She looked back and forth between them.
“Excuse me?” Maeve said in disbelief, certain she had misheard him.
“Maeve,” said Ambrose, his tone dismissive. He didn’t even so much as glance at her. He turned his chair towards the window.
But Reeve’s eyes slid to Maeve as Ambrose continued talking. After only a moment Reeve’s expression swiftly shifted, as he realized Maeve was on the edge of her seat. Shock spread across her face.
“You didn’t,” said Maeve. “Tell me you didn’t-”
Ambrose rounded on her. “You know nothing of wartime and the sacrifices that must be made-”
“I know plenty of sacrifices,” snapped Maeve, her voice growing dark. She pulled at the fabric of her high collared sweater and then pushed up her sleeves, exposing the marks of proof.
Ambrose ignored the gesture and continued. “We are on the verge of another catastrophic war, this time we may not survive.”
Maeve’s throat burned hot. She couldn’t believe it. “So you betrayed my secret to him, for your own gain?”
“For all our gain,” corrected Ambrose.
Maeve shook her head. “I told you what the Double O would do with this power, you agreed the danger-”
“I am not your corrupted government,” said Reeve.
“Shut up,” said Maeve.
Reeve stood to his full height, his shoulders rolling back as he spoke.
“You think you are the only one with loved ones to protect,” said Reeve.
“Spare me,” said Maeve. “You don’t give a damn what happens to the Magicals, so long as your precious and perfect society stays tucked away from harm. When was the last time your schools were attacked? Your lands destroyed?”
“He has been to the Dread Lands, Miss Sinclair,” spat Reeve, his voice sharp and low. “Malachite has traveled into The Dark Sacred Lands that sit across the Black Deep from my lands. Immortal lands.”
“So what?” She said.
They were silent for a moment. Ambrose and Reeve exchanged a glance.
“You knew,” said Ambrose.
“Of course I knew,” she answered. “I am his Second.”
Reeve nearly rolled his eyes. He walked past her to gaze at the artifacts along her father’s mantle, as if looking for a distraction, his breathing slow and controlled.
But Maeve could feel that temper ready to whip from him. Fire danced and pushed across the floor towards her.
Maeve looked to her father, who ran a hand through his darkened silver hair. “He’s there now, isn’t he?” He asked her.
“And so what if he is? Those lands, the magic in them, is his.”
“True,” said Ambrose gently. “And I advised him that I fully supported his desire to travel.”
“But?” Pressed Maeve.
Reeve turned from the mantel now, Maeve looked to him.
“But those lands have been sealed for centuries for a reason. We had a plan. Armies of Magic to take back those lands.”
Maeve scowled. “You’re so arrogant. You think he isn’t capable of handling the power?”
