by Jeff Wheeler
“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.”
Maia was terrified. She was trapped like a mouse, unable to flee. Even if she had her kystrel, which she did not feel around her neck, she could not have repulsed so many.
“I will give due consideration to all you have told me,” Collier said after a long pause. “Now depart, Corriveaux. Before I call my guard.”
Corriveaux looked down at the ground, his brow wrinkled with frustration. Maia felt a whisper of dread go through her, followed by a feeling of immense fear. When Corriveaux raised his head, his eyes were glowing silver.
“I fear you are under her sway, Your Majesty,” he said softly. “Your will is not your own.”
In a flash of speed, Collier’s blade came out of its sheath and he was suddenly right in front of Corriveaux, the tip aimed at his heart.
“You dare use the Medium against me?” Collier threatened. “Stop or I will run you through. I see your eyes, Corriveaux. Look into mine.”
Maia felt a surge of power rise up in the pavilion. It came from Collier, but she felt it, as surely as if it had been drawn from her muscles and bones. He has my kystrel, she realized. He wears it!
Corriveaux’s eyes widened with shock. He held his hand up in a placating gesture. “Oh, my lord king, what have you done?” He backed away slowly, trying to put some distance between the tip of the blade and his chest.
“I do not believe in your superstitions,” Collier said. “You use the kystrels to control our hearts and minds. I am protected from you. Remember that. Now, I have several nooses that were not put to use last night. You can all share them between you if need be.”
“That will not be necessary,” Corriveaux said, retreating to the tent flap. “You clearly have the situation well under control. I should not have doubted your wisdom.”
Collier barked a laugh. “You will answer for this, Corriveaux. Report to my Privy Council and await my judgment.”
“Yes, my liege. As you command.” Corriveaux bowed deeply. As he lifted, he shot Maia a murderous look, his lips twisted with rage.
The King of Dahomey had her kystrel. He wore it around his neck. She could see the thin chain against his skin. They were bound together now, and not just as husband and wife. The other five Dochte Mandar who traveled with Corriveaux sulked out of the tent after him.
Maia thought she heard a bird chirping. How she heard it past the wild hammering of her heart, she did not know. She rose from the chair, feeling her legs strengthen beneath her.
Collier sheathed his blade and turned, brushing his hands. “I told you I would protect you, Maia. I do not think they will be fool enough to defy me.” He gave her a charming smile. “I am going to summon my armies to invade Comoros. It is time to depose your father. Shall we?” He offered her his hand.
“You wear my kystrel,” Maia said hollowly.
“You gave it to me,” he said with a laugh.
“I am sorry.” She swallowed.
“For what?”
Sleep, she commanded in her mind, shoving her thought at him.
He collapsed in a heap on the ground.
Maia knelt carefully by his crumpled form. He breathed deeply, his chest rising and falling. So easy it would be. So easy to kill him. A small kiss on his cheek was all it would take. The thought in her mind horrified her, and she realized with a jolt that it was not her own.
Maia reached for the chain of the kystrel around Collier’s neck. As her fingers drew near, she felt her left shoulder begin to smolder with pain. Her muscles seized up and locked. She could not stretch her arm any farther, try as she might. Pain and nausea swept through her.
She felt . . . disapproval.
Maia huddled next to him and stared down into his sleeping face. The face of her husband. This was not the royal wedding she had dreamed of as a child.
There had been no pageantry. No Aldermastons with gray cassocks and wise airs. It had not been a maston wedding, performed in an abbey by irrevocare sigil.
She was grateful for that much.
She pulled her arm back and found that she could move it again. The being trapped inside her—the Myriad One whose name she did not know—would not allow her certain actions against its interests. She breathed deeply, trying to steel her heart. She reached down and squeezed her husband’s rough hand.
“I am truly sorry, Feint Collier,” she whispered. “But I cannot let you use me to destroy my father.” She gave the hand another squeeze. “Do not try to find me, for I will run from you for the rest of my life.”
