From the censer, heavy smoke billowed rolled out filling the small stone room with its grey walls and heavy door. Rensliegh walked in circles, swinging the censer to spread the smoke evenly, while Maeve who sat in the centre of the room, tried to relax and let sleep claim her. They were in the small dream chamber in the basement of the manor. Like most buildings where cultivators regularly slept, the building was heavily warded against the techniques of the dream-gifted. This chamber was an exception to that rule and offered a way for those who wished to use the glamour to communicate.

As neither she nor Rensliegh had dream glamour, they had to rely on some carefully prepared alchemical ingredients and a runic formation that would link her to its counterpart. There, she could finally give her report.

Maeve sought to centre herself. The day had been busy. She had enjoyed talking and training with the others, such relaxed times being rare these last couple of years. Her obsession with her bottleneck had driven her to discard ‘unworthy’ pursuits, which had resulted in her becoming, if she was honest with herself, a deeply boring person. She was still forging her way out of that pit, but one day of ease and fun had reminded her of what she had missed for so long.

She had relished speaking on sword forms and tactics with the two strangely alike but totally unrelated blondes. She had found exhibition matches exhilarating rather than viewing them as mere warm-ups. Then there was the chase, where they had all chaotically charged through the forest after the bard, a man who even Arthur had admitted was truly gifted at running away. The only sting was who had won. She still felt cheated.

“Try to clear your mind.” Rensliegh’s voice dragged her back from her wandering thoughts. The voice wasn't harsh, just a nudge. Her governess was in a good mood. She had even cracked a smile earlier. She seemed to enjoy yelling at the young knights.

Maeve cleared her mind, letting her senses drown out her conscious thought. The rich scent of the herbs and the gentle pace of her governess, promising safety, filled her awareness. She let the glamour take hold and was soon in the twisting realm of the Weave.

Maeve loathed the Weave—a realm spun from the chaotic dreams of mortals and cultivators. It was the antithesis of her power. Her blade glamour was sharp and unyielding, dream glamour was diffuse, subtle, and some fools thought it weak, but it was everywhere, connecting everything.

To her, it felt like staring into the realm of the Unseelie.

She floated through a space that was not quite a storm cloud, and yet equally could have been a busy street. Her body told her she rose, while her vision told her she sank. Distant voices argued in untold languages, none of which she recognised. She had given reports a few times since she had risen to Iron, and using a trick that Rensliegh had taught her, she pushed on her intent. The twisting unreality was sliced back. From nowhere, her feet found a floor, and she could stand.

After stabilising herself, it did not take long for her mind to be guided to a space that was like but not quite the same as her grandmother's study. She arrived through the door, with the sensation that she had stepped inside yet was certain she hadn't moved.

She needed an actual dream-gifted on her side. They did not have to put up with this nonsense.

Eyeball was waiting for her and squawked at her as she entered. The raven's dark feathers gleamed faintly, as it hopped up to the back of the throne like chair that sat before the stately desk of dark wood.

“I'm pleased to see you too. I'd offer you some nuts or something, but I'm all out. Travel makes me peckish.” The optically challenged bird centred its one good eye on her, then threw its head back and laughed. The small bird's voice was shockingly rich and deep, not as low as Ursul's rumbling tones but around Bors’ baritone.

“That was terrible! It's been a long time since we joked like that. It's good to see you, Mads, you look well. Our Mistress will be along shortly.” Eyeball was far from a normal raven and, like his sister Peggy, was gifted with speech, yet often preferred to go without. It was amazing how often people forgot he could understand them and would speak of treason and treachery right before him.

A fitting behaviour for the head of the Magpies, her grandmother's intelligence agents.

“I'm doing well. I have met with success but also a setback,” she admitted. There was no point hiding anything from the raven.

“I understand you're at the Artoss Estates? So Pellinore found the boy, and you together, I imagine,” the old spirit creature mused.

“Along with one Prince of Albion, his minder, the son of a pastry chef, a De Graille, one of the sons of the heir to the Alcades, a reformed Inquisitor, a talking bear, and let's not forget the woman who looks shockingly similar to the prince as if they could be siblings and her mother.” She grinned as Eyeball’s beak clacked in surprise.

