But it was too late now. Maeve was dead, and unless the Wheel returned her to life again in another body, in another life, he would never see her again unless his own immortal one was cut short of eternity by a blade, poison or a spell. But even if she were to be brought back would they recognize each other? Or would they be strangers?
People whispered that her rejection of him stemmed from the fact that they could not marry. The Fae would never have accepted a human queen, not even one as brilliant and beautiful as her, with her ancient mixed blood and wisdom far beyond her mortal years.
He’d promised her that as long as she lived, he would love only her. He would wed no other. She would be his one and only. In all but name, she would be his queen. But perhaps that had not been enough for her. He could think of no other reason for her to abandon him when he had needed her most.
Or, maybe he hadn’t wanted to see another reason.
He could still remember the last conversation they’d had before her rejection. It hadn’t been about marriage, but rather about his brother, Marikoth, and about death.
“I do not know if I want you to see me wither and grow old, Thalanil,” Maeve had said as her right hand had self-consciously traced the still smooth skin of her left cheek. “Though we Ashtons live long for humans, we are not immortal like pure-blood Fae. We age slowly, but we do age. I will be an old woman at some point while you will be the same as you are now. Will you still love me when I am old and gray?”
He had cupped her chin with one hand, allowing his fingers to trail along the delicate skin of her jaw. “I will love you even when your hair is sparse and snow white, and your skin is thin and age-spotted.”
She gave him a wry smile. “You make me sound so attractive in this future! Shall I have a hump? Walk with a cane? Be missing teeth as well?”
He tossed back his head and laughed. “You will forever be beautiful to me, Maeve, even if all of that were to come true and more.”
“But the Fae despise--or, perhaps, fear--aging and death. You must acknowledge this,” she argued gently even as she took his hand in hers. “Because those things are the antithesis of what you are.”
He pursed his lips. “I suppose death is immortality’s greatest nemesis in some way.” Then words he had not meant to speak slipped out, “That was why my older brother had to be killed.”
There was a shocked silence and then Maeve exclaimed, “Brother?! You’ve never told me that you had an older brother!” Maeve’s bewitching green eyes went wide. “And you say he was killed? How? By whom? Why?”
Thalanil was as surprised as she was by his revelation, but for a very different reason. He shifted uncomfortably, but he hid it by pretending he was adjusting his position against the gigantic Iadlark tree. Its golden leaves and silver bark graced one of Aymar’s peaceful courtyards. Maeve was seated on a blanket opposite him beneath its spreading, gracious branches. They were picnicking, protected from the summer sun’s intensity by the golden leaves. Maeve was frozen in the act of popping one of the globe-like, black grapes into her mouth at the mention of his brother.
“If you do not wish to discuss him, Thalanil, we do not have to,” Maeve easily told him. “I was just surprised. Forgive me for prying.”
“There is nothing to forgive, and it is hardly prying. How could you be anything but surprised? I have never mentioned him before, and… I did not intend to now, but I have been thinking of him lately,” Thalanil confessed.
“What has brought him to mind?”
Thalanil pursed his lips again. This was yet another topic he had not wanted to mention, but he trusted Maeve with everything. “The… overgrowth.”
“Oh, yes,” she said quietly.
“You’ve noticed it?” He lifted an eyebrow up.
“You’ve had a dozen Battle Mages accompany me from Rirea to here if you do not fly me on Shadeheart yourself,” she reminded him gently. “I have seen the way the vines reach for unwary limbs and the uptick in the predators in the forest. I’ve noticed the burnings as well all around the city to keep the forest back from the wall.”
“Of course, you have. You would not miss such things.” He grimaced. “I was thinking of my brother because his magic might have been useful against all this life. Too much life. Could that be a thing?”
“Everything is certainly… thriving,” she said carefully.
“Things are out of balance and I do not know why,” Thalanil confessed.
“What kind of magic did your brother have?”
He glanced up at her. Her intelligence and curiosity sparkled in her eyes. There was nothing that Maeve was not curious about and no subject she would not dive into unless it harmed someone by doing so. He knew that he could have fobbed her off on this intensely important part of his life, his family, and she would never have brought it up again since it had hurt him. Knowledge was important to Maeve, but people mattered more. And perhaps that, and his utter love and trust in her, caused him to break the seal on a subject that was verboten, not only in his own family circle to mention, but for anyone to do so.
Thalanil still hesitated a moment more before answering her, “Death Magic.”
“What is Death Magic?” Again, she was careful with how she asked by keeping her tone neutral.
“It is where a Mage draws his or her power from living things. The earth. Plants. Animals. People,” he explained. “The life force of anything that lives can be transformed into power that can be used however the Death Mage wants.”
“Is that a--a rare form of magic?”
“Thankfully, yes. Very rare.”
Silence fell between them again for long moments. He could tell that Maeve did not want to upset him with her questions, but as always, she was intrigued.
Finally, she asked, “What was your brother’s name?”
He hesitated again but said, “Marikoth.” The name rolled off his tongue and yet felt alien in the extreme. “I have not said his name in centuries, perhaps longer, I am not sure. In the beginning, I had to hold myself back from saying it, from yelling it to the stars.”
“You loved him,” she intuited.
“I worshipped him.” To admit that was almost freeing. Something in him unlocked as he spoke of his brother.
“What was he like?” She lowered her hand with the grape to her lap, seemingly forgotten.
“He was… special. Brilliant and beautiful. Talented and resourceful. He seemed to me to be the epitome of what it was to be a Fae,” Thalanil spoke each word carefully, much like she had, as if they were made of cut glass. “I idolized him as some younger brothers do their elders but perhaps I did not see him clearly. I must not have. Or it was just a cruel joke of fate to make him so wonderful only to… well, only to have it end as it did.”
He lowered his head, hiding behind his hair in a way he hadn’t since he was a child ages ago. He’d last done it when he had asked his father what had really happened on that special hunting trip his father and his brother had taken from which Marikoth had never returned.
With a sigh, he explained further, “You know a Fae’s magic comes from nature, yes?”
She nodded and spread her arms wide. “Hence the beauty of your lands. The sheer abundance of life here.”