The silvery strand of memory began to grow and turn a glittering gold color. In an instant, golden streams exploded from the tips of her fingers, traveling in all directions at the speed of light.
It didn’t take long for the cloud to return to the tip of Maeve’s hand, where it turned silver once more. Maeve popped the memory back in her head.
Maeve looked up at her stunned father.
“I-” stuttered Ambrose. “I had no idea.”
“Do you know why I haven’t taken that job with Daniel Rodriguez, Daddy? As beneficial to our Magical world as it may be? And why they pester you about it constantly still?”
“Because the Orator’s Office will want to weaponize this spell you’ve created.”
Maeve stared at her father intensely and nodded. “I don’t intend to share it.”
Chapter 61
The preparations for Mal’s coronation were going perfectly, according to Abraxas and Maeve’s grandmothers. They were two of the oldest Magicals alive, and held the distinct honor of ensuring Mal’s ascent to the throne was a memorable one.
He was still traveling, and was set to return late tomorrow evening or early in the morning on his birthday.
She entered her father’s study. “You wanted to see me?”
Ambrose leaned against the enchanted window. A stormy twilight brewed through the glass. Movement to her right caught her eye.
Reeve sat on the black leather loveseat. No claws. No wings. Just the handsome High Lord whom she had exchanged unpleasant words with last they spoke.
His chin lowered. “Sinclair.”
Maeve looked back to her father. The air was tense. “What’s this?”
“Have a seat, darling,” said Ambrose.
Maeve crossed the room and sat opposite Reeve. They were quiet. Maeve shook her head.
“Wonderful,” she said. “It’s the eve of his coronation and let me guess,” she looked to Reeve, “you’ve come up with some reason it shouldn’t happen.”
Neither of them spoke. A sinking feeling washed over her entire body.
“I knew it. You’re moving against me?” Asked Maeve in a shuddering whisper. “Against us?”
Ambrose’s eyes shot to his daughter. “No,” he said darkly.
“Then what is this?” She pressed.
Ambrose sighed. “I am sorry, darling. I have told you before there are aspects of war you know nothing of.”
She looked to Reeve. Not a flirtatious flicker in his firelight eyes. This was The High Lord of the Immortal Realm. He spoke now.
“There are whispers. Whispers that have happened before. A darkness growing stronger in the Dread Lands,” said Reeve.
“Of course there is,” said Maeve. “The Dread Descendant has returned.”
“It’s more than that,” said Reeve. “The darkness there is growing.”
“Mal can handle-”
“Tell her Ambrose,” Reeve interrupted.
Ambrose was reclined back in his chair. His arms draped down the arms of his chair. “I am afraid for you, Maeve. I am afraid of what lies there. Afraid it will corrupt you before Malachite even has a chance to defeat it. I took an oath to protect all Magicals. I called you here, and Reeve here, because I need you to understand why I informed Reeve about your spell.”
