Protect the Prince (Crown of Shards #2)(120)

I had ordered her chambers to be sealed off again, and I was the only one who had a key to the door. I had finally told Paloma, Serilda, Cho, Auster, and Xenia about my previous conversation with Maeven before we had left for Glitnir, but I hadn’t told them that I’d been coming here every night, hoping that she would appear in the mirror again. She hadn’t yet, but her room was quiet, peaceful, and the absolute last place anyone would look for me. So I sat down to get some work done while I waited to see if Maeven would appear.

I laid a stack of papers on the writing desk, right next to two other items already sitting there—Maeven’s signet ring and Ansel’s pocket watch.

Thanks to my dreams, my memories, of the Winterwind attack, I’d been thinking about my tutor a lot, and when we’d returned to Seven Spire, I had fished his watch out of its hiding place in one of my vanity table drawers.

I traced my index finger over the large, fancy cursive M embossed on the bronze watch cover. The initial was the same as the M on Maeven’s silver signet ring, and the stylized M was also part of the Mortan royal crest—the only part it seemed like the members of the Bastard Brigade were allowed to wear.

Including Dahlia. Her gold heart locket with its distinctive D had been buried with her. Heinrich had told me that her locket had contained a painted portrait of Sullivan, along with an M engraved on the inside. I supposed it was fitting, since Sullivan and Morta were the only two things that Dahlia had ever truly loved.

I wasn’t quite sure why I had kept Ansel’s watch all these years, or why I had dragged it back out now, along with Maeven’s ring. Maybe I wanted to remind myself that the people we loved the most could have the darkest secrets—and to be extra careful who I put my trust in.

I scooted the watch and the ring off to the side and got to work, still waiting for Maeven to appear.

And she finally did.

I’d been reviewing some new trade agreements with Unger for about an hour when a bright silver light flared, and the surface of the Cardea mirror began to ripple. I put down my pen, walked over, and stood in front of the mirror.

A few seconds later, Maeven came into focus on the other side. Blond bun, amethyst eyes, elegant gown. She looked the same as always, but there was one noticeable addition to her features—a deep, jagged wound surrounded by an ugly, purple bruise on her left cheekbone.

I recognized the mark for what it was—someone had backhanded her, and his ring had left behind a large, lasting impression. Most likely her brother the king, unhappy with her latest failure to kill me.

“Hello, Maeven. I’ve been expecting you.”

She seemed surprised by that. “Have you been waiting up for me every single night since you returned to Seven Spire? Why, Everleigh, how sweet. I didn’t know you cared so much.”

I shrugged.

“So why are you here?” she asked.

“I wanted to know whether or not you were still alive.” I pointed to her cheek. “Looks like your brother the king gave you a little souvenir. I’m guessing he wasn’t very happy that your entire scheme turned out to be a massive failure. You lost all those magiers and strixes, your secret weapon in Dahlia, and any shot you had at the Andvarian throne, all at once. It was a truly glorious defeat.”

Maeven’s hand drifted up to her cheek. She realized what she’d just done, grimaced, and dropped her hand back down to her side. “My relationship with my brother is none of your concern.”

I shrugged again. “I suppose not. Tell me, though. Are you going to keep that nasty little wound he gave you? It would be a terrible shame to ruin your beautiful face with it. Did you know that Serilda has a similar scar near her eye from where Cordelia backhanded her years ago? I think that keeping such an ugly mark on her face reminded Serilda of what she was fighting for. Will your scar do the same for you?”

I paused, but she didn’t answer, so I kept talking, trying to cut her to pieces with my words.

“Or will your king even give you a choice in the matter? Probably not. After all, he doesn’t give you a choice in anything else, does he? You and your Bastard Brigade are just good little soldiers, fighting, fucking, betraying, and killing for him from the day you’re born until the day you die. No matter what the cost is to any of you.”

Maeven’s lips pressed together in a tight, thin line, but the motion must have made her wound ache because she grimaced and forced herself to visibly relax her features. She still didn’t respond to my harsh words, though.

I tilted my head to the side, studying her. “So why are you here, Maeven? Why did you appear in the mirror tonight?”

“Perhaps I wanted to see how you were doing,” she murmured.

“Why? So you can start plotting how to kill me again?” I shook my head. “There is another option, you know.”

“What’s that?”

“You could just give up.”

Maeven threw back her head and laughed. And laughed and laughed and laughed some more. Anger spiked through me, but I forced myself to listen to her loud, mocking chuckles.

She finally stopped laughing, wiped the tears out of the corners of her eyes, and looked at me again. “Oh, Everleigh. You are nothing if not entertaining. Part of me will almost regret killing you.”

This time, I was the one who threw back my head and laughed. “Please. We both know that you’re not going to kill me—that you can’t kill me. Not with your magic, anyway.”