Tonight, each time Mal defeated her, she had to answer a question.
On their first duel, he asked her if she had ever used her memory charm spells to get something she wanted, but possibly otherwise wouldn’t have achieved on her own.
“Wasn’t it on my own, since I cast the spell myself?”
Mal commended her on this clever response.
The second time he bested her, and had her bound by thick rope like strands of magic, he asked her if given the choice to bring back her brother from the dead, at the sacrifice of her Father, would she.
“What a deranged question,” said Maeve, her voice low.
The ropes tightened around her. Her mind slipped to those books Lavinia kept offering to lend her.
“And you haven’t even heard my third question,” replied Mal.
“I already know your third question,” said Maeve.
The ropes grew even tighter, constricting her body. She winced.
“Is that so?”
“Yes,” said Maeve. “You want to know why my brother was murdered.”
Mal’s face didn’t change as he stared down at her, which solidified Maeve’s accusation.
“My brother was a werewolf,” admitted Maeve, straining. Mal’s expression didn’t change. “And I’m sure you know people like him aren’t exactly treated kindly. It was supposed to be a secret. Very few knew. He refused the treatment enforced by the Double O to keep him from changing”
Maeve hesitated, but continued when he didn’t say anything.
Of course, that was a gross mistake on my father’s part: assuming very few knew. He was killed by another wolf it seemed. It was grotesque when they found him- two of my Father’s men found him-ripped to pieces. What you saw in my memories was what they managed to piece together of him. . .” Maeve trailed off, her voice just above a whisper now. “His eyeballs were even carved out.”
“Your father recounted that detail to you?” Mal asked, his voice flat.
“No,” she said incredulously. “I took a dip inside his memory jar one night when he was asleep. Not that the bloody paper didn’t print that too.”
Mal was unfazed as he stood above her.
“When I looked into it,” he said, “the official Orator’s Office statement was that it was a tragic accident and no fowl play was suspected. Yet, you use the word ‘murdered’.”
“The Office of Magical Orations lies, Mal. They all lie. The school lies, the Orator’s Office lies, the papers lie. This school probably lies. Hell, according to you, my own family lies.”
The magic constricting her disappeared with a popping sound as Mal released her.
She let out a quick breath.
“And you think Keitl is lying about being the Dread Descendant?”
Maeve looked up at him.
He extended a hand to help her up, which he had never done before. She took his cool hand, and he pulled her to her feet. There were burn marks from the ropes where her sleeves were rolled back. She stood silently, observing the marks. Her Sinclair Family Ring glistened in the candlelight.
Maeve stammered a response, but it caught in her throat.
Mal reached out and ran his icy slender finger tips over the spots that would likely yield bruises along her arms. Maeve shuddered at his unexpected touch. She looked up at him and he met her eyes only briefly before he turned on his heel.
“I think we’re done for the night,” said Mal.
They gathered their things and made their ascent out of the dueling hall. Maeve rolled her sleeves down, concealing her marks.