She rose and looked down at him one last time. There was her pack near the mouth of the tent. She grabbed it. Spying one of his cloaks rumpled on a chest, she swung it over her shoulders, raised the cowl, and slipped out the back of the tent into the dawn air.
There was once a wise Aldermaston who said, “Gold tests with fire, woman with gold, man with woman.”
—Lia Demont, Aldermaston of Muirwood Abbey
CHAPTER TWENTY
Peliyey Mountains
The morning sky was hazy with camp smoke as the soldiers awoke and began stirring the ashes from the previous night. Some bent low and breathed on the cakes of ash, coaxing them to life again. Others carried piles of sticks, ready to feed the flames. Maia passed them as a shadow, swathed in Collier’s big coat.
“We could use more wine in our rations,” a big man muttered as she passed. “My head is aching.”
“Because you drank too much wine last night.”
Maia walked past them with a firm stride, wanting to hurry without appearing to do so.
She heard the crunch of boots behind her, coming on her left, so she switched directions, going around another campfire. The sounds of pursuit persisted. A lump of fear settled into her stomach. She did not want to use the kystrel’s magic to flee, but she wondered if she would even have a choice. Though it no longer hung around her neck, its power was as accessible to her as ever—more so.
“Keep walking,” the kishion said at her elbow as he passed her. “Follow me.”
She startled as he walked past her. He wore a tunic with the king’s colors, the fabric stained and blotchy. There was a slit in the back, peeking just above his belt, and it was dark red from blood. He marched on ahead of her and she kept pace, the two of them weaving through camp like wraiths. One man had pierced a hunk of bread with his dagger, she saw, and was ripping pieces from it with his teeth.
The first streamers of sunlight bit her eyes. The light coming into the smoke came like fingers through silk. It was dawn, a new day. A terrible day. She felt as if she had tripped and tumbled down a steep hill, bouncing off rocks and colliding with trees on the way down. She could hardly tell which way was up.
She stared at the kishion’s back, wondering if he was just as confused as she was or whether he was involved in her mission in a way she did not yet understand.
There was much she did not know, but she did know something. She could not continue with her quest until she visited an abbey. She needed to find an Aldermaston who could rid her of the Myriad One who was nesting inside her—the one who emerged at night, forcing her to dream. Maia was grateful it was dawn. She could not allow herself to fall asleep again, not before she rid herself of the evil being inside her. She would push herself to stay awake, to walk for days if need be. There were abbeys under construction throughout all the kingdoms. Which one was nearest?
The kishion stepped into a grove of trees and Maia followed him, slipping through slender branches that caught at her cloak and tried to snare her. The bark was smooth and glossy. They meandered their way through the copse, which became thicker the farther they went. Twigs and brush snapped as they made their noisy way, but the sounds of the camp fell farther behind.
They had been walking for quite some time when something crashed through the undergrowth, and Argus bounded into view. Maia’s heart leaped and she knelt amidst some ferns as the boarhound rushed up to her and started licking her face. She seized him by the ruff and hugged him, dangerously close to tears.
“Is Tayt with you, Argus?” she crooned. “Is he nearby?”
The kishion snorted. “We did not abandon you, Lady Maia.”
She stroked Argus’s ears and rose, staring at him gratefully. “Thank you.” She had traveled with the kishion for days now, even slept near him in the wilderness, but she did not know if she could trust him. She doubted herself. She doubted everything except the hound’s loyalty.
As they followed the direction Argus had come from, Maia began to hear the nicker of horses. There were three, she discovered, tethered to the spindly tree branches, and Jon Tayt was grooming them. As they approached, he finished brushing one down and dropped to inspect its hooves.
He looked up at her and smiled through his pointed beard. “Ah, we all survived the night, by Cheshu. I, for one, am grateful. Thank you for interceding for us last night, my lady. My friend here says we were not in any real danger, but I was not feeling so calm at the moment. A fine kettle of fish we were in. Sorry I did not heed your hint about meeting you at the mountain. We were not willing to let you try to escape all on your own.”
“How did you escape?” Maia asked the kishion.
