by Jeff Wheeler
And yet why else had the Medium not warned her to stay away from Comoros?
“You are lost in thought,” Suzenne said, resting a hand on her shoulder. Not her left shoulder, where the hetaera brand lurked, hidden beneath her dress. “Did you sleep much last night?”
Maia shook her head. “I dare not,” she confided. “The Myriad Ones are everywhere. I think they are waiting for me to grow weary before attacking me.”
“Do you think they will?” Suzenne looked even more nervous.
Maia nodded. “I wrestled against them all night,” she said, her voice sounding hollow even to her own ears. “I am protected by wearing the chaen, but they intrude into my thoughts most insidiously. I can hardly think without some remembrance of their power over me. Did you not feel them this morning at the execution?”
Suzenne blanched. “That was terrible. You came here to prevent Lady Deorwynn’s execution, and instead we became the chief witnesses of her death.”
Maia stared sympathetically at her friend. “Are you afraid to die, Suzenne?”
The other girl’s anguish deepened. “Yes,” she whispered in a small voice.
Maia turned and took Suzenne’s hands in hers, squeezing them. “I am struggling with that fear as well, I admit. Chancellor Walraven taught me not to fear death. That lesson is in the maston tomes as well, and yet the urge to cling to this second life is so strong. Let us remember the maston ceremony. This is not our final destiny. Knowing that makes it easier to bear the truth of what may happen.” She swallowed hard. “I am so sorry that you and Dodd came with me to Comoros. I hope my father does not kill you because of me. That would be too much for me to endure.”
Suzenne tugged one of her hands free and wiped the tears that had fallen from her lashes. She dropped down to her knees in front of Maia. “I do not regret coming with you, Maia. Dodd and I are bound by irrevocare sigil. They may have separated us in this dungeon, but they cannot separate us forever.” She blinked quickly, suppressing further tears. “I know you and the King of Dahomey—”
Maia smiled sadly. “I hardly think of him as that. He is Collier to me.”
Suzenne’s voice was pained. “Your husband is not a maston. If you die, you will not be with him. Does that not make you grieve?”
Maia gave her a sad smile before looking back out the window and nodding. If all had gone according to Collier’s plan, he’d ridden through the night from Muirwood to reach his spy, Simon Fox, this very morning. How surprised Simon would be to learn that Maia was in the city! She had not made it very far from the gates of Claredon Abbey before being abducted by the chancellor’s men. There had been no opportunity to visit Simon as she’d promised Collier she would do.
“I do not know what the Medium has in store for me,” Maia said, shuddering, “but I love him, Suzenne. I am surprised that it hurts so much to say it. Our entire relationship has been fraught with disappointments. We were trothed as infants and then my father reneged on the contract. Collier kidnapped me in Dahomey and forced me to marry him, or he would have killed my companions. Not a wonderful beginning to a marriage.” She gave Suzenne a crooked smile. “But he has changed. Muirwood has transformed him just as it did me. I am the same girl who left these shores on a ship to fulfill my father’s will. And yet I am so much stronger than I was then. I will stand up to the king, no matter what he threatens.” She felt the smile slip from her face. “Even if he kills me.”
Suzenne trembled in sympathy. “Do you think that he will?”
Maia shook her head. “No. He will try to break me first. He will let us linger in this dungeon, tortured by the freedom that is within our sight, but not within our reach, for a while. He thinks to frighten me into surrendering, but he does not know that I have already been through the crucible. I know my own strength, and I do not fear him.” She squeezed Suzenne’s hand again and then rose, stretching her tired limbs. She was sorry she could not save Lady Deorwynn from her fate. Listening to Jolecia’s shrieks and sobs after the execution was painful to endure. All of the lady’s children had been imprisoned. She knew how it smarted to be deprived of the benefits of rank after years of enjoying them. She pitied them.
“I wish they had let Dodd stay with us,” Suzenne said. “I keep thinking about what they did to his father and brothers, and I cannot stop fretting about him.”
