You Can't Run From The Dark

{Part 24}

~Zaire~

Zaire had never been particularly envious of winged Fae. When he was less than a hundred years old and still a young little thing, he would challenge other Dark Fae to races, and he would still beat the fastest ones, even on foot. But now that he was flying through the endless-night sky of the Dark Realm, with his mate in his arms, he couldn't imagine how he had come to be fine with the fact that he was born without wings. He quickly found that he wasn't a "flapper," but a "glider." His shadows lifted him high in the sky so he could glide for miles, and it seemed like it had taken only seconds to get where he needed to go, when he landed in front of Maeve's cabin. He needed to make one stop before he took the little doll to his home.

Zaire peeled a single shadow from one of his wings and sent it to knock on Maeve's door, but before it could make contact with wood, the door swung open. Maeve was far older than most Dark Fae, yet she only sported a few wrinkles on her face. If she was mortal, Zaire would say that she appeared to be a youthful fifty-year-old. But despite the fact that she was actually nearing a thousand years, she dropped to her knees on the threshold with her bony hands clasped in front of her. 

"I felt you!" Maeve cried, "You've accepted the Mark! You . . . you . . . "

Maeve was quite powerful in her own right, being that she was one of the last few Fae mages who could make wards. Her magical ability was renowned across the Dark Realm, and no one dared to avoid making good on their debts after requesting her services. But just feeling Zaire's increased power had the woman looking at him like he was dipped in gold. 

"You shouldn't bow to me," Zaire chided her quietly, "Please, rise."

But Maeve shook her head, her eyes wide as she peered at his newly formed wings. 

"I have never seen shadows like yours, Zaire," Maeve nearly whispered, "And yet, still, they have grown stronger. As have you. You are a force of nature."

"I can't say that I'm not flattered by your words, Maeve," Zaire admitted, and he flicked a meaningful glance down at the little doll in his arms. "But I didn't come to show myself off to you. I've come to ask you to remove the ward, so I can take my mate home, if you would be so kind."

"Oh! Of course!" Maeve struggled to get back to her feet, and Zaire sent the same shadow - that he had been about to knock with - to assist her. When she was standing again, he could have sworn that he saw a rosiness to her old cheeks. Whether it was because she had struggled to get back up, or because she had so readily dropped to her knees in the first place, or because one of his shadows had helped her, Zaire wasn't sure, but it was an odd sight to see. He waited as she gathered her things in a big hurry, and they made their way to his home in the Outskirts. On the way there, Maeve apologized profusely for not being able to fly and thus, slowing them both down, as her old, feathered wings had atrophied.

"Nana always told me if I didn't use them, I would lose them. But did I listen? No!" 

It was so strange to taste Maeve's nervousness and admiration for him, when just weeks ago, she was much more of a curmudgeon, and much less forthcoming with her words, not to mention her feelings. Perhaps she thought him a fool for not wanting more power, but now that he had claimed it, she was overcome by it. Zaire wanted to be annoyed by how differently she was treating him now, but he understood that she would be one of the many who would do so, given the drastic change in him. 

When they made it to his home, the Pestilence greeted them. At least they  would always treat him the same way. As Maeve went to work removing the ward, one of the Pests hovered above his mate's fresh Mark.