Maeve’s legs trembled. She reached for the stone wall of the castle as she braced herself. Roswyn opened his mouth once more, but Maeve cut him off.
“Don’t pretend I suddenly matter to you.”
“You don’t,” he said darkly. “But it’s not my interest in you that concerns me.”
“What a good dog,” she said with a smile.
The feeling released her and vanished completely. She let go of the wall and walked around him. “I didn’t eat dinner is all,” she lied, knowing he would report to Mal.
She left Roswyn without another word.
Once in her common room, Maeve attempted reading one of her favorite books to shake the uneasy feeling. Mal consumed her thoughts.
Was he was alright? How had it gone? What if he was still in the process because it took hours? Each line she read blurred, and worry and curiosity reappeared at the front of her mind.
The backs of her eyelids forced themselves into vision. . .
She awoke with a hefty sigh and felt Spinel shift and stretch on her chest. She was curled up on one of the ivory couches in the common room. It was late. The fire at the center of the hall had all but burned out, and the candlelights floating down from the rafters were out.
She resolved to go to bed. With heavy feet, she climbed the spiraling staircase to the dorms. Violet and the other girls were fast asleep when she reached their dorm room. Spinel scurried around her ankles and jumped into bed with a girl named Patricia, curling up with her long-haired tabby cat named Marcel.
She pulled out the small piece of parchment she and Mal communicated with. She scribbled a few words:
How did it go?
She stared at the words. They remained on the paper. Another minute passed, and they still had not faded. Maeve set the parchment on the bedside table with a small sigh.
She knew he’d be disappointed in her worry.
She laid awake for quite some time, her mind wandering across all sorts of things in an attempt to not fall asleep, desperate to hear from him.
Her eyelids were winning. Sleep was ready to claim her once more. Just as they were beginning to close, she saw her writing on the parchment paper disappear, and the paper glowed green. Mal’s reply came:
Perfectly.
Maeve smiled and pulled the covers up tight, allowing herself to fall quickly asleep.
The next morning, Maeve packed her trunk and suitcases for the journey home. Spinel kept packing himself in Maeve’s trunk, even though Maeve removed him many times and assured him he wouldn’t be left behind. A faint green light emitted from the bed, where Maeve had books and clothes strewn about. The tiny piece of paper read:
Come outside.
Maeve set the parchment aside, flew down the stairs and out into the fifth-floor corridor.
Mal stood leaned against the wall. He looked quite well. The corners of his mouth turned up upon seeing her.
“Tell me everything,” she said hastily.
He laughed. “Let’s take a walk.”
They walked the halls as Mal recounted his night prior. He admitted it was excruciating and exhilarating. He described it as the most powerful rush of magic he had ever been in control of. He had successfully removed part of his magic, his very soul even, and stored it safely away.
Maeve was in awe. He did not tell her what he had concealed part of his Magic in, and she knew better than to ask if he was not forthcoming with that detail. But she knew one thing: whatever it was now held power beyond imagination.
“And you feel alright?” Maeve asked him.
“This is the best I’ve felt in a long time. Perhaps since I came to Vaukore.” He had a pridefulness in his walk today. “I proved to myself that I can control my Magic. And it will bend to my will.” He looked over at her. “What’s that face for?” He asked her.
Maeve felt a flush in her cheeks. “Honestly. . . I’m so impressed.”
