Maeve- The Persephone
I climbed the stairs to the upper deck, wrapping a loosely woven shawl over my shoulders as I stepped into the light of the moon. Una and her people had supplied us aplenty, ensuring we had food, tools, and clothing for our journey.
Our journey through the Southern Pass.
I was thankful to have more feminine clothing to choose from now, soft silks and flowing fabrics that I favored over the tight britches and poofy, oversized shirts worn by the crew.
But Troy was back in his usual garb, the white of his shirt glistening in the moonlight reflecting off the water. He was sitting against a crate, his head bent over a large sketchbook and a pencil in his hand. He looked up as I approached, a soft smile touching his lips. “I thought you were asleep?” he said as I moved in on him.
“I wasn’t tired,” I said honestly, sitting down next to him and looking out over the deck. The sails were tied in place, wrapped snuggling around the masts as the engines purred beneath us. The Persephone was moving as silent as a ghost through the water, too far south to be picked up on the radars of other ships in the Isles of Denali to the north. We were safe. For now.
I pulled my shawl tighter, slightly chilled by the soft breeze. It had been warm in our room, but the side of the bed where I expected Troy to be sleeping was cold to the touch when I woke from a restless half-slumber. We hadn’t had a single private mont together in the last twenty-four hours. Myla, Pete, and I had reached the beach camp just as the skiffs were coming back to pick up the last of the tents. Troy was already on board the Persephone, pouring over maps on the main deck with Keaton by his side, the two of them trapped in a long, drawn-out conversation about the plan, whatever that would be.
I had hoped he’d at least co to bed with once the Persephone breached the southern channel and we began to rock in open water. But he wasn’t there when I woke up.
I bit my lip as I sat beside him, a question weighing heavily on my mind.
“Did Una tell you?” I breathed, nerves tightening my throat as I spoke.
“That you’re pregnant?” he replied, his voice steady and calm. “Yes, she... she did.” He was silent for the space of a breath, looking over at with an unreadable expression in his eyes.
“I’m sorry, Troy!” I exclaid, unable to stop myself. I had had a nagging, overwhelming sense that he would be upset, maybe even angry at the news. He looked shocked though, setting his sketchbook down and taking my hand, knitting his fingers in mine.
“Why the hell are you apologizing?”
“Because I know... I know this wasn’t what you wanted to happen!”
He gaped at , his brows knitting into a confused frown. “Maeve—”
“You were never my breeder!”
“Well, uh. Obviously, I was.” He gave a sly smile, rubbing the palm of my hand with his thumb. “We weren’t doing much to... not get pregnant.”
I swallowed, surprised by his reaction. I rembered our conversation during our lakeside dinner in Dianny, where the strange powers of the valley seed to pull us together, making us less reserved with our words. Four boys? He had repeated. His eyes had been full of happiness.
“It’s twins,” I said weakly, hoping I was interpreting his reaction to my pregnancy correctly.
“Oh, Goddess. What are we going to do?!” he laughed, eyes twinkling in the moonlight.
“Are you happy?” I asked.
“I’m nervous, Maeve. If I’m being honest.” He swallowed, looking suddenly serious. “They technically wouldn’t be... mine. That’s how this works.”
“No!” I gripped his hand. “No. That was different—”
“Are you sure? These kids are the heirs to Drogomor. Even if Aaron had actually been your breeder—”
“Drogomor is gone—”
“Maeve, I’m nothing. I tricked you, rember?”
“What do you an you’re nothing?”
He pulled his knees into his chest, letting go of my hand as he wrapped his arms around his legs.
“I didn’t have parents growing up, rember?” He paused, pursing his lips.
“What does that have to do with—”
“It would be better for them to be raised without . I don’t know how to be a dad.” His words sliced through the air, and my worst fear seed to be coming true. He didn’t want this.
“Troy, I—” I felt like I was going to cry.
“It’s not that I don’t want them. I do. I just... they deserve more than I can give them. What am I, Maeve? An orphan, a beach rat, a f*cking pirate. So father, right—”
“Troy, please!” The emotion in my voice was too loud, too harsh to hide. He looked up at , seeing the fear and desperation behind my eyes.
“Oh, Goddess, Maeve. I didn’t an I wouldn’t—” He reached out, pulling to him, resting his chin on the top of my head as I laid my head on his chest. We sat quietly for a mont, holding each other. “I never knew my mother,” he said quietly.
“Is she the woman in your old sketchbook? The one you had to leave behind in Drogomor?”
“Yes. At least, I think so. It’s not even my mory, Maeve. It was my father’s description of her. He said...” He trailed off, clearing his throat. “She died shortly after I was born. Executed, I believe.”
“Executed?” I said, shock evident in my voice.
“Yeah, uh, for war cris.”
“By who?” I asked, but the answer was suddenly clear. I straightened up, looking into Troy’s eyes as the answer passed silently between us. “How do you not hate ?”
“It wasn’t your parents, not directly.”