“Hmm, I could guess at the prince, that'd explain where Arthur disappeared to, but the rest sounds like quite the report. I look forward to reading Rensliegh's report,” the raven said with obvious enthusiasm.

Maeve's brow crinkled. “You once confided in me that her reports are always exceptionally dry?”

“When you get to be my age, you start to find pleasure in the oddest things. That woman has a rare talent. Twice she has provided reports detailing clashes with titanic forces, which half put me to sleep. It's fascinating.”

“I remember one of those. Was that when an entire squad of knights threatened to go errant, believing we'd slighted her for refusing to reward her for that dragon she slew?” The voice came from behind her, and then the dream twisted, and her grandmother was sat at the huge mahogany desk as if she had always been there.

“Hello, Gran. It’s—wait, dragon?”

“No, that was a different time. She wasn't under my care then,” Eyeball added, shifting to perch on his master's shoulder.

“How you doing, Mads? It’s good to see you!” The woman smiled, and Maeve knew she was never getting an answer. She added it to the many questions she had about her governess.

“I'm doing well, Gran. It’s good to see you too.”

“Let’s hear your report. I’d love to know how you ended up in the Artoss Estate. I’ve got everything up until you got to Fosburg, which I note has had a very short-lived insurrection? Seems like you're taking after your old Gran in more ways than one.” She laughed, and Maeve settled into talking through the report.

They would occasionally ask clarifying questions but otherwise remained still. She could see Eyeball twitch occasionally, and her grandmother, usually utterly stoic, flinched when she mentioned her ‘Auntie’ Miss Peaches.

It was quite the story, and even Rensliegh's coaching on how to properly report could not rob it of the sense of adventure she had embraced.

She reached the end, explaining that the Artoss patriarch, ‘Pel’, was now hosting them all and that the group was relaxing together. “And, I intend to forge connections with the group. They are a powerful collection of people with intentions that align with our own.”

“Great work on the battle. Getting them to cluster up for a trap, beautiful! You should be proud.” Eyeball was the first to give feedback, and Maeve nodded to accept the praise. The raven then turned to his mistress and clacked his beak. “She also clearly impressed The Witch.”

“So that’s where she got to. Going by Miss Peaches now, is she? Well, I’ll respect her wishes, and you did well to sweet talk her.” The old woman's face split into a grin. “Now, I’m even more intrigued if she has good things to say about your young man.”

“He’s not my young man!” Maeve retorted. She didn't like the glint in her grandmother's eye. It hinted at more than just trying to get under her skin.

“Is he not? You were very keen to find him, just a bit of poor luck on timing. I’m surprised that Pel used Mercury on this. I think I somewhat underestimated his commitment to reclaiming his lost family members.” The older woman sank back into her chair, her face turning contemplative.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“I have warned you about this till all I could do was croak. If you want him as an ally, do not play games with his kin.” With the sound of rustling feathers, the raven was abruptly on Maeve's shoulder, living up to his name as he eyeballed his mistress.

“You've got some plan for Taliesin, don't you?” Maeve sighed. She was wondering why Eyeball had joined her. Now it was obvious. They had to talk the thousand-year-old matriarch out of something foolish.

“Solid name. Feels strong. What's your take on the real Taliesin?”

“He's smart and would not be easy to manipulate, and for his rank is an outsized threat. He was instrumental in killing multiple Iron-ranked divine cultivators when he was merely bronze. He created a plot to kill an entire unit of them as well.”

“A good trick, but that won't help him against a Steel. He can't defy us.”

“No, for that, he'd use the several Steel-ranked allies he's accumulated. And before you mention Mithril, he could apparently handle a toned-down version of your Auntie's evil eye, and that witch believes she owes him a debt." Maeve didn't like the glint in her grandmother's eye, she'd long worked out where she'd inherited her own impatience from. Her gran was not keen to wait.

"And as you seem to deliberately ignore he has the backing of the Artoss patriarch. That's ignoring the fae we aren't mentioning," Eyeball added to the mix. Her grandmother stilled.

