15. Maeve

15

Maeve

S teel hit steel, and she felt the impact reverberate down her arm to her shoulder. This was Rodan she trained with, not a mortal. His strength was as substantial as her own, only he had been honing his abilities for centuries.

"You're distracted, Maeve," he said, breaking from their contact and pacing away from her in a semi-circle.

"You're fighting half-naked," she pointed out. "Which is diverting, assuredly, but also… if I did the same thing, you'd get mad."

He laughed. "Fair point. Does this help?"

Rodan spread his arms, momentarily showing off the incredible amount of muscle he had gained from his time on Tartarus, along with the raised scar on his chest. Then, in a blink, he was garbed in a close-fitted, long-sleeved tunic.

Maeve frowned. "Boo. Take it off."

Rodan grinned. Something she had been seeing more out of him lately, and reveled in. Sometimes it seemed like that smile was meant just for her, and always had been.

She widened her hands on the grip, her sword at a middle guard position.

Rodan shook his head. "You're telegraphing everything. You're waiting for me to strike." He whipped his blade around, the move lazy despite its complexity. "You have to be more proactive than that."

She relaxed, the tip of the sword dipping down, though she still held it fast. "You're intimidating," she said, knowing it sounded like whining but not caring. "You've been doing this how long now? I've got a handful of years under my belt, sporadic at best."

Rodan glanced at her, his eyes heavy with the knowledge of why.

Sebastian had not wanted her to know how to defend herself, not really. He had even tried to keep her from understanding her own magic when it began to bloom in the Realms.

She had also learned something from their discussions with some of Sebastian's loyalist holdouts. They were still in the dungeons. Well-fed, the lot of them, and kept comfortable, but still kept. Maeve had attempted to speak to some of them, to get them to accept banishment or some lighter form of punishment. She had touched on what their minds telegraphed, and some things still had her stomach clenching.

Sebastian was the one who sent those men after me outside Visantium , she thought. He was the one who provided them with imperial uniforms. He made them attack me.

She had been so shocked by the knowledge that she had soon left the traitors to their dungeon cells. It had been difficult to be down there, anyway. Even though, from her eyes, they were still very comfortable. Well-lit, dry, and each cell appointed with ample furniture. It had not been that way when they discovered it along with Bethany's corpse. Then, it had been like dungeons in fables, all dark and shadowed, filled with rats and smelling of blood, death, decay, and pain.

Rodan did not know about this aspect of Sebastian's betrayal yet, however. And despite the fact she had burned him, taken him utterly from the world, there was still a sliver of a part of her who missed the man she thought she knew.

Please don't let that ever happen with Rodan , she thought now, stepping back a few feet as he circled her still. I would hate to look upon him and see a stranger.

She breathed deep and raised her sword again, trying not to pay attention to the watching group of people.

While her arms did not ache the way they would have in the past, she was still unaccustomed to fighting this often and this thoroughly.

Rodan nodded, as though coming to a conclusion on something, and his entire demeanor changed. He came for her, the move so swift she was not certain if he was actually moving or somehow teleporting between positions.

Maeve yelped and skidded back on the hard-packed dirt as Rodan's sword hit hers again and again. She barely managed to stave him off, and it once more made her think of that desert city, and?—

"You're somewhere else," he growled, and disarmed her.

She was not even sure how it happened. One moment her grip was firm. The next, Rodan had her in his arms, and the swords were both clattering to the ground.

People cheered and whooped, though some booed as well, but Maeve only had eyes for him. His calloused palm cupped her face. "When we're training, I am not your love. I am teacher, but mostly I am one for you to be intent on conquering. You have to be here, with the movements we're practicing, not in the past. Not in memory."

Maeve swallowed and nodded. "Okay. Are we training still?" She gripped his arms, heart hammering fiercely from their short-lived bout.

He shook his head, then bent and kissed her.

Now all of those watching were cheering and cat-calling, but Maeve did not care about that. She cared about the taste of salt and citrus and smoke.

She let out a little whimper when he pulled away but he flashed her a smile. "We do have an audience, love."