Maia continued to walk the room, wishing there were books to read, but of course such a simple pleasure would not have been provided to two girls who were expected to be ignorant of the skill.
The sound of heavy boots marching down the hallway filtered into the room, but this was not uncommon in Pent Tower. She did not give it much thought until the sound grew louder and the steps started up the stairwell leading to their cell. Suzenne’s face pinched with concern, and she rushed across the room to stand by Maia’s side.
Moments later, the lock on the door rattled and the door opened. Two knights dressed in her father’s colors entered the room and stood guard on either side of the door. Between them entered Chancellor Crabwell, followed by the Earl of Forshee and the Earl of Caspur. To a man, their expressions were stern.
“I wondered how long before we would meet again, Chancellor,” Maia said with feigned indifference.
“When we last met, the Medium delivered us into your hands. Now it has delivered you into ours. Or should I say, it was your cunning that entrapped us at Muirwood.” He chuckled to himself and scratched the corner of his mouth. He was dressed in a sable-lined cape, felt hat, and the ceremonious golden stole of his office. His hair was going gray, and despite his bold words, he looked nervous. It did not harm the effect that he was shorter than her and had to look up to meet her eyes.
“Is that how you’ve managed to convince yourself?” Maia asked him pointedly. “You think we tricked you at Muirwood?”
“Of course it was trickery!” Crabwell snapped. “We had the sheriff’s men posted around the grounds all winter. But they were not mastons, and the only place they could not search was the abbey itself. We know about the tunnels beneath the grounds, my dear. The High Seer—your grandmother—is a wise and cunning woman. I must applaud her ability with stagecraft, Maia, truly I must. She won the day, and your father was almost convinced. But Kranmir is a persuasive man. He helped him see the truth.”
“And the light coming from the abbey?” Maia said in a scoffing tone. “The mists that were sent away?”
“Leerings all have peculiar properties, child. They are useful in propagating superstitions from the old days. You cannot imagine what the Naestors believe about us, the simplicity of some men!” Crabwell coughed, then resumed a more formal tone. “Lady Maia, I am here at your father’s behest to give you one last chance to join him. If you refuse, you will be executed for treason. It will not be difficult to persuade the people that you were duped by your clever grandmother if you accede to the king’s demands and—”
“No!” Maia interrupted angrily.
Crabwell’s eyes blazed with fury. “. . . and if you sign the Act of Submission with two earls of the realm as witnesses. I have a copy of it here,” he said, waggling a leather cylinder at her. “Once you do this, you will be escorted forthwith from Pent Tower and receive all the dues you are—”
“No!” Maia said more forcefully.
Crabwell nearly choked on his impatience. “Let me finish. If you will . . . my lady. I did promise your father that I would give you this opportunity.” He swallowed, his face suddenly blotchy and red. “Ahem . . . and receive all the dues to which you are entitled as his bastard daughter. He will forgive your treason at Muirwood if you cooperate, but you will not be a member of the Privy Council. An oath made under duress is no oath at all and contrary to the laws of the realm. Lady Jayn Sexton and the king will be married this evening. She will become his rightful queen, and her issue will be his rightful heirs.” He stuffed the leather cylinder back into his belt. “There, I have completed my task. Is your answer still the same? I charge you, on your ver
y life, not to trifle with us. The king has empowered the three of us to oversee your fate.”
“I wish to see my father,” Maia demanded firmly.
Forshee snorted, and she finally looked at him. His face was contorted with fury, and his eyes were like twin flames. An imposing man, he looked to be in his forties and very strong and hale.
“Your father will only see you,” the Earl of Caspur interjected in a forbidding tone, “if you sign the Act of Submission right now. This is your last chance, girl. Do not be a fool. The king has already promised more mercy than you deserve.”
Maia regarded the Earl of Caspur and his grizzled beard. She saw he looked more nervous than angry, his eyes almost pleading with her to acquiesce. Judging by his silver beard and the fringe of hair beneath his velvet cap, he was the oldest of the three lords.
