Rowan spoke over them. “Mr. Rosethorn,’ he called. “Recite the prophecy to us.”
Abraxas leaned back in his seat next to Mal. He swallowed and cleared his throat. He recited the words with almost a boredom, like a pledge he’d memorized since childhood that no longer held meaning.
“In a desperate hour your Prince of Darkness will return. Though a broken line of Magic, into unsuspecting veins. His life will call like to like in those were Magic blood remains. The Descendant of Dread will conquer the plague of the Promised Land, with a single finger not a sword. Rejoice, child of golden blood, freedom shall be yours. On backs and broken necks will balance be restored.”
The classroom turned eerily silent.
A shadow cast over Maeve in the dining hall, and a smooth voice spoke, “I didn’t know.”
She lowered her book and looked up at Malachite, who she had managed to avoid talking to or looking at for over two weeks. She looked back to her book. He had given her well deserved space.
“How?” Scoffed Maeve. “It’s all anyone at school acquaints me with. It’s what they love to gossip about when I walk by as if I can’t bloody hear them.”
Mal’s voice remained cool, in opposition to her’s. “You know I pay no attention to gossip, Maeve.”
The use of her first name didn’t go unnoticed. Maeve was somehow infuriated more by his calm demeanor.
Her book vanished from sight as Malachite whisked it away, seating himself in front of her. She refused to meet his gaze and stared out over the lake instead.
“You had to have known I would find that out eventually.”
Maeve’s head snapped towards him, opening her mouth briefly to snap at him, but resigned, calming herself first.
“I don’t want to see it,” said Maeve cooly.
Mal’s face screwed, looking at her almost dumbly. Maeve sighed, looking at the mahogany table as she spoke.
“You pushed past a barrier that night. A barrier even I don’t go past. Antony’s death. . . The sight of him like that. . . I can’t have it always creeping into my thoughts. I can’t have it keep me up at night, I can’t have it destroy my studies and…”
“You blocked an entire set of memories somehow?”
She nodded.
“How?” Mal shot impatiently. She shot him a look back.
“Rowan did it for me.”
“Of course.” Mal pushed back into his chair with a sour look on his face.
“I couldn’t do it myself. I invented the damn spell myself, it’s just one can’t perform it on oneself. He said that if I promised to spend the summer working that silly job at the Double O, he would make it so I controlled if I saw those memories. The other night when you saw that memory, it came flooding back to me like the first time.”
“I broke past a charm Rowan himself put on you,” said Mal, poorly attempting to hide a wicked smile.
“Yes, by all means, make it about you,” said Maeve.
His eyes shot to hers, but she had a smile tugging at her lips.
“Impressive as it is,” she continued. “I don’t care to see it.”
Mal looked her over and pursed his lips. “You are running from something, that’s unlike you.” He spoke lazily, pulling out a piece of parchment and a quill. “I am here to push you, not to care what memories hurt or haunt you. Face it head on or it will be your downfall I should think.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but Mal was quicker.
“And don’t say you aren’t ready.”
Maeve snapped her jaw tightly shut.
Maeve met Mal in the Dueling Hall later that evening. He was pressing her, much more so than he had been doing. His methods of triumph were becoming more and more uncalculated, which kept Maeve on her toes.
