spun and crossed the room, tapping her fingertips on every piece of furniture she passed. He sensed that she was weighing her options, assessing the value of telling him the truth, deciding whether it was worth it, seeking a plausible lie to surrender as a substitute.
The Dark Queen would play an excellent game of chess.
Maybe he should challenge her to one.
She pivoted when she reached the other side of the fireplace and he knew from the hard glitter of her gaze that she’d decided to tell him the truth. “Things are not proceeding according to plan,” she admitted, much to his surprise.
“Please.” Sebastian scoffed, hoping to prompt her into revealing more. “You command all the magick now that the dragon prince is dead. Any incompetence on your part isn’t my problem to fix.”
She inhaled sharply, those eyes flashing. “I do command all the magick. I have the gem of the hoard! There are no competitors left.”
“Then what’s the trouble?”
She frowned, then met his gaze. “The magick is making choices of its own.”
That was new. But Eithne had said in her last confession that the magick she’d brought from Regalia was so highly advanced that it was sentient. Did Maeve know that? Sebastian wasn’t sure.
“How interesting,” he said mildly as if it was all news to him. “Would you share an example?” He went to the small bar he kept in a cabinet. He lifted out a crystal brandy snifter, holding up the glass toward Maeve in invitation. She nodded without hesitation. He took out a second and a wonderful bottle of Courvoisier that he’d been saving. He poured them each a generous measure and offered her a glass. She cradled it in her hand, warming the liquor, then sniffed approvingly of it. They toasted each other and sipped.
She stared into the glass for long moments, swirling its contents. Sebastian pretended to be content to wait. He should have been so, as an immortal, but he’d never managed to get over his impatience.
He struggled to keep from tapping his toe, silently willing Maeve to get on with it—and soon.
“I slipped a shard of ice into the heart of a child,” she finally confessed, her voice soft. “Not a real shard of ice, of course: that would have been unnecessarily cruel. It was magick, a spell intended to freeze out all the empathy and compassion in her heart.”
“Like the Snow Queen and the boy Kay.”
Maeve glanced up and nodded. “But there is no Snow Queen. There never was.”
“Of course. You inspired all the stories.”
Her voice hardened. “Don’t mock me, bloodsucker. I don’t really need you.”
Sebastian held up his hand in surrender. “My mistake. Tell me about the splinter.”
“It was a plan to ensure the child grew up without emotions, that she became a creature of pure logic and precision, that she could be relied upon to do what others would not. She was a tithe to me, my possession and my slave, even though she was mortal. I had to control her natural impulses. I had to guarantee that she could be relied upon to follow my command.”
“I’m going to guess you had a specific assignment for her?”
“To kill.” Maeve swirled the contents of her glass, apparently forgetting that she was talking to a vampire who killed routinely. “She was to be my assassin of choice. It worked perfectly. She grew up, she followed my orders, she targeted victims with precision and never showed one sign of remorse. She was a killing machine, one with additional powers because of her heritage.”
“That heritage being?”
“She was half mortal and half shifter. She could pass in mortal society as one of them, but had the ability to change form. I gave her the ability to spontaneously manifest elsewhere. There was no silver flash of light to betray her arrival, as there is when my warriors move between the realms. Once I gave her the kiss of death, she was the perfect assassin.” Maeve fell silent, her lips tightening, and Sebastian noticed that she’d used the past tense.
“Was?” he echoed.
Maeve took a large gulp of the liquor, shocking Sebastian that she didn’t savor its magnificence. She met his gaze, her own burning with fury. “The magick betrayed me.”
“Fucking magick,” he said, almost by habit.
“Exactly,” she agreed with force. “The shard came loose from her heart. It worked its way to her palm, emerged and dissolved. It set her free and had absolutely no business ever doing so.”