"What are you doing that needs defying at all? Why are we doing anything other than trying to make him an ally? He’s already reached Iron. I didn’t even know it was possible to push through Bronze in a matter of weeks."

"It’s not the first time. Happened before, a few centuries ago," she said dismissively, as if that was nothing significant. She cupped her chin in her hand and leant on the table staring at Maeve. "I’m not used to being ignored, nor negotiated with."

"What is this about? I can tell you right now, that Eyeball is right. The way Pel looks at him leaves me in no doubt that man would kill to keep him safe."

"I mean, we could leverage that he was betrothed to you. An Artoss and a Chox isn’t a bad match." Maeve felt her eye twitch at the casual mention of an arranged marriage. Her grandmother was in a strange mood.

"He’s not Regus anymore. It doesn’t count. He is Taliesin. It’s hard to put into words, but something deep down tells me arguing that they are one and the same is going to go poorly," Maeve answered angrily. She didn't like where this was heading.

"Do you not have any feelings for the boy? Didn't he save you? That's the sort of thing that gets the blood pumping at your age." Her grandmother stared at her like it was the most natural thing in the world to say yes. Maeve sighed. This was why Mithrils were hard to deal with. The fear of being obliterated in an instant meant far too many people didn’t call them out when they were being idiotic.

"I appreciate what he did for my cultivation! I'm not some damsel in distress who swoons for the first mildly capable man she stumbles across." She grit her teeth. "I'm honestly a little offended you'd think that!"

"He's an Artoss, and apparently a bard! The two combined means he should be stupidly attractive! Look, we need to recruit that boy somehow, get him in the family. You could seduce him!" Maeve frowned at that suggestion. Crossing her arms, she tried to work out what was going on.

"What is it that I’m missing? And why do you keep pushing the fact we were betrothed?" Maeve paused. "He’s got a bloodline, doesn’t he?"

"See, now you’re getting it." She sagged back into her chair and gave Maeve her full attention. "I want that bloodline, Mads. It’s strong."

"Are you seriously trying to suggest I start a family to feed your whims?"

"It is no whim. Look, you don’t seem to hate the man, and if the old witch likes him, he’s got to be a good one. Why not seduce him? It doesn't even have to last. In a century, you can move on!"

"Gran, your immortality is showing. Even if I wanted to, which I don’t, he has someone," Maeve replied.

"Oh, I should recommend Rensliegh teach you how to weaponise your womanly wiles.” The woman then grinned evilly “Or I could offer advice."

"Gran, ew, no. Look, I met the woman. She’s Persephone De Graille, and having been in a bath with her, I can firmly state that I’m bringing a knife to a sword fight. A fight I have no interest in!" Before the old monster could cut in, Maeve ploughed on.

"Even if that wasn’t the case, the battle is already lost. They’re totally enamoured with each other. They spent all of today trying to sneak off together." Maeve felt kind of bad. The couple clearly wanted to catch up all day, but the pair kept getting caught up in different conversations. Not least the arguing about who really deserved to be called the winner of the chase.

"So he has a type? It’s a pity the De Grailles don’t do arranged marriages. That’d be an easy way to remove her from the running. Maybe I can get one of your cousins—"

"Morgan, this isn’t helping," Eyeball tried to interject, but Maeve was fully wound up now. She took a step forward, her voice raised and her hands balled into fists.

"You’re not listening. It’s not happening. It’s also not fair. He saved my life. He gave us all that knowledge, and if he’d been any less cunning, he’d have died, and your alliance with Pel would be in danger. It’s not right. I didn’t hunt him down for this. I hunted him down because I thought you wanted to reward him, or at least make him an asset, not treat him—and me!—as breeding stock!"

"I agree it would be a tactical error. You heard the group of people he is travelling with. He appears to be the bond holding them together. If you were to sabotage him, they'd all remember it as they grow in power," Eyeball added diplomatically, but it was far from enough to derail the matriarch.

