“I feel responsible for the two of you,” said the barman. “You look like well-off kids, and I ain’t trying to have some rich snot coming after me for not getting you to safety-”
“You do not care who we are,” said Mal plainly. “You’ll go back to sleep and leave us be.”
Maeve glanced down, but Mal wasn’t pointing at him. She looked back at the barman, expecting another argument. But the old man nodded, turned and made his way back up the stairs without another word.
Maeve looked up at Mal as the inn rumbled once more.
“Your way, I see,” said Maeve.
“Don’t know what you mean.”
Mal stepped past her into her room and stalked to the window, observing the bombing on the horizon. Maeve closed the door behind them.
“How far away do you think they are?” Asked Maeve as she stood beside him.
“Far enough,” said Mal.
They watched for a moment. Maeve looked down, and there were humans in the streets hurrying towards the bunker the barman spoke of.
“I have to admit,” said Maeve. “That’s quite the invention of theirs. Massively destructive.”
Mal didn’t respond.
“Father says one bomb matches the strength of a thousand Magicals. And they keep making bigger ones.”
She pressed her palm against the glass. The panes vibrated despite their distance from the bombs.
Mal asked. “Do you still feel that magic from earlier?”
Maeve nodded. “It’s so faint. Makes me doubt its existence.”
Mal was quiet for a moment as they watched and listened to the distant rumbling. Then he spoke lowly. “Don’t keep those kind of things from me.”
Maeve didn’t respond.
“We should place protective enchantments,” said Mal, as another larger quake shook through the village.
Maeve agreed. Together they cast enough protective barriers to prevent them from being harmed should the bombs make their way over to Ragsling Village.
After another moment, the sirens fell silent, and Maeve yawned. Mal looked her over.
“You should go back to sleep,” he said.
Maeve nodded and made her way towards the bed. Mal seated himself in the small wooden chair in the room.
“What are you doing?” Asked Maeve.
“What does it look like I’m doing?”
Maeve frowned.
“Go back to sleep, Sinclair,” said Mal, running his fingers through his hair. “Morning is only a few hours away.”
Maeve’s eyes lingered on his exposed chest for a moment before she felt her cheeks become warm. She slipped under the covered quickly.
“What about you?”
“I was finding it difficult to sleep anyway,” he said.