Maeve lifted her eyes to the stands. They stood in the training grounds for the imperial guard and other castle forces. It was like a miniature of the stadium in which they had fought Sebastian, but a quarter the size and with a ring of bleachers three levels tall. It was sparsely populated with members of the guard. Jen and Troy, never far from one another these days. Lizette, Nath, and Victor. Aesa, Josalyn—who was still working out details of her deal with Maeve—and a handful of others.

As she scanned the faces, Maeve hesitated on Jen. There was something about her friend that was different. Something she could not quite put her finger on, and it was more than just Ankou's mark. She did not understand it yet.

But there were other things to focus on as she pulled her gaze away, helping Rodan pick up their blunted practice swords and hang them from the practice rack.

They were four days from her coronation, which was to take place on the full moon after the duel. The closer it came the more her stomach seemed to bottom out. That, and there was the new agreement with Josalyn.

Maeve had already performed her boon. She had expressed she would be willing to help the sorceress and her people without the consuming, forceful nature of the magic which Rodan had told her about.

Josalyn had asked for it officially that afternoon. "For your boon, I ask you turn this," she pulled an apple, hardly larger than a golf ball, from her pocket. "Into gold." And so, only feeling a bare whisper of the compulsion magic, Maeve had done just so, adding a small flair by studding it with red and yellow gemstones, so that it glittered and refracted the light. Josalyn grinned upon seeing it, and bowed her head in thanks.

In exchange, ships were now being repaired, outfitted, and crewed for voyages to the island chain off the coast of the Fifth Realm. Maeve would keep a presence there, and would herself visit to assist in other ways. Building and crafting what Josalyn's band could not do with the supplies available and their own hands.

They were also compiling a list of complaints. Grievances that had never been fully brought to light, people who would had to face justice. Not just those from Sebastian's reign, but from Rodan's, as well. Most of those under Josalyn's care had been unable to hold the power and authority needed to be able to lodge official inquiries.

Maeve would see to it, that their complaints and reports would be heavily investigated. She had pledged as much as that.

And some of the stories coming out made her want to tear into those responsible. Similar crimes as what had been committed against her during her own youth. It made her sick, but she had known in some respect that it must have been happening here, too.

I'll root it out, she vowed to herself. No one who would commit such actions will be allowed to breathe free. Not on my world.

Rodan took her hand, his voice sliding through her mind a moment later. You've been doing well with your training. I can see the improvement.

She beamed at him, squeezing his fingers. Aloud, she said, "You make it look easy. It's not."

Scanning the spectators, who were mostly standing and talking amongst themselves at this point, Maeve felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on edge. Chills raced down her spine, and she looked up, drawn by the sensation.

Something was drifting out of the sky.

Not snow, but similarly dense as it floated gradually downward.

Rose petals. Thousands of yellow-gold rose petals, showering around them.

"Oh, no," Rodan whispered, grip tightening on her.

"What is it?" She asked, holding out a hand to let several petals fall into her upturned palm. They tingled her skin where they touched, and she dropped them, the chills racing even faster across her body now. She shuddered. "Magic."

"Yes," Rodan said. "Titania's magic."

Her mouth went dry, and she almost expected her mother to appear around the corner. "What does it mean?"

"It's a summoning. She intends us to travel to the Fae Court, now, or she will come to us." He looked at her, his expression difficult to read. "We do not want her here. I never wished to expose the Realms to her particular powers."

Maeve balked. "I have?—"

"You have ethics. Morals. She does not." He was speaking swiftly. "Not in the way that counts. Not in a way that will help us. Look what she did to you, what your father told you of."

Her heart thudded hard against her ribs. "What would she want from us?"

Rodan led her toward where Jen and Troy were coming out of the stands. "I can only hope she wishes to be consulted in your ascension, my love, to the high throne of the Realms. You have taken power at an incredibly young age." He stopped them when they were near to their friends. "We're being summoned to the Court."

"What?" Jen was frantically brushing petals off her where they touched flesh. "Gods, these things sting."

Maeve tilted her head. Interesting.

Was her friend that magically sensitive, or was it some side effect of her father's mark? It still glimmered, there and then gone, like the sheen inside an abalone.

