Chapter 14
Maeve's Trauma
Maeve's deep-seated fear of uncontrolled magic is revealed, stemming from a past tragedy. This vulnerability creates an unexpected opening for empathy.
The air in the coven’s meeting hall, usually thick with the comforting scent of dried herbs and beeswax candles, felt brittle, charged with a tension that had nothing to do with the encroaching darkness outside. Lara sat by the hearth, her gaze fixed on the dancing flames, trying to mimic their steady rhythm with her own breath. Lyra’s pronouncements had been sharp, decisive, laying out the new patrols, the increased warding rituals, and the rationing of certain magical components. Lara had listened, absorbing the words, but her mind kept snagging on the unease that settled in Maeve’s eyes whenever her own magic flared, even in the mildest of ways.
Lyra, perched on the high-backed chair that served as her throne, caught Lara’s glance. A flicker, almost imperceptible, passed across her features – a mixture of command and something softer, something Lara hadn't yet learned to decipher. It was the unspoken language that Lyra spoke, a language of shared glances and guarded expressions, a language Lara was desperately trying to learn.
The meeting concluded with a rustle of cloaks and the soft thud of wooden chairs being pushed back. Most of the coven members dispersed, their hushed conversations echoing down the stone corridors. Maeve, however, lingered, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, her knuckles white. Lyra turned to Lara, a subtle nod indicating she should remain.
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