Maeve didn’t hear him. She was staring off across the lawn. Ambrose made his way over to her.
“Maeve.”
She jumped as his voice pulled her abruptly out of her thoughts.
“Yes?” Asked Maeve.
“Is something wrong?”
She couldn’t muster the feigned smile she would have typically given him. “I think I just need some air.”
Ambrose leaned against the banister.
“We’re outside, darling,” said Ambrose, his face concerned.
Maeve stood. “A walk then.”
Ambrose slipped off his jacket and handed it to her. Maeve slipped it on, wrapping her arms around herself. The warm scent of cinnamon cigars nestled into her bones.
“Can I do anything else?” Ambrose asked.
Maeve shook her head. “I just need to work through a few things myself.”
Ambrose squeezed her shoulder and smiled at her before turning back towards the house.
She stepped onto the grassy lawn. The gardens were lit with floating candles along the pathway to the rocky shore, illuminating the colorful florals that bloomed year-round. Maeve’s family used a similar enchantment in their own gardens to keep everything in constant bloom.
She took her time down the path, trying to think of everything except what was eating at her. It was no use, though.
Maeve admitted to herself that she wished Mal was attending the party tonight. She would even go so far as to say an alternative would be fine- that they were at Vaukore together.
And Alphard. His attention had made her uncomfortable, when it never had before. She suppressed the root of those feelings, and walked in solitude with a foreign feeling of guilt while the rest of the party was enjoying the duels.
Perhaps Mal would be participating in the duels if he were there. He’d dazzle them all.
Outside of the gardens, she reached the shoreline. It was suddenly cold, and the ground was icy and slick. She pulled Ambrose’s jacket tightly around herself. The sky was clear, but the ocean was violently slamming water into the rocky beach. It pushed and pulled with great force. Each crash sent a cold burst of air towards her. A wobbling light from above reflected alone the dark water.
She looked up. Small, glistening green lights floated towards her across the sky. She squinted. It was a raven. As it approached her she held out her arm. The great bird spread its wings wide and lowered itself onto Maeve’s extended arm. She took the square parchment from its leg.
Maeve,
I hope your holiday is going well.
-M
The raven pressed against her, soaring its body back into the dark nights sky.
His words were brief. . .but they were his.
Her cheeks turned warm at the unexpected letter.
“How odd,” she whispered with a smile at the raven disappeared in the darkness.
A sense of purpose surged through her. She turned sharply on her heel and quickly returned to the Manor with Mal’s letter gripped tightly in her hand.
The duels were still in progress, which enabled her to slip into the house and upstairs without being seen. The Rosethorn’s had a study on the second floor, three doors past Abraxas’ room, where she could draft a letter to Mal.
She tossed open the door to the study. Aunt Beatrice Rosethorn had a large assortment of stationary to pick from as Maeve pulled open the drawers of the desk. She picked a random set of parchment and laid it flat on the desk. Aunt Beatrice had dozens of quills to pick from. Dainty blue jay quills, brown and white hawk quills, even a bright red phoenix quill. Maeve grabbed a plain white quill and dipped it in the ink well.
