“And the Ravenspars--my family especially--have a deep connection to all living things,” he continued, “but, from time to time, there is a child born of our House that is attuned to death instead of life. Some say we were cursed when we took over control of the Empire from House Aeturnal, but I believe it was always in our blood.”
The grape had again been poised to pass between her lips, but she set it down again, uneaten. “Death Magic.”
“Their magic allows them to drain life and perform terrible, powerful spells with that stolen energy. To raise the dead. To enslave the living. To turn a lush world into a dead desert,” he told her. His throat tightened with every word.
“That sounds… my gods, what a difficult gift to have,” she murmured. “How sad and terrible a burden!”
Her great and noble heart would feel badly for the bearer of this magic. She would find it sad and not terrifying. He found, in that moment, that he hated the Fae for not wanting this extraordinary person as one of their rulers. She would have made a just, wise and remarkable queen. Or perhaps he hated himself for not simply marrying her and damning the consequences.
“But it is more than that. Such a child…” He grimaced. “Such a child will come into their powers when they drain their mother’s life force first.”
Maeve’s eyes widened. “On purpose?”
“No, not necessarily, they may not even realize what they are doing. But it is a part of the Death Mage’s natural journey, you see,” he explained. “Unless the child is killed before this happens, they will kill their mother no matter what. It is either the child’s life or the mother’s. There is no other option.”
“Your mother…” Maeve’s lower lip trembled until she firmed it. “She died…”
“Yes.” Thalanil rubbed his temples as if he felt a headache coming on. “My parents loved Marikoth. Who could not? They refused to follow what they considered to be superstition. So what if my mother developed the marks of a twisting, thorn-studded vine along her spine when pregnant?”
“Wait! What--what did you say she had?” Maeve stared hard at him.
“It looked like a tattoo, but it appeared naturally. As the pregnancy progressed, what looked like a vine studded with thorns wound up her spine,” he said.
She said nothing. Her expression was strangely blank before she was blinking and asking, “And this was a sure sign that the child would be a--a Death Mage?”
“Yes, no doubt,” he said distractedly. “But it was also said that the mother’s health would start to fail as soon as such a Death Mage was born. She was more fragile after Marikoth’s birth. But she had me. A second child! So rare among the Fae. Therefore all this talk about Death Magic was just--just nonsense! And it was ignored.”
“But it wasn’t nonsense,” Maeve stated, rather than asked. Her right hand curved over her stomach then as if she were feeling unwell or were protecting herself.
“No, it wasn’t.” Thalanil clenched his teeth for a moment. “My elder brother adored my parents. He had no idea what he’d done, even when his magic just exploded out of him right after her death. So when our father took him out for a special hunting trip--”
“By the gods, no,” Maeve whispered, green eyes huge in her head.
“He had to, Maeve. For he realized that if the tales were true about the child killing the mother then the other things about such a child were true too,” Thalanil told her grimly.
“What things?” Both of her hands were cupping her smooth stomach now. The grape she’d been holding rolled away into the grass.
“That such a child will destroy the Empire if allowed to live,” he whispered. “That such a child will destroy all life eventually unless balance is somehow restored.”
Maeve was silent then burst out, “I don’t believe that.”
Confusion filled him and he furrowed his brow. “But you just heard--”
“What I heard is that a child--who was not trained to use their natural magic--accidentally harmed someone they loved. If that is even true!” she cried. “It could be a coincidence what happened with her death and your brother’s magical awakening.”
Thalanil’s head snapped up, startled by the passion in her voice, and the sheer rage in her eyes. He had expected tears from Maeve, but also understanding for the heavy choice that his father had had to make.
“My mother wasted away, Maeve.”
“A coincidence!” She shook her head vigorously and her long, dark hair fell from its elaborate bun.
“And my brother showed powers that he never had before? Coincidence too that the grass and plants blackened all around him and turned to ash? Or that animals withered under his hand?”
“How many times have you, yourself, said that your magic is tied as much to nature as to your emotions, Thalanil?” she challenged. “Your mother died and your brother had an understandable emotional reaction that caused him to lose control of his powers! And afterwards, he was experiencing great grief!”
“My father was certain that Marikoth was cursed with Death Magic. It was not a conclusion he came to lightly,” Thalanil’s voice was rough with emotion.
“And? What if Marikoth did have Death Magic?”
“He--”
“Was he a good person, Thalanil?” Maeve asked. Her green eyes searched his face almost desperately.
“Yes, but…”
“So why could he not have been trained to control the magic?” She grasped his hands in hers. “He didn’t want to hurt your mother. He might not have wanted to hurt anyone.”
“There is no one with that gift alive for a reason,” he reminded her. “Because anyone with that magic would destroy the Empire.”
“How could that be true?”
“The magic corrupts.”
“So does any power! Why wouldn’t your father trust Marikoth’s good heart? Unless…” Her lower lip trembled again. “Unless, in his grief, in his desire to blame someone, his anger was greater than his love for your brother.”
“He was certain--”
“That your brother was going to be a life-destroying, empire-crushing Death Mage?” Maeve shook her head as she protectively brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. “Did you see that in Marikoth? Any corruption?”
“My father was certain,” Thalanil repeated stiffly for the third time.
What did it matter what he had thought? Thalanil had been a child at the time! His rosy memories of Marikoth could have been wrong. He trusted his father in this. Maeve’s judgment must be incorrect!
“And what of your mother? Was she certain?” Maeve pushed and Thalanil grew stiffer. “Would she have wanted Marikoth to die? For I know I would never want my child killed. Not to save myself and certainly not in punishment after I passed away.”
“And I would kill any child that would endanger your life!” Thalanil grasped her hands tightly in his.
They stared at one another as if they did not know the other person at all. Then they looked away, both of them silent and unhappy and hurt. Silence fell for a long, long time.
“I’m feeling unwell, Thalanil,” Maeve stated softly. “Can you… can you… take me home, please?”