“But you don’t,” said Rowan. “You do not run the Committee. Nor are you even on the Committee.”
Ambrose gave him one last disgusted look before slamming the door behind him.
In the corridor, Maeve leaned against the cold stone, resting her head back. She flexed her fingers and then shook them out.
There was something still pulling her. Pulling her towards someone’s mind. She couldn’t shake the feeling of unwanted magic. Like it lurked over her shoulder.
“Did they call for you?” She asked as Ambrose ran his fingers through his hair in frustration.
“No,” he seethed. “Malachite did.”
Maeve’s eyes flicked to Mal. His expression of concern remained.
She knew he didn’t trust them. Perhaps rightfully so. Elgin hadn’t wanted this to happen, as if she knew what was to come.
Ambrose began walking and Maeve and Mal followed him. His pace was quick, anger filled every step. Arman followed them in the rear. Maeve struggled to keep pace. Her legs were begging for rest.
“Those fucking pricks,” said Ambrose through his teeth.
“I agreed to it,” said Maeve.
Ambrose shook his head and laughed darkly. “Did they tell you you’d be jumping to Kietel’s right hand? Straight to one of the most powerful dark wizards to date?”
“No,” said Maeve quietly.
“Furthermore,” said Ambrose, “if you had known whose mind you were entering, who you would be engaging with, would you have done it?”
Maeve sighed. “Probably.”
“No,” said Ambrose. “I didn’t raise you to be that careless.”
Maeve opened her mouth to speak, but Mal spoke first.
“Premier, if I may speak?”
“Ambrose,” corrected her father.
Mal placed his hands behind his back. “Ambrose. You are not concerned with the information Maeve obtained?”
“The information Maeve obtained was useless. We have spies in that room. We would have known within the hour. Now Kietel has been made alert of those spies, we will likely lose them and he is aware there is someone out there with the ability to jump minds. A fact which I have spent the last ten months denying for my daughter’s safety. So the war reminds and the worst is yet to come.”
Maeve and Mal exchanged a look. Maeve’s hand crept to the back of her neck.
At the foot of the stairs were two Magical Militia. They remained astute as Ambrose neared them.
“You’re coming home with me,” said Ambrose over his shoulder.
“For tonight?”
“Until this war is over.”
“No,” said Maeve, coming to a halt.
Ambrose didn’t stop walking. “I didn’t ask.”
“Neither did I,” said Maeve coldly.
Mal looked between them.
