. He was in our court, you know. He never completed his studies at Vaukore. So enamored by those Humans.”
“I read that.”
“Ah,” said Ambrose, as he puffed a ring of grey smoke inside another, larger circle.
Mal stopped in front of an emerald green velvet box. It reminded him of Maeve.
“How’s she feeling?” Asked Ambrose. “She just lies to me about it. Hides it from me.”
Mal wondered if it was a coincidence that Ambrose brought Maeve up at the exact moment he, too, thought of her.
“Fine, I believe. Better.” Mal ran his finger along with the box. “Though she tries to hide it with me too.” He looked up at the tall shelves, filled with the knowledge he knew he had to get his hands on.
“How do you know she’s lying?”
“I infiltrate her mind,” said Mal calmly, turning back towards Ambrose.
The Premier chuckled and turned his head to the side, unsure if Mal was joking or serious.
“Does that alarm you?” Asked Mal.
Ambrose took a puff off his cigar. “Does she know?”
Mal nodded. “I wouldn’t invade her private thoughts if she didn’t wish me to, Ambrose. She taught me how. I only have access if she allows it.”
“Her shields are strong.”
“Stronger than any other Pureblood I have tried on.”
Mal strode over and took a seat by Ambrose, and continued.
“But your daughter and I share a strange connection too,” said Mal in a low voice, staring across the hall. “I don’t always have to be in her head to know what is happening to her.”
Ambrose nodded, obviously intrigued by the idea. “She’s mentioned.”
“Would it be alright, sir, if we visited here regularly?”
Ambrose nodded. “You can take a few at a time home with you as well,” said Ambrose gesturing to the endless library.
“I’d like to tell you something, sir,” began Mal, his voice dropping to a low tone.
Ambrose shifted in his seat, placing his finished cigar in an ashtray.
“I hope it’s not too bold,” started Mal.
Ambrose shook his head. Mal looked at him. Maeve’s father. The only person she worshipped more than himself. Mal spoke with a calm conviction.
“She will not marry Alphard Mavros.”
Ambrose didn’t move. He listened to Mal carefully with a vacant expression. Mal continued.
“She will be sworn in as my second in two months’ time. And on that day, any obligations to The Bellator, The Double O or Committee of the Sacred will be null and void. If she is forced to uphold those obligations, then I will step in after my coronation.”
