Scheme

Silas roused, bolting upright on the bed and gasping for air. Drenched in sweat, his skin glistened. Swathed in cold, his skin tinged pale. He roved about, deflating at the sight of the familiar room and the familiar face.

Beside him was Maeve, a juxtaposing addition to the dimly lit room. In the purple luminescence of a sole, salient lantern, the female silhouette stretched across the black walls. 

For Silas, she was recognizable by shadow alone. It was what he had seen and returned to serenity after all. But what was she doing beside him? 

She wore a decent smile, the flesh of her lips shrouded in black ink that glossed with light. Her jet black hair was silky and shoulder-length, three strands of white hanging from her scalp. 

"It appears you had quite a dream," Maeve said. 

Her voice was smooth and her accent thick—a voice of indubitable experience and beauty. 

"It's nothing," Silas said, turning to perch on the opposite side of the bed. 

The sun falls, lighting the sky red. Leaves fall from a stark tree that pierces the sky. It was exactly as he dreamt it. A serene dream before a nightmare. 

He looked down at his chest. A grimace spreaded across his face. There was no hole, no wound, and no blood. Only a sizable scar. It was closed. He placed a hand atop it. 

"Your welcome," Maeve said, "that one took a lot o' me."

He turned to face her. "All you did was make me shiver."

"You're still a blaming, ungrateful swine," she said. 

Silas frowned. He wanted to smile but he could not. His lips betrayed command. His eyes averted from her. 

"We all know what happened," she said. "They're disappointed … especially because you ran away from your problem …" she placed a hand on his chin, "a problem that remains unfixed."

He glanced up at her toned visage. One that looked … healthy. Something the Have-Nots could not possess. She had been supportive of his work with them. And their relationship had been a maze for as long as he could remember. 

"Do you love me, Maeve?" 

Maeve snickered. "What a silly question."

"Do you?"

"I wouldn't have hurt myself to heal you," she said, narrowing her eyes at him as she caressed his face. 

"You're my custodian," Silas said, "and I play a role in Satharian civilization that promises benefits to Skotar … I'm an asset."

"My sister could easily take your position," Maeve said. "She has already infiltrated their ranks. She has already settled there."

"Your sister is more Satharian than I am," Silas said, scoffing.

Maeve brushed a thumb across his right brow. "My sister is a fool … but even her problem could be fixed. Your problem dear," she tapped his face, "can too."

Silas pulled away. "I messed up … I underestimated that girl and the … the spawn."

"The spawn you told me is only human?" Maeve raised her brow.

Silas looked away. "Yes."

"That's another of your problems," she said, "you tend to do things halfway. If you're going to do something, do it properly."

He frowned, standing. "How can I even fix my mistake? It's … it's a lost cause. Once that conqueror awakes, it's over. She'll tell them everything."

Maeve stood. "That can't happen. They should never know of your cooperation with Skotarii. You know this, Silas."

Silas looked down at his hand. "I have the conqueror under a spell. But it …it's weakening me … it's killing me. I-I don't think I can hold it until she dies."

Maeve walked in front of him and stopped. She wrapped a hand around his neck. "You can hold the spell. You're not what they say you are. You're strong too, love."

"But Maeve, it's not that—"

Maeve pressed her lips against Sal's. Their lips smacked. Sal's face flushed. She wrapped her tongue around his. Coldness rushed through his body. He held her waist. A flicker of purple. Their lips smacked again as she withdrew her face.

Suddenly, Silas' eyes dilated. He steeled. His brows furrowed. A shift in resolve. Determination brimming him. 

He glared at her. "You didn't do what I think you did, right?"

"Hexed you?" Maeve chuckled. "I did but it's only to harden your balls. Just … trust me, love."

"I won't trust you again if it's not what you say it is," Silas said, glaring at her.

She had hexed him to gain control over him countless times. The last time she did it, she made an oath in blood to never again for manipulative purposes. 

"Trust me," Maeve said. "Now, this is what I think you should do. Of course you can do it how you'd like." 

"I'm listening."

"You should go back there," Maeve said, "clear your name since the king will quickly be willing to, once you have a valid reason, kill Zya Freymond, and come live here," she smiled, "with me."

Silas frowned. It was all easier said than done, these suggestions. But he was willing to give it a chance. The council at Block One was often reluctant to exonerate people, mostly because Satharians weaved totalitarianism with democracy. 

If the public was not willing to acquit Silas, the king would have no choice but to follow suit, which would prove destructive to Skotarii operations in Satharian civilization. 

"I'll do it," Silas said, balling his fists. 

"Yes," Maeve said, "and don't remember it's not only your place in Skotar that depends on your success."

Silas frowned again. Maeve had taken him in. He was young and impoverished, squandered all his parents' assets and could not afford to foster his little brother and himself.  

Despite all the hate from Skotarii, Maeve had taken him in, trained him, taught him everything he knew about Skotar and Void power.  

She too would be looked down upon should he fail to clear his name amongst Satharians. Should Skotarii operations cease to continue due to public awareness.  

Ostracism was the least of his concern—his life was on the line.

He walked away from Maeve, rounding the furniture in the room and stopping in front of a door. He opened the door and walked onto a balcony, Maeve's footsteps sounding from behind.

He took a whiff at the air as he leaned on slabs of wood on the balcony. The Void Ravine in the distance was a zigzagging fault in the earth, around which tall slums were built. 

People walked about, appearing as dots on the grim expanse. The soil was gray. Tall trees with dark leaves spreaded sporadically. Sunken lands with Void pools everywhere. 

It was the place Silas needed to be and he would do anything to be here. Anything to be in Skotar.