"This is about the future of the family!" If Maeve had been calmer, she’d have felt the shift in her grandmother’s tone. The sharpness in her eye, and tone that spoke of the blade glamour she’d started her long cultivation journey and told anyone who knew Morgan Chox that her patience was running thin.

"Yes, it is. Making an enemy of him is the worst thing we could do," Maeve snapped back with unusual venom.

"I agree. Morgan, you are being impatient. You are too old to act like this. You are creating risks over greed," Eyeball added, his voice calm but firm.

"You think I care if he's got a touch of fae magic, or had a bit of luck when it comes to cultivation? When you’ve lived as long as me, you know that these people come and go," Morgan Chox all but growled. Maeve knew she was on dangerous waters, but she pushed on.

"Always? Or do some of them rise? You just said that the last time anyone advanced as quickly as he did was centuries ago! What happened to him?"

A momentary look of embarrassment crossed her face. Eyeball chuckled and supplied, "He leads the Order of Black Woods."

"The Black Knight! You’re telling me that you want to make an enemy of someone on the same trajectory as someone who survived the Wild Hunt!"

"Our time here is almost over," Eyeball called out. Maeve realised the office had started to dissolve, the edges of the space losing all detail, becoming nothing but blank walls.

"I want that phoenix blood!" The ancient woman called out, slamming her fist onto the desk. The dream world quivered as power rolled through it. Her eyes bored into Maeve as she finally revealed the reason for her obsession.

"You have to be joking!" Maeve knew of few bloodlines more precious than that of a phoenix. Even watered down, it could offer untold benefits, and she doubted his was weak. In fact, given he was so confident in avoiding the blood curse, the bloodline had to be potent. Things began to slot into place, the mystery of how he survived, and her grandmother's obsession.

"Now do you understand?" The woman stared at her unintentionally unleashing her aura. Maeve felt small. The pressure of the power, dulled by the dream space, was still enough to make her feel small and confined. Then all went dark—a welcome darkness that held a comforting familiarity, like the gloom of a childhood bedroom.

Eyeball had spread his wings around her, huge feathers the length of swords shielding her, easing the pressure.

"Antagonising him is a mistake! You owe him your kin's life. If the fae find out—and they will—they will not accept you trampling such a debt." Eyeball's voice came from way above her, his voice booming with power, pushing back against his mistress. Maeve could see her glowering at them through gaps in the feathers.

Her pulse raced. She had never seen the pair fight before. She should be terrified, as the two powerful beings' wills clashed. Yet, even as two beings far beyond her battled with their wills, she felt anger at the betrayal more than any fear of reprimand.

"You’re not going to let this go, are you? Even if I ask you to?" Maeve called out, staring daggers back at her grandmother. To her surprise, the old monster flinched back, as if she had just remembered who she was speaking to. The pressure eased, and the feathers retreated. What had been a presence that loomed above her became a simple raven resting on her shoulder. Likewise, the woman opposite her went from a domineering force of nature to an old warrior grumbling in her chair.

"I need to plan. Stick close to them all till I can work out what comes next." The voice was tight. Then she sighed. "It was good to see you, Mads. I'm proud of your work."

The woman gave her a short nod, and the dream began to collapse. Maeve was grateful to leave. The intensity had reminded her of when she'd raged at the twins. Even limited by the Weave, her body still squirmed at the thought of standing before that power.

Maeve was keen to return to the waking world and unpack what had just happened. Yet her talk was not done. As she floated back through the Weave, she heard a shift of feathers and realised Eyeball was with her still.

"Forgive Morgan. The war is more taxing on her than she will admit. I shall talk her round with time, but I need you to buy it for me. I'll let Rensliegh know to follow your lead on this." The raven's advice settled Maeve. She hated arguing with her Gran at the best of times, not least because it was on some level terrifying. It wasn't good to know she was stressed, but it relieved her to know that she was not the root of her ire.

"I can manage that," she answered.

"Maybe I'll make a Magpie of you yet!" The bird chuckled, and then his presence was gone. With it, the Weave dissolved, and she found herself waking in the chamber.

Maeve awoke in the dream chamber with a chill down her spine. How in the hell was she going to keep her grandmother away from Taliesin?