The Banished of Muirwood (19 page)

“Well,” her father said icily. “You have said quite enough, have you not, my lord Forshee.”

“There is more,” he replied sternly, “but you are not man enough to hear it.”

“Do not hold back,” her father said, his eyes narrowing coldly. “By all means, vent your spleen if it helps.”

“As you wish. I fought alongside your lord father,” Forshee said with dignity. “I fought alongside him during the Dark Wars. He was a man of integrity. A man of prowess. A maston.” His voice fell lower. “He would be ashamed if he had lived to see you now.”

Maia’s throat constricted. She stared at the earl, then at her father, watching his neck muscles bulge. His shoulders jittered with repressed anger. “Is . . . that . . . all, Forshee?”

The earl nodded and seated himself at the table, looking at the king as if he were no more significant than a moth.

Her father pushed against the armrests of his chair and rose, bringing himself to his full height. Even his legs trembled with rage. “I had sought to make an alliance between our Families, Forshee. I know my stepdaughter Murer fancies one of your sons. But I cannot bear the thought of enduring your sanctimoniousness during holidays and such occasions. I brought you to my Privy Council because I value your wisdom, your excellence as a soldier and warrior, and the strength your Family brings to this realm. Your service has been undisputedly a value to the throne.” He clenched his fists and planted them on the table. “I know that you do not approve of me, Forshee. I could see it in your eyes before you said a word, and it disgusts me. You have five strapping lads. And you leave them five farthings apiece for your insolence and your treasonous tongue. I would not let any of the daughters of my realm marry into such proud and conceited stock as yours. Away from my sight! You displease me, my lord earl. And you will suffer for it.”

The Earl of Forshee rose again, his expression calm and untroubled. He dipped his head in salute and walked purposefully to the doors of the solar and left. Maia stared at her father, at the dangerous glint in his eyes.

He turned to Chancellor Morton. “Draw up orders to arrest Forshee before he leaves the castle. He will be bedding down in Pent Tower tonight.”

“My lord?” Morton said, aghast.

“His five sons will also pay the price for his insolence,” her father continued. “Summon them all to court. If any defy the summons, arrest them. I want to gather them together for a little reunion. Maybe a few dark days in a dungeon will lance the boils that afflict their spleens. Now, Morton. Now! Draw up the papers now.”

“Y-yes, my lord,” the chancellor said, his face pale.

Maia saw her father’s jaw trembling. He began to pace near his chair. “When you have finished the arrest order, I wish you to decree all efforts to rebuild the abbeys to cease forthwith. No more stone to be quarried. No more oxen to carry them. No more roads to be repaired. We will halt the work for a season and show traitors like Forshee there is a price to be paid.” He paused, realizing the play on words. “A Price. Yes, there will be a Price to be paid.”

He chuckled to himself and then turned to face his Privy Council, his knuckles pressing against the tabletop. “Does anyone else wish to speak?”

The shocked silence thrummed in the room.

“Good,” her father said contemptuously. He turned to Maia’s chair, the passion already beginning to cool in his eyes. “My dear, would you like a chance to visit Muirwood before the roads are closed?”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Vow

Y
es.”

It was Maia’s own voice, her own mouth that said it. The sensation was like coming awake from a vivid dream, one that blurred like fog and syrup. Somehow she had fallen asleep in the king’s tent. Her memories were muddled and thick, and though in her mind’s eye she was staring at her father and answering his question, she realized ponderously that her memory was distorted. Her father had never asked her if she wished to go to Muirwood. He had never given her that option. The image of her father crumbled away, and she discovered another man standing before her, wearing the black cassock of the Dochte Mandar. He faced her direction, but his gaze shifted to someone next to her.

“Most illustrious prince,” the man said, his voice formal and speaking Dahomeyjan, “is it your will to fulfill the treaty of marriage concluded by your late father and the King of Comoros? And, as the Dochte Mandar has sanctioned this marriage, do you take Princess Marciana, who is here present, for your lawful wife?”

“Yes, I will,” said Collier.

The threads from her dream still billowed about her mind. She realized in the back of her mind that in front of her sat a wooden altar piece—a small one set near the brazier in the king’s tent. A stone Leering rested atop it, the face chipped and chiseled and blunted by hammer strokes, but still visible. Power emanated from it, and she realized she was kneeling in front of the altar, her arms resting on it. Collier’s arms were next to hers. Slowly, so slowly it felt as if she were turning a huge boulder by herself, she twisted her neck and saw Collier’s profile, his deep blue eyes gazing intently at the Dochte Mandar.

“You have declared your consent before me. May the Medium strengthen your consent and fill you both with pleasing Gifts. What we have joined hither, men must not divide.”

“Until death us depart,” Collier said, bowing his head.

“Even so,” said the Dochte Mandar amiably. “It is the tradition amongst the Dochte Mandar for the husband to kiss his wife after the vow, Your Majesty.”