"My love, we must away," Rodan murmured, pulling her close with an arm around her waist. "She will not allow us to tarry."

As he spoke, there was the shimmer of his magic, clothing them and wiping away the last of the sweat raised with their practice. It was as though she had stepped fresh from a shower. There was no time to take in what he had done, however, except to know the outfit was somewhat restrictive, the fabric heavy.

Maeve insisted, "Will she not wait a moment? We need to prepare the others."

"I would not have us risk it. She's not the most patient, and the fall is thickening." He motioned above them, where a vortex of flower petals was raining down, so thick she could barely see sky through it.

Maeve swore as her friend scurried for protection under the stands of the practice grounds. "Jen? Take care of things."

"You got it!" she called.

Rodan tightened his grip around her, and she sensed the moment he pulled open the pathways, grasping a particularly interesting one and bringing them through.

When Maeve first breathed in upon the Fae Court, she felt the living presence of the planet beneath her feet. It reached out in a similar manner to how the Realms did, though instead of a rush of affectionate greeting, this was an inquiry.

And words, where the Realms had none, and Maeve knew, in the instant her mind touched on that of the Fae Court, that this planetary system was ancient compared to the Realms. You are kin? It asked.

Rodan's voice next. Careful.

They were being watched, she saw now. By hundreds of mismatched eyes. They were a pressing weight in her skull, and she realized this greeting was very public.

She and Rodan stood in a circle of yellow rose petals, on a white carpet before a massive throne made of pure silver and gold, shot through with sapphires and impossibly large chunks of polished opal. And on that throne sat someone who could be none other than High Queen Titania.

Maeve stared, even though she was likely breaking a thousand rules by doing so. She could not help it.

Titania was tall, even sitting Maeve could tell she was at least six foot, and she was curvaceous, her powerful figure garbed in cloth of gold and silken fabric with the appearance of liquid mercury. Opals dripped from her throat and crown, and she had a gloved hand draped lazily on the head of an enormous black and white spotted hunting dog, its tongue red and attention keen. Maeve thought it must be the size of one of those two-door smart cars.

When the High Queen spoke, her voice was low, though it carried well in the cavernous throne room. "Well? Are you going to answer?"

The planet nudged against Maeve's senses.

You are kin? It asked again.

The interest around her intensified, but all she could do was stare at this person, dripping in wealth and power, and feel sick.

"Yes," Maeve said at last, speaking clear despite the raging tempest of her mind and heart. "I am kin to the Fae Court. And I am honored by the invitation." She bit her tongue on what she wanted to say. Mother.

That could wait.

Titania's eyebrows were dark arches where her hair was shining copper-gold. Everything about her screamed privilege and rank. "You will stay with us," she said. "Until we can properly welcome you."

Maeve's stomach twisted.

Rodan spoke. "We would enjoy a reprieve from our duties, my Queen, but there is much to attend to upon the Realms. Maeve's rule is new, and?—"

"Yes," Titania interrupted, raising the hand off her hunting dog, who rolled to his feet and stretched, mouth wide in a yawn exposing long rows of white, sharp teeth. "There is a great deal to discuss. I hope you find our accommodations to your liking."

We cannot speak freely here , Rodan said through the bond. Not here, nor in whatever chambers they appoint to us.

Maeve cast him a look, but her attention snapped back to Titania immediately. She did not want to let her mother out of her sight. Even though her heart hammered and screamed of danger, she was longing for more of a look upon the one who had carried her, birthed her, and sentenced her to a life on Earth.

Titania lifted her chin, as though she could sense the edge of Maeve's thoughts. For all she knew, the High Queen could, indeed, do just that. Her psychic abilities were, apparently, unparalleled. And Maeve had not practiced enough to know how to hold her back.

I don't want to be here, she said through the bond, even though it was not precisely true. We have to go back.

We cannot deny her invitation to stay, either, or at least I cannot. I am bound to Titania through vows even my father could not break. She is my High Queen.

It made Maeve want to scream.

