The Dread Descendant (The Dread Descendant, #1)

by Lauren Cate Leake

“In a desperate hour, your Prince of Darkness will return. Through a broken line of Magic, into unsuspecting veins. His life will call like to like in those where Magic blood remains. The Descendant of Dread will conquer the plague of the Promised Land, with a single finger, not a sword. Rejoice, child of golden blood, freedom shall be yours. On backs and broken necks will balance be restored.”

“Magic calls to magic. Darkness calls to darkness. Blood calls to blood.”

“I have something for you,” said Mal. “I had an idea for us to communicate more efficiently.” Mal handed her a rather small piece of parchment. “I have one as well. I’ve bewitched them. Whenever one of us writes the other, the message will appear instantly. Once it has been read, it will disappear.”

“You lied,” said Mal. “You lied brilliantly.”

Mal came to a stop and stood with his head cocked, analyzing her. Maeve laughed and began walking towards her dormitory. A small yawn escaped her lips. She continued with dramatic flare, “It must be so difficult to be Malachite Peur,” she teased, laying into his full name,” always having to save poor, weak, Maeve Sin–” Mal caught her wrist and spun her around with force. She inhaled sharply and looked up at him as their bodies nearly slammed together, ready for him to reproach her. She swallowed and calmed the adrenaline that spiked from his unexpected touch.

He stepped towards her, never releasing her wrist, and brushed her hair behind her ear with his other hand. Maeve inhaled quicker than she would have liked for him to notice. His fingers sent ice down the back of her neck, down her spine, and spiraled into her stomach.

Mal smiled down at her. “Clever girl.” Maeve was stuck. She had never been this close to him. And Gods. He was captivating. His features were so bold, his lips perfectly sculpted and full. “Come,” said Mal, causing her to startle slightly. He dropped both his hands and crossed around her. “I promised to return you safely to your dorm, Miss Sinclair.”

Supreme

Makes me want taco bell real bad

Mal leaned towards her, his lips close to her ear. “Perhaps that’s what I should refer to you as,” whispered Mal, “little viper.”

Mal’s sleeves were rolled back. Maeve found herself staring at his grip on the reins. The veins in his arms.

Mal took her face between his hands. “I don’t want him to see the thoughts I have about his daughter.”

It took Maeve the entire evening, and most of the next morning, to not be sour that her own father had gifted Mal a first edition, signed copy of Vaukore: the Legend of Magic, and not his own daughter.

“Do you know that entire evening I was consumed by the thought of you in that lavender dress?”

“Would you like to race back?” Asked Maeve. “Only if you’d like to lose,” said Mal.

“They will not take you from me,” he assured her.

Maeve had no interest in delving into the most likely theory that Isabella Zaichosky’s family had been the ones behind her brother’s murder.

“I worship you.”

“Come with me,” he said, wrapping her hand in his. He walked her back across the castle. The common area was occupied by students sitting in groups. Their voices were hushed and dull. Mal led her across the hexagon room and to the stairs that led to his dorm. Silently, they climbed the narrow, creaking, wooden stairs and crossed down the corridor to his room. His private room as Head Boy.

“I thought about you ceaselessly,” he said. “I don’t think I quite understood the meaning of your presence until I was forced to endure your absence.”

“I will end each and every one of them that tries to take what is mine.”

The door to the Inn creaked open slowly, and a tall woman with long black hair stepped through the threshold. She was covered in dark tattoos and colorful piercings. Well-dressed, with lavish jewelry hanging from her neck and running along her fingers.

“From who?” “Not, who, young wizard. What.” She ran her fingers across the broken stone pieces. “I’ve heard many rumors from the Magic that speaks in only whispers I can hear. I heard rumor that the Premier’s daughter cannot enter the minds of others anymore. Quite a disappointment to the Orator’s Office. You were on track to be their favorite weapon.” Ismail touched the broken stone pieces and inhaled sharply. “Or,” her eyes flicked up, “it seems that has changed. You are no longer afraid.”

Ismail had left a note with the stone: Beware of the moon in the forest, young travelers.

Mal and Maeve Obscured to Ismail to have her repair the Finders Stone once more. To their dismay, she was gone. Her house was stripped of its glamor. It looked like the rest of the alleys. It lay empty. In the center of the room was the gold they paid her. Every last coin accounted for. With no explanation.

“Let me make something clear, Primrose Rosethorn. If you ever speak of my second again in such a vulgar and disrespectful way, I will ensure your right to The Dread Lands is denied. And anyone with your blood as well. Save for Abraxas, who luckily did not inherit your lack of poise. I will see to it personally that you are abandoned here on Earth, with not a scrap of clothing to your name.” Magic snapped taunt between them. He was serious.

“To sit here, on a pile of gold, and still be so unworthy of possessing it,” said Mal, raising his pointed finger. The room flashed red, and Vetus lay dead.

You’ve truly known this boy a little more than a year and you’ve nearly died three times, my girl.”

“I will gladly die a hundred deaths if it is he who breathes life back into me.”