Page 22 of Blood Oath
Everett’s family falls into the last category. It’s why he was bragging about his ability to give Maven a life of security and protection. I don’t mind that idea. I’d prefer to have my keeper far from danger. Especially because I’m positive she isn’t competitively ranked here at Everbound, so she’s likely not skilled with magic.
“So, which emphasis are you and your matches leaning towards?” Gibbons asks, cutting into my thoughts. “Defense and combat? Holy guard? Covert operations? Or perhaps a less common emphasis, like administration or human relations? We need more valuable quintets to help the rapport between humans and our kind, after all, since it’s taken a nosedive for the last twenty or so years. They’re such squeamish, mistrustful creatures—meaning no offense to your keeper’s family, of course.”
That captures my attention. “Maven is from a human family?”
He blinks. “Why, yes—you didn’t know? She came to Everbound a mere two weeks ago as a newly manifested atypical caster. Not from a magical bloodline at all. You know how magic sometimes pops up within humans with no prompting, entirely of the will of the gods. I thought she would have told you that by now...but then, she is rather a tight-lipped little thing.”
I consider this new information. Atypical casters aren’t affected by the Legacy Curse, so they don’t have the same burning desire to find their quintet to finally feel complete and break their curse as the rest of us. Is that why Maven talked about rejecting us? Does she find the idea of binding her heart to four monster descendants terrifying?
It just adds to my many questions, and I regard Gibbons. Perhaps his brown-nosing isn’t so problematic after all.
“Tell me more about Maven’s family.”
He strokes his white beard nervously. “Well, now…when it comes to her family, I’m afraid all I know is that they passed away while she was a child. She has no emergency contacts to speak of.”
She’s an orphan like me.
Not bothering with more small talk, I leave the interim headmaster to go to her dormitory. I don’t want to miss the chance to talk to her before classes begin.
When I finally arrive in the hallway where her dorm is, Maven is just leaving her room. She spares me an impassive glance before walking past as if I’m not studying her.
I can hardly help it. She has such a unique type of beauty—subtle yet complex. Today, her dark hair is swept into a braid over one shoulder. She’s again dressed in ill-fitting clothes several sizes too big for her, and I note that she’s wearing the same pair of leather gloves she wore yesterday.
Interesting. Is she germophobic?
I quickly catch up to her. “I trust the dreamcatcher came in handy.”
No reply.
“Someone left you a necklace. Was it one of us, or is it from an outsider woefully mistaken in thinking you’re on the market?”
Just the idea of someone outside our quintet sniffing around Maven, taking up her time, eyeing my keeper…my jaw clenches.
“I’ve never been on the market,” she drawls.
I drop the subject as we walk through the vaulted stone hallways. “I’ll treat you to breakfast.”
“Not hungry.”
“Lunch, then. Later on between your classes.”
“No.”
She’s stubbornly not looking at me. I’m unaccustomed to trying to pique someone’s interest since too much of my time is spent avoiding people who won’t leave me alone. I also haven’t had a strong interest in women over the years, outside of brief instances of sexual relief. After all, having a close relationship with someone just opens the door to more ways they can betray you.
Paranoia makes a poor bed companion.
But if she’s so intent on ignoring me, I may as well test her resolve.
“How did your family die?”
Maven slows to face me, expression unreadable. We’re close to Everbound’s largest courtyard, which houses a massive greenhouse. I can smell the sunlight and soil from here.
“Slowly and painfully, or so I was told. How did yours die?”
She doesn’t bat an eye, but her voice has an edge. She wants no sympathy, and something in my chest melts slightly. I understand that part of her. I hate sympathy, and I especially hate when it’s offered for my family’s demise.
“Most of them killed each other,” I quietly confess. “Including my parents.”
