“Once Mal is-”
“Don’t,” she said softly.
Maeve pressed on. “In the Dread Lands there won’t be any servant curse-”
“Don’t!” Snapped Zimsy. She had never spoken to Maeve like that. Her expression wilted. “Don’t.”
Maeve’s head hit the wall behind her. She breathed deeply and moved towards Zimsy. She pulled her into her arms, and for the first time, let herself feel the wicked curse that bound Zimsy to her Mother.
It was a solid steel wall, cold and unyielding, that stretched in every direction for miles.
She then felt to the strand connecting Zimsy and Maeve, which would be weaker, as Maeve was only Clarrisa’s daughter. But there was nothing.
Not even a thread of Magic lingered there.
The Servant’s Curse was considered unbreakable by a third party. No one had ever managed it.
Solid steel walls of magic were nearly impenetrable.
But so was the mind. And Maeve shattered those just fine.
Mal wore the Dread Locket everyday, concealed under his clothes. She argued with him about Zimsy’s enslavement curse. And they argued about the locket. Mal was set on creating another Vexkari with it.
The locket already had magic, someone else’s magic, stowed in it. It was dangerous to entangle with it. On top of that, Maeve argued that Mal’s overall strength would decline if he continued splicing his magic in such a way. But Mal, confident in his wealth of power, felt the opposite.
He wanted to protect parts of his power. He wanted to feel close to his mother, if part of her Magic still lingered on that locket. He wanted a trinity: three holy objects holding part of him.
Maeve still didn’t know what the first Vexkari he made was. She wouldn’t ask. She knew he wouldn’t tell.
Maeve argued she could break Zimsy’s chains with his help, and Mal said it was possible, but not soon.
“You are not strong enough for that Magic,” said Mal. “Not yet. But I have told you, once we are in the Dread Lands there will be no such curses.”
“What if my mother doesn’t come?” Asked Maeve. “What if she keeps Zimsy here?”
Mal stood close, packing a small black leather shoulder bag for a short journey into the Dread Lands. No one but the pair of them knew he had been traveling there alone. His coronation was planned to be in the restored Grand Hall of Vaukore Castle, but Mal had a surprise for every Magical that would be in attendance.
They would all be visiting the Dread Lands in just a few days. Mal had nearly finished restoring the magic of Castle Morana in The Dread Lands where his coronation would actually take place. Maeve couldn’t accompany him in preparing the throne room. She still couldn’t breathe there for as long as he needed to stay to ensure it was ready.
He slipped the serpent tip dagger is his bag. Contemplated for a moment and then slid it back out. He crossed around the table and held the hilt towards her.
“Keep it on you at all times,” he said.
“I wish I could come with you,” she replied.
“Soon,” said Mal with a nod.
Soon.
That was his answer to everything lately.
Maeve took the dagger in her hand. It was hefty. The serpent’s fangs were bared, its eyes made of crimson ruby stones.
The blade was tapered to a fine point. And just as Vetus said, the inscription read ‘forever wounded.’
“Will a wound on a Magical heal?”
Mal opened his left palm to her. Where a fresh red incision was barely closed up. “Magical blood will heal at the rate a human heals. But I imagine a human would never heal.”
