It was across her neck. Down her body permanently.
“A Vexkari mark,” said Mal quietly, as the sunlight bounced off the ornate snake in the shape of an S.
The Vexkari mark. A mark of Magic, of placing ones own magic in something else.
“What’s that dear?” Said Vetus.
She appeared delighted in watching Mal marvel at her own treasure.
“Nothing,” said Mal.
Vetus had no idea she held three of the seven Dread Armor artifacts. Nor that she was about to lose them all.
“I had to pay an arm and a leg for it, but I couldn’t let it pass, a not a real treasure like that. Ancient antiquities have my heart. I had to have it for my collection. Bogstrum bought it, apparently, from some ragged-looking human whore who seemed to have stolen it. No way someone like her could have had this locket by honest means-”
Maeve audibly gasped as Mal’s eyes flashed red. His grip on the locket tightened. Vetus was still rambling, but Maeve was focused on Mal, and he was focused on the locket.
“-she would have taken a single copper for it being pregnant and all-”
A soft hissing sound began to fill the room. Vetus was unaffected. Her rambling continued. It grew in intensity. The language foreign to Maeve. But Mal-
He understood every word of the Magic resonating from the Dread Locket. It was finally back in the hands of its blood.
“So there you are Malachite darling, and I hope you appreciate these trinkets as much as I do!”
Vetus’ hand was stretched out, grasping for the locket, but Maeve knew she was never getting it back. Maeve was slowly pulling her fingers together.
“Are you all right, Malachite, darling?” Asked Vetus as her smile faltered.
“Oh yes,” said Mal quietly, his eyes meeting Maeve’s. “Yes, I’m very well. . . .”
“I thought. . . Your eyes,” started Vetus, but she trailed off. “Just some odd trick of the light, I suppose. Or my old age getting to me.” She laughed nervously.
“Make short work of this, Maeve,” said Mal, all sweetness in his voice long gone.
There was a flash of blue light, and Vetus slumped over, unconscious.
“How dare she speak of her that way,” said Mal darkly.
Maeve knew what was coming next. Vetus’ life would have likely been spared, and her memory simply altered, had she not made those nasty comments about his Mother while dotting on Mal and pinching his cheeks.
“Jema,” called Mal.
The Elf came tottering back into the room.
Bright white light shot from the tip of Maeve’s fingers. Jema froze, completely unable to move, but still conscious.
Maeve quickly decided the easiest course was to confound Jema into believing she killed her master. She would need only to implant the smallest of ideas, and the frail house-elf would believe wholeheartedly that she accidentally slipped some poison in her mistress’ morning tea.
Maeve worked quickly to confound the small framed Elf and alter her memory. When she was finished, she searched Jema’s mind and made sure to show Mal handing the locket and the dagger back to Vetus, and graciously accepting the Goblet as a gift.
Maeve had implanted many memories by now, but this was the first time it wasn’t for practice. This was an invasion of the mind, unconsenting and unwilling. Her arms tingled weakly as she finished. Her full strength was not yet restored.
When the memory charm was perfected, she stunned the little Elf just like Vetus. Maeve caught her boney frame before she crumbled to the floor like a discarded piece of parchment.
“I’m sorry,” said Maeve. “If I could, I would break yours too.”
Jema would be tried for murder. Likely spend the rest of her life in a Magical prison. But there was no one else to frame.