He looked at her and smiled darkly. “There is another kishion in the king’s camp,” he said. “He gave me a sign so that I might know him. Loosened my bonds and slipped me some weapons for the ride. I killed the escort not far from here, took the horses and a uniform, and was watching the tent when the Dochte Mandar arrived. I saw you slip out.”
“Does the king know about the kishion in his camp?” Maia asked, her eyebrows lifting.
“Of course not,” he replied blandly. “If I had been hired to kill the king, I would have had help getting into his tent.”
Maia noticed that Jon Tayt was staring at the kishion with brooding eyes. He said nothing. “How far are we from Mon?” she asked.
Jon Tayt shifted his gaze to hers. “We are near the mountains that separate us. The mountains are called the Peliyey. I believe what Collier—ach, I mean the king! He said the passes are guarded. If he is truly planning to invade Comoros, then he does not want his own kingdom sacked while he is gone.”
Maia took a deep breath, conflicted. No, her priority was to find an abbey. She lowered the cowl and swept loose her hair.
“Where is the nearest abbey?” she asked Jon Tayt.
“What?”
“The nearest abbey. Where is it?”
He looked at her, confused, his brow wrinkling. What could she say? They did not know the truth about her yet. She had to keep it secret until she could meet with an Aldermaston.
He scratched the whiskers along his neck. “There is Rivaulx to the north, but it’s on the border with Paeiz. There is Lisyeux in Dahomey, but it would be foolish for us to go there.” He squinted. “There is Cruix Abbey, though. It is in the top of the Peliyey, where three kingdoms are divided by three rivers. It is a hard climb, my lady.”
Maia remembered it now from the map she had studied in her father’s solar. Cruix Abbey.
“Aye, it is on the border of Dahomey, Paeiz, and Mon. Take me there.”
“Why?” Jon Tayt asked.
She shook her head. “I learned something in the king’s tent last night. That is all I can tell you right now. I need to visit this abbey. The sooner we leave Dahomey, the better. Get us across the mountains.”
They rode hard through the woods and gave the horses their heads when they reached the lowlands, which stretched out to the foot of the mountains. Gradually, Maia became aware of the power of the Medium all around her. It was in the blades of grass, the puffy clouds chasing across the sky. She felt the Medium in the rocks and boulders, in the flowers and seedlings. It was even in the
wind. Her awareness of it had expanded, so much so it felt as if she were seeing the world as it really was for the first time. It was right in her skin, in her very pores. She could feel her blood thrumming in her veins, her heartbeat rhythmic and constant, a drum of power. She sensed the lives of birds and squirrels, of tiny insects too small to see. She could command them, she realized. They were aware of her as well, and she could sense their small minds brushing against hers, drawn to her like moths to a flame. The new powers frightened her.
She remembered again the way Walraven had summoned all those mice and rats. She could do that, she realized, and with little effort. As they rode, she sensed hawks floating overhead. As soon as she became aware of them, her mind seemed to reach out to them of its own accord, and suddenly she could see the panorama of the landscape from their perspective, including the three riders galloping in the fields below. It was jarring, watching herself from the hawk’s eyes. She saw her hair streaming behind her, the horses’ hooves churning relentlessly as they brought them toward the mountains.
The plains were lush with groves of evergreens. The Peliyey rose suddenly and sharply from the verdant valley floor, a colossal hunch of rugged stone that was wreathed in white from high mountain snows. Beyond the first battering rams was a grouping of even taller mountains, totally white with snow. The range dipped and stretched for leagues both north and south. Through the hawk’s eyes, Maia could see tiny hamlets nestled in the foothills of the giant range, but none within the range itself. There were towering waterfalls dotted around the mountains where the snow ran off and melted. It was enormous, breathtaking, and Maia’s heart filled with giddiness at the strange sensation of seeing it from both the hawk’s current perspective and its memories.
There was a rift in the mountains, a trail leading up to a lower pass. Their destination.
Maia?
The voice in her mind startled her and sent her slamming back into her body. It had been hours since they had left the king’s camp, and she could feel the grogginess in Collier’s thoughts.