Maeve didn’t need to turn to know who approached her.
Malachite’s tall, slender frame appeared in her peripheral vision.
“What are you doing?” He spoke lazily, that cool drawl resonating in his tone.
“Good evening to you too, Malachite. Getting some fresh air,” said Maeve, matching his demeanor.
Mal slid his hands into his pockets and looked down at her, waiting for her genuine response. She didn’t care to hide from him. She might as well tell him.
“I’m not like them. I don’t fit in with them.”
“No,” said Mal, “you’re better than them.”
“No,” said Maeve with a frustrated sigh. “That’s not what I mean. I mean they live entirely different lives than I do. Those girls have no idea what it means to be in my position.”
“You envy them for it?”
Maeve didn’t answer.
Malachite’s brow ticked up. “You do.”
Maeve stood and brushed past him. “It’s not that simple.” He snagged her arm gently before she could pass. Electricity shot down Maeve’s arm as she jerked it away from him and stepped back.
“What happened?” He asked. His eyes darted to her hand.
She looked up at him as the magic begging for release danced across her fingertips. Malachite felt it too. He looked down at her hand where it was twitching at her side.
“Do it,” he said quietly, his eyes lifting to hers. “Let it go.”
Maeve shook her out hand rapidly, attempting to suppress her anger.
“Don’t do that,” said Mal. “Let it flow freely.”
Maeve stepped back from him once more. “I need to go.”
She turned on her heel and as he grabbed her again, that surge of magic slammed down her arm, cool water spreading through her veins, turning to electric ice.
She turned on him with two sharp fingers and fired at his throat. Malachite’s shield slammed up as his fist wrapped around her fingers and dissipated the bright green spell that had just burst from them.
A concise and controlled pulse of magic whipped towards her, blowing back her hair. Her breathing was quick and erratic.
Nothing that powerful had ever come from her.
Two fingers. She had used two fingers.
“Finally,” said Mal calmly with a hint of annoyance. “Congratulations. You’re a Supreme, Maeve.”
She looked at their hands in disbelief. His touch became delicate as continued.
“I have watched you for months now dueling. In class as you practice defensive spells. I feel your magic, desperate to unleash its full strength. The only way to release that level of Magic,” he ran his free hand along her middle and pointer fingers, sending ice down her arm, “is here.”
“It just. . .happened,” she gasped.
Mal nodded slowly. He was deep in thought. His smooth fingers running along her skin. His voice barely above a whisper as he said, “such a deadly weapon to be so soft.”
Maeve was suddenly hot and cold all at once.
The storm outside had subsided. Light rain pattered against the castle, spilling over into the open corridor stone.