Collier smirked. “Thank you for the recommendation, Trevor. Not at the present however.” He rose to his feet and then gripped Maia’s hand to pull her up. Her knees were shaking, and she steadied herself on the edge of the wooden altar.

“My lord brother, thank you for being witness. Thank you as well, Earl of Lachaulx. Are those birds? Is it dawn already?”

Maia’s mind whirled like a child’s top, and she felt as if she would kneel and retch. The tent spun faster and faster.

“Your wife is pale, brother.”

“Here, my lady, let me help you to a chair.” Collier took her arm and led her to his camp chair, the one she had seen him in before. What had happened to the night? It felt as if she had dozed for but a moment or two, not slept away the entire evening. Why could she not remember? It was like a great wind had kicked up a storm of dry leaves in her mind, veiling all her memories. She had hoped to forestall the marriage by pledging to marry him later, once her quest was complete.

“My liege, I will take my leave of you. Some of the men are rousing and preparing to ride.”

“Thank you, my lord earl. I will join you later. I would appreciate a moment alone with my wife.”

A few guffaws of laughter sounded, and Maia’s heart jolted with a spasm of dread. She cast her eyes around the pavilion as the other men departed from the tent flap in front. It spoke of her disorientation that she had not noticed them until they were leaving. The place looked different in the pale dawn—starker and less magical. The brazier only had a few licks of coals left inside, and the nearby tray of food had been reduced to crumbs.

Why could she not remember? In her last recollection, she was sitting with him on a bearskin rug. He had insisted on seeing . . . what? Her shoulder. He wanted to see her shoulder, to see if she had the hetaera’s brand. The pieces of memory clashed in her mind.

An image flashed in her memory. The brand of the double serpent.

She remembered.

Horror exploded in her heart. What, by Idumea’s hand, had she just done? She bore the mark of the hetaera on her shoulder. How had she not seen it before? It was obvious, yet she had no memory of how it had gotten there. Desperate for answers, she replayed her trip step by step. Nothing stood out, except . . .

Since leaving the lost abbey, her dreams had been particularly vivid. She had thought it was the Medium’s will for her to relive parts of her past when she fell asleep at night, that the memories were being sent to assist her in some way. Suddenly it seemed as if the answer were altogether different. For days now, she had not been her true self at night.

Oh no
, she thought miserably.
What have I done!

Had her experience in the lost abbey enabled one of the Myriad Ones to take possession of her body as she slept? Had she returned to the hetaera’s Leering later, unwittingly, and received the brand? After visiting the dark pool within the lost abbey, she had lost consciousness for a time. It could have happened.

“I am sorry I do not have a ring to give you yet,” Collier said. “But in fairness, you did already receive one from my father. Do you recall it?”

Maia’s thoughts scattered, collected, and then scattered again. She trembled in the chair as if she had been struck by a fever. She hoped she would not vomit. “It was a silver ring,” she whispered, trying to quell the panic. “With a large diamond.”

He smiled. “The very one. Too small for your finger now. Maybe your smallest one.” He reached out and took her hand, caressing her smallest finger with his thumb. “I was not there, of course, being nothing but a babe myself. But there were two emissaries present—Chancellor Walraven and Aldermaston Bonnivet—as well as both of our fathers. When Bonnivet gave you the ring, or so he told me later, you said to him, ‘Are you the Prince of Dahomey? If you are, I wish to kiss you.’ I find that sentiment deliciously ironic now.”

Maia stared into his eyes, feeling lost and abandoned. Her last memory was exposing the brand on her shoulder. Something had smothered her mind in that moment, a presence thick as oil, making her black out. She obviously had not passed out. What had she agreed to beyond the marriage?

“What is it?” he asked her, dropping to one knee by her chair.

“My thoughts are a bit wild at the moment,” she answered truthfully. “Forgive me if I am unwell.”

He patted her arm and then rose. “Wine would only make you sick. Some water then?” She nodded briskly, and he went to fill her cup again. She had married him. In front of witnesses as well. What could she say to repudiate her actions? If she revealed that she was a hetaera, she would be murdered for certain. Was there a way she could be freed from the curse? There had to be! The maston lore spoke of the hetaera. She needed to find an Aldermaston.

Muirwood.

She shivered violently at the thought and gratefully accepted the cup brimming with water and gulped it down.

“Easy, lass. Do not drown yourself in it,” he teased.

The enormity of her situation spread a cloak of shadows across her mind. Had she been corrupted by Walraven as a child? Had his guidance and care been a means to an end? But how could that be? Her father was the one who had sent her to Dahomey. Walraven fell in disgrace, losing his title and his lands before his untimely death. But he had given her his kystrel, wrapped in a note. At the time, she had taken it as a sign of his unshakable faith in her, but could there have been a darker purpose? Was the kystrel’s magic irrevocably linked with the hetaera’s power? Where could truth be found amidst so many shadows?

Truth is knowledge. You must seek the High Seer. She knows the truth.