Instead, she took a steadying breath, her gaze flicking to the people gathered on cushions and low seats around the throne. One caught her eye. Oberon, if the matching blue and brown eyes were any indication. He was intent on her, as a cat would be on its prey.

We are in a pit of vipers, Maeve thought.

Yes , Rodan replied, though she had not telegraphed the words to him. I'm sorry I could not have prepared you better for this.

The world itself seemed to stretch beneath her, massive and content. She sensed, too, the curiosity and animosity aimed at her from the crowd of spectators. An errant thought came her way.

Why does she get special treatment?

Maeve thought this was less than special, but then the hound was making its way to them, tongue lolling as it paced gracefully in long strides. "You will follow me," he said when at their side. "I will take you to your rooms."

Maeve glanced, startled, at her mother once more, and Titania smiled, exposing a brilliant row of white teeth. "There are many wonders to be found at the Fae Court."

And terrors , Rodan's voice echoed in her mind. Never forget. Be on guard.

But then he bowed and, placing his hand was at the small of Maeve's back, he guided her past the throne to a hall that opened up into several others, branching off in all directions. Behind them, the noise of a thousand throats speaking at once, some of them sounding almost demanding. Before them, sunlight glinted through stained glass, creating patterns on the flagstones.

They followed the dog whose shoulders were at the height of Maeve's chest, his short nails clacking on the polished stone floor.

Everything gleamed marble and gold and silver. Gemstones glimmered in the eyes of statues. Portraits and scenic paintings dominated the spaces on the walls between windows draped with the finest fabrics. Everywhere she stepped, magic flowed like currents and tides, rippling around her.

The glow began beneath her skin, and she saw it echoed in the few people who passed them along the way to tall double-doors carved in gold relief with inlaid gems and a floral design. The hunting hound sat on its haunches in front of the door and its head lolled to the side. Maeve could not help but reach out and scratch it between the ears, and his eyes closed in bliss for a moment before he stepped out of range.

"Beyond these doors are your rooms for the duration of your stay on the Fae Court," he said, more growl than before.

I've never seen another touch one of her hounds and not lose the limb, Rodan said, his awe and fear palpable. I should have warned you, but it must know you.

Maeve tilted her head to the side, regarding the animal. "How long have you been with Titania?"

"A thousand years," he said, scratching behind his ear with one massive back paw. "And do not touch me again."

She swallowed and nodded. "Understood. I'm s—accustomed to those back on Earth who would welcome such a thing."

Good catch, Rodan said, having warned her of the dangers of thanking or implying debt to a Fae creature, which this hound certainly was. Through and through.

Everything here was danger.

Maeve clutched his hand, fingernails digging in.

The dog regarded her, then barked a laugh and turned, leaving them before the carved golden door.

She noticed as she reached for it that the door handles were in the shape of twining rose vines with a blooming rose at the end. It made the thing a little difficult to grip, but the door swung open easily enough.

Inside was a bower. A flower garden intermixed with lush furnishings.

Rodan's hand was at her lower back, urging her forward. She stepped onto soft spring moss, her short heels sinking into it.

Rodan closed the door behind them, then grasped her hand and led her through what was, she was sure, technically a forest? Or some kind of arboretum.

Led her straight to an honest-to-the-gods waterfall, where he made no hesitation to strip her down and pull her under the spray.

Maeve yelped, the water cooler than she was expecting, but soon the bracing temperature eased, and she looked to Rodan.

"We can't be heard in this," he said, so quiet that she had to move as close to him as possible, pressing her face against his so his lips were at her ear. "I needed to speak to you."

She gripped his shoulders tight. "What's happening?"

"I think she aims to claim you," he said. My love, I think she means to wipe the minds of us all, and make us believe that you're Oberon's. Just as she did to remove Icarus from our memories.

Maeve pulled back, shocked, eyes wide. "Why?"

Rodan cupped the back of her neck, pulling her close once more so he could murmur in her ear. "I only know you have to deny her. You do not belong to this world." You belong on the Realms. You belong with me.

"I know," she said, clutching him tight.

And on the heels of that, a thought she kept strictly to herself.

If I am meant for the Realms, then why does this place feel so familiar?