She looked him in the eyes. “You were there, my lord,” she said softly, trying to reach him. “What you witnessed was not a deception. I opened the Apse Veil and reached through time itself and drew Lia Demont into our realm. The Covenant of Muirwood had to be fulfilled. We have so many enemies, so many who seek to humble our kingdom and bring us to desolation. I have seen the Naestors’ fleet, my lords. They will not succeed in destroying our kinsmen in Assinica, but they will come here next to hunt for them. They are on their way even now, yet here we are, fighting amongst ourselves.” She looked back at Crabwell with clear, resolute eyes. “I care nothing for lands or titles. I do not care who is queen or who is heir. Our people are suffering, Chancellor. They are suffering in squalor. They are suffering in ignorance. They are suffering because they have forgotten what the Medium even feels like. You have forgotten, sir.”
Crabwell looked at her blackly, his eyes smoldering. “I never felt it,” he said disdainfully. “Oh, it is real. I know that. They say the Medium grants our secret wishes, yes? I am an ambitious man. We all are,” he said, gesturing to the other two men. “And look how it has yielded us a ripe kingdom . . . which you seek to topple.”
Maia shook her head in denial. “I have no ambition, Chancellor. I only seek the welfare of my people.”
“That is treason,” he accused. “They are your father’s subjects, not yours.”
“They are mine because I love them,” Maia pleaded. “My husband is the King of Dahomey. If you put me to death, he will not stay his hand at revenge.” She could hear Suzenne’s ragged breathing behind her, and though she wished more than anything for her friend to be safe, she was grateful that she did not need to face these men alone.
Forshee almost spluttered with rage. “You know nothing of politics, lass,” he said. “Your husband is a penniless, gutless fool who brought his kingdom to ruination by letting himself be captured by the Naestors. Even if he wished to retaliate, he could not.”
Maia stared at him coldly. “You are misinformed, my lord Earl. About many things.” She turned her gaze on the others, giving them each the same piercing look. “I see, gentlemen, that you act out of fear and hatred. Remember what the Medium does. You are not quite correct, Chancellor, but you are close. It brings our thoughts to bear on us. You fear losing power, and so you will lose power. The foundation you stand on is crumbling.”
“Enough!” Crabwell said disgustedly. He brushed his gloved hands together. “I told your father you would not relent. This is how you repay his leniency and mercy? With insults and infernal preaching? So be it. If you will not sign the Act of Submission, you will pay the price of a traitor’s death.”
Maia lifted her chin with false bravado . . . feeling indignation, but not remorse. “Then so be it, Chancellor. I will not sign it. If execution is how my father chooses to unbirth me, then I must accept it. You all feed his self-delusions and madness. But though he tells you the sky is red, he cannot make it so. And when he tires of you, do not believe you will be safe from his wrath either. You have your answer, Chancellor. I will not sign under duress. He has broken the pledge he made to me at Muirwood. If I die . . . I die innocent. And the Medium will judge you for my blood.”
She saw the Earl of Caspur’s eyes were wide and wet with tears. He looked shaken to the core. Crabwell seemed incensed, and only too eager to abandon the room.
The Earl of Forshee, however, looked murderous. His cheeks quivered with violence, his eyes were molten with ire. She felt a quick pulse of fear, for he looked as if he would gladly plunge a sword into her ribs. The power of the Myriad Ones emanated from inside him, telling her he was their creature, their plaything. He took a step toward her, his gloved fingers gnarled as if he wished to choke her to death. “You are so unnatural,” he said in a quivering voice. “How dare you speak to us thus? If you were my daughter,” he growled, “I would knock your head so hard against the wall that it would cave in like a baked apple.” He swallowed, saliva flicking from his lips, and took another step in her direction. “You are a traitoress and will be punished as such. Prepare for death, insufferable girl. I would volunteer to do it myself, though I fear a blade would be too merciful.”