“But—”
“I never knew the full story. I’ll never know, and I’m okay with that,” he said firmly.
“You’re Madalynn’s child?” I asked, even though I knew the answer. It must have been Madalynn. I had only heard her na in passing once when I was eavesdropping on my parents as a child. It has been said harshly, with disdain.
“I never knew her na, not until Roro said it. I thought he had been my paternal grandfather, but he was her father.”
“And your dad? Who was he?”
Troy bit his lower lip.
“His na was Behar. I didn’t actually know his na until he dropped off at Damian’s court when I was four or five. Four, I believe. My last mory of him was... I—” He exhaled, shaking his head, the mory obviously troubling him. “I followed him back to the beach. I was crying for him. He kept pushing away. He ran from , and I couldn’t keep up with him. I never saw him again, and I couldn’t find my way back to Damian’s palace on Avondale. I just... wandered. I don’t have many mories until I eventually joined Keaton’s group of street kids.”
The image he painted was one of the most painful things I had ever imagined, of him, more of a toddler than a little boy, trying desperately to keep up with his father as his father was trying to abandon him. I couldn’t bear it. Tears welled in my eyes as he continued.
“My mories before that are too fleeting and fragnted to rember fully. I rember a small house near the beach. I rember being alone often. I rember a al he used to make all the ti, homade noodles with a red sauce made from the tomatoes he grew in the garden. I can still sll it. But I don’t rember his voice anymore. I don’t rember his face.”
“Troy... I’m so sorry.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” he said, shaking the mory away. “I was fine. I made it on my own.”
“You were just a child, Troy!”
He looked at , eyes full of unreadable emotions. He reached out and stroked my cheek, pressing his forehead against mine so the tips of our noses were touching. “What kind of father could I be to these kids, Maeve? How would I know—”
I took his face between my hands, kissing him. It was a long, easy kiss, sothing I had wanted to do for a while. “We’ll be there for them, both of us. We have to.” I said, a silent plea trembling in my voice. “Regardless of how we feel about each other—”
“How we feel about each other?” He pulled away, giving a confused expression. “What do you an?”
“When you find your mate—”
“My mate?” He laughed, throwing his head back. “Who do you think you are to , Maeve?”
“I—” I inhaled, steeling my expression. “Not your mate!”
“Why? Because of the curse? You really believe that still? Look at what you were able to do in the circle of stones, Maeve. If you cursed from coming into your powers, I doubt you have been able to... do whatever that was.”
I swallowed, considering.
“We are mates. I am certain—”
“Well, I’m not!” I said sharply. “And I refuse to hold you hostage, Troy. Despite how I feel. Despite how much I... how much—” I rose to my feet, my mind reeling. “I can do this myself. I just wanted to make sure you knew. I wanted—I really wanted— but I can’t--” I stuttered, beginning to lose my grip.
It would kill if I turned twenty-one and couldn’t feel him, feel the bond that was supposed to bind us together, tether us for eternity. Because then I would know he belonged to soone else, and I couldn’t live with the fact that he was now trapped with , bound by nothing but a responsibility to our children.
He stood, clasping by the upper arms and shaking . “I love you, Maeve. I have loved you since the very second I saw you, and nothing, and I an nothing, is going to stop from loving you until the day I die.” He placed his hand on my stomach, his fingers spread wide. I felt a ripple of electricity pass between us as he looked up at , desperate that I heed his words. “And I would lay down my life for these kids. Our kids. I am their father, and I will never, ever let them forget it. I love you. I love—”
I kissed him, tears streaming down my face as he wrapped his arms around .
“I love you,” I whispered, the words barely audible. But I had said them.
We stood in each other embrace beneath the stars, letting ourselves just... feel, for a mont. Eventually, he pulled away, taking my hand as he led to the railing to look out over the endless, calm water.
“What do we do now?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Well, you’re not going to be working in the kitchen anymore. Just rest. We’ll need it.”
“For what? The babies aren’t due for months—”
“For the journey ahead, of course. In a lot of different ways.” He laughed quietly, his eyes moving upward to the stars.
“How are we going to find the tomb without the map?” I asked, my hands resting on the railing.
Troy dug into his pocket, pulling out a compass. But it wasn’t his usual compass; this one was ancient, and the brass was faded to a green patina. He held it out to . I took it, opening it up and watching the dial. It stayed in a locked course as I moved it around. Strange, I thought; it must be broken.
“Una gave it to . It was Lycaon’s, or so she says. We didn’t need the map after all. It was just one piece of the puzzle.”
“This is getting super weird, right?” I said, having to laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of it all. We were in a living, breathing odyssey, a fairytale brought to life against our will.
“It’ll get weirder, I’m sure,” he replied, taking back the compass as I handed it to him. “Una said sothing else, Maeve. But I’m not sure what it ans. Roro said the sa thing to when I was in the castle.”
“Oh?”
“They said you’re the key.”
“The key to what?”
Troy bit the inside of his cheek, lost in montary contemplation. “You’re the key to the tomb.”
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