Maia shuddered in response to the whispers that would send her still to Naess. Was it even the Medium that spoke to her? How could she know whether to trust that inner voice? After all, it had sent her here. It had sent her on the north road. She pressed her fingers to her lips, stifling a sudden compulsion to weep. No, she could not! She did not cry like other girls. She did not surrender her will to her emotions. Maia pulled her feelings tight, wrestling against them. A small hiccup bubbled up. Her lips. She felt their shape against her fingertips.

Her lips could kill a man.

Help me
, she thought desperately.
Mother, help me! I am lost.

She had to make it to an abbey. The closest she could find. Only an Aldermaston’s power could save her now.

She looked up at Collier. His expression was so enigmatic. He was studying her closely, watching the whirl and shift of emotions in her eyes. He said nothing, only stared.

“What is wrong, Maia?” he whispered, putting his hand on her shoulder. “Your countenance has changed . . . again. Do you seek your . . . your mother?”

“My lord!” shouted a voice from outside the tent. “Riders! It is the Dochte Mandar from Roc-Adamour!”

A grim look played on Collier’s face. He stood and began pacing. “Delay them.”

“My lord, they are on my heels!”

Maia heard pounding hooves, the snort of several horses frothing with foamy spittle. She heard a sharp voice and the thump of boots hitting the dirt. She recognized the voice.

“Is His Majesty within?” Corriveaux barked. Her heart spasmed with dread.

“You must give my lord leave!” said a strangled guard. Maia felt the Medium ripple in the air and then the tent flap whipped apart and six Dochte Mandar stormed inside, Corriveaux leading the way.

He looked no different from how he had appeared in her mind. His trimmed beard was immaculate, but his skin was flushed and dripping with sweat. He wore his kystrel proudly on his chest, its metal gleaming against the black velvet fabric. He was a thin, lanky man, and his eyes were sharp as daggers. He saw her crumpled in the chair, and a look of blazing triumph coalesced in his eyes.

“She is
here
,” Corriveaux whispered savagely. “My lord, has she touched you? Has she . . . kissed you?” His eyes were sick with dread and a little excitement.

Collier stood with easy confidence. “I am not a patient man under most circumstances. But truly, Corriveaux, this is deplorable timing. You cannot barge into your king’s tent uninvited. Be gone.” He waved a hand in lazy dismissal.

“Your Majesty, this is a matter of grave urgency. Your very life is in peril. Come here. Step closer to me.” He gestured slowly, as if Maia were a snake coiled to strike.

“Do you think she is going to stab me? I have been with the princess all evening, sir. We have enjoyed each other’s company in a most pleasant way, but
not
in the way you are supposing. I believe I ordered you to leave.”

“Your Majesty,” Corriveaux said, his distress growing more visible. “You must hearken to what I have to tell you. She is indeed the banished Princess of Comoros, but she is more than that.”

“You say truly,” Collier said, chuckling.
She is my wife.

Maia stared at him in surprise. She had heard the thought as surely as if it had been whispered aloud.

“This is not a moment for jesting, my lord,” Corriveaux snapped. “If her mouth has touched you in any way, you are a dead man. It is my duty to your highness to offer you protection and advice. This creature is a spawn of darkness. She may already have corrupted you. We tracked her from the dark pool of the lost abbey. She is hetaera! There is no denying it.”

“How do you know this?” Collier said with open contempt. “You ride here like lions seeking prey, but must I remind you that
I
am the master of the realm? You have much to answer for, Corriveaux. Like traveling with soldiers impersonating the king’s men. Like the village of Argus. If you were part of that massacre
—
”

“—My lord, if you will indulge me a
moment
longer,” Corriveaux said, his fists clenching. He had finally found her after hunting her for days. He was not ready to let her go. Maia could see his desperation, especially at the mention of the mountain village.

“I have indulged your intrusion with remarkable patience. No, I have not kissed or been kissed by this woman. She is not a camp follower, Corriveaux. Not a harlot. She is the Princess of Comoros.”

“She is the
banished
princess,” Corriveaux corrected. “My lord, our spies in Comoros became aware of the plot. Her father sent her to the lost abbey to reawaken the hetaera order and begin the killing of mastons. She has the potential to destroy not just an insignificant village but every person living in Dahomey and beyond our borders. Not only does this allow King Brannon to divorce his wife, but it gives him the power to remove all those who oppose him. We have a spy very close to the throne, my liege. We learned about the vessel,
her
vessel—the
Blessing of Burntisland
. We found it moored off the cursed shores and captured its crew. They revealed her presence in your kingdom, my lord. We sent word for you by courier, but Your Majesty is difficult to find these days. She is a danger to Comoros, to Dahomey, to all the kingdoms. My lord, she
must
be taken to Naess and interrogated and executed. She is an abomination! The empire fell due to the plague the hetaera unleashed on these shores. Surrender her to me, my lord. I have enough men to contain her.”