He and Maeve were seated in Ambrose’s study playing a game of chess. There was a large fire in the middle of a black marbled fireplace, and Maeve was settled in an armchair with a fur blanket keeping her toasty.
Ambrose’s study had a large mahogany desk with floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with various books, magical objects, pictures, and boxes. It smelled distinctly of the cigars Ambrose frequently smoked.
The couches and chairs were covered in elegant, dark leather.
“Malachite Peur was it?” Asked Ambrose casually as he moved a pawn.
“What about him?” Maeve asked cooly.
Ambrose shrugged. “I don’t know that name. Just a curious name is all.”
“You mean it’s not a Sacred Seventeen name,” said Maeve cornering his king.
Ambrose looked displeased.
Maeve laughed, “I’m too sharp for those kinds of lies, Daddy.”
Ambrose looked at her seriously.
“I’m being pressured, Maeve,” said Ambrose. “ Next year you’ll be twenty-two. I want to give you as much time, as much freedom, but your duties-”
“I don’t want to discuss it,” said Maeve, her voice quiet and strained. “Watching Arianna stand beside Titus like that. . .” Maeve trailed off. “You should really pay more attention to your game.”
Ambrose’s king burst into flames as it vanished from the board.
“I think I’ll head to bed,” said Maeve victoriously, stretching.
“Oh now, I didn’t mean to ruin the mood.”
Maeve smiled. “You didn’t. I’m tired and need to pack.”
“Zimsy packed for you, surely.”
“Well, I’m still tired,” said Maeve. “I did want to ask you one thing, though.”
“Anything,” said Ambrose.
“I overheard you and Uncle Rosethorn talking at The Sacred Party about Reeve. You wouldn’t answer me the first time. But I want to know: do you still have an alliance with him?”
Ambrose leaned back in his chair. “Yes,” said Ambrose after a moment. “The High Lord is aware of Kietel’s claims, if that’s what your asking.”
“Has Kietel been to the Dread Lands? Immortal Lands?”
Ambrose shook his head. “Not yet.”
“But Reeve would know if he did right?”
“Where is your etiquette?” Asked Ambrose with a laugh. “The High Lord-”
“I’m sorry it seems silly to call him that,” said Maeve.
“You dislike the Immortal God?”
“No. I’ve never really met him.”
“Surely you have at a party?”
Maeve shrugged. “Maybe. It’s been years I think. I can’t even recall what he looks like, so I hardly think that counts. Do you like him?”