The black void of his thoughts pressed into her, leaving a path of queasiness and disgust. He was so thick with the Myriad Ones, she could see them inside his black eyes. The raw hatred was terrifying. Maia felt her knees tremble and buckle, but she held firm, squeezing her fists to give herself the strength to remain standing. The howling thoughts of the Myriad Ones echoed through the small cell. It was a flood. Just like the rats Walraven had summoned into his office that long-ago day.
“Be gone,” Maia stammered, her tongue swelling in her throat. “I rebuke you.”
The rage in the man’s eyes intensified. He took yet another step toward her, and the other men did naught to stop him. Suzenne was shrinking beside her, holding up her hands as if afraid she too would be murdered. The edges of Maia’s vision began to flake with blackness, as if scales were growing on her eyes.
The Myriad Ones surged against her once more. In the past, she would have recoiled and surrendered under the force of their attack. This time she did not, for she was a maston.
Maia raised her hand in the maston sign. “Be gone,” she whispered again, her voice choking.
She did not feel the Medium come to rescue her, for there was no place for the Medium in that chamber. It was like clinging to a rope in the midst of a churning river, but she held firm, and the blackness could not claim her. She clung to her faith, rooted against the threat of danger.
The Earl of Caspur fled the room. Crabwell winced as he looked at her, as if the sight of her burned him. He was the next to storm past the guards and out of the cell.
The Earl of Forshee remained behind, his black eyes still raking hers. Will against will. He fought her for domination and control. She saw a flicker of silver in his eyes.
“Now,” Maia ordered forcefully.
And he obeyed.
The harvest of Leerings is rich indeed. The craftsmen of Assinica have a simplistic but beautiful style. The parks and lanes are clean and tranquil. The flowerbeds surrounding the abbey were sowed for spring flowers. It is almost a pity to ruin so much magnificence. Almost. When the mastons see the devastation we leave behind us, when they realize we will not be swayed by beauty, delicacy, or innocence, they will fear us. They will see that our will moves the Medium. Not with compassion, but with force. Those who defy our aims, even within our order, will repent their disobedience.
—Corriveaux Tenir, Victus of Dahomey
CHAPTER THREE
Hetaera’s Mark
Maia held Suzenne close, soothing her friend as shudders rippled through her body. The encounter with her father’s emissaries had shaken them both, but Suzenne appeared to be more affected. Maia had been in dark, threatening places before. A kishion had nicked her ribs with his knife, promising coldly to spill her blood if she used the kystrel against him again. A Myriad One had used her body as its own. She had endured many hardships in her life. For the past several years, Suzenne had lived in the cloisters of Muirwood, protected from the unpleasantness o
f the diseased kingdom around her.
“I have never been so frightened,” Suzenne choked back her tears. “Never have I felt such . . . blackness. How did you have the strength to stand against him? I quailed!”
Maia stroked Suzenne’s hair and hugged her. “I have faced worse. They were odious men. Caspur was affected by my words. I could see it in his eyes. But the others are quite hardened.”
“Ugh,” Suzenne moaned. “I feel sick. The Myriad Ones were here. You could feel them . . . sniffing about us like we were dead flesh to vultures. It was disgusting.”
“It is over,” Maia said. “They are gone.”
Suzenne straightened, brushing some of her hair over her ear. “The difference between this city and Muirwood . . . It is almost too vast to describe, like comparing noon with midnight, but Maia, there is no peace here. Even in the daylight, it seems as if the sun were veiled. What a horrid feeling.”
Maia nodded in agreement. “I have often wondered what it would be like to live in Assinica, where they know nothing of war. I cannot imagine it, to be honest. And think of the shocking transition the Assinicans will have to make when they come to our realm, chased by the Dochte Mandar? Suzenne, how will they endure it? Yet perhaps they are our only hope.”
Suzenne nodded in agreement. She looked slightly calmer, but her eyes were still anxious. “Will they kill us?” she whispered, gripping Maia’s hands.
“I think . . .” Maia paused before continuing, wanting to soften the blow without lying. “If the Medium wills it . . . perhaps. Yes.”
Suzenne swallowed and bit her lip. “Do you . . . think it is the Medium’s will?”