by Jeff Wheeler
As she walked, memories flowed back to her in a rush. She grazed her fingers along the stone of the stairwell, recalling the many times she had intruded on Chancellor Walraven as a child. When she was little, this turret had seemed monstrous in its size and filled with mystery and wonder. It had been a refuge for her, a place where she had met with her mentor and learned to read. The ban on girls reading was a law she planned to remedy. All in its proper time.
The steps were steep, but she found the exercise invigorating, and after all, she had once made a habit of crossing mountains. She smiled wistfully as she took the steps one by one toward the chamber at the top.
The door to the chancellor’s office was open, and inside she saw her chancellor, Richard Syon, bent over a scroll at his desk. He still wore the gray cassock, but a ceremonial stole of his new office had been added to his attire. His hair was askew, reminding her of the lateness of the hour and also of her old friend Walraven. There was an inviting scent in the room, which made her pause at the threshold, and then she noticed the tied clumps of purple mint hanging from racks on the walls. There were other subtle changes as well—vases of flowers, a small basket filled with Muirwood apples, a warm blanket folded on the window seat where, as a child, she had enjoyed sitting and gazing out at the city.
“Your Highness,” Richard said with surprise in his voice. “If you wished to see me, I would have come to you willingly. It is your right to summon me.”
Maia smiled and entered the chamber. “I have many memories of this tower,” she answered, walking up and putting her hand on his shoulder. “I am also younger than you, Aldermaston, and more accustomed to climbing stairs.”
He gave her a knowing look, his penetrating eyes meeting her own. Turning in the chair, he clasped his hands over his girth and waited for her to speak.
Maia saw a small sculpture of Muirwood Abbey on the desk and wandered over for a closer look. “This is amazing,” she said, admiring the intricate craftsmanship.
“Joanna is thoughtful,” he replied, his voice full of endearment. “She knows I love the mint, the apples—the things that remind me of home when I am here.” He smiled with obvious tenderness.
“She is at Augustin tonight?” Maia asked, and Richard nodded.
“It is getting late, Maia. I had assumed you had crossed the Apse Veil to Muirwood already. Truly, I would have come if you had called for me. I have several reports if you would hear them before the Privy Council meeting tomorrow?”
She nodded and went over to the window seat and sat down.
“First, Lady Shilton has asked for custody of her grandchildren—Murer, Jolecia, Edmon, and little Brannon. They have all been traumatized by the events of these past weeks, and the grandmother seems to be the right person to care for them. Do you have any objections?”
“None at all,” Maia replied. Though she never wished to return to that manor house again. It held too many dark memories.
Richard turned to the desk and fetched a parchment from a stack. His countenance rarely showed displeasure, so Maia was alarmed by his scowl. “Ely Kranmir,” he explained.
Maia let out her breath. “What news?”
“There are several reports now. He is traveling from abbey to abbey, trying to denounce you and repeating his claim that he is the new High Seer.” His jaw clenched slightly, then relaxed. “I fear the Medium may punish him for such an affront. He may be winding his way north to seek refuge with the renegades there. He had much to gain from your father’s rise to power . . . and much to lose. The reports I have received say he is maligning your reputation as much as he can.”
Maia pressed her lips together. The memory of how he had insisted on examining her and Suzenne still rankled. “Is all the news this cheery, Richard?”
“I am afraid so.” He tossed that one down and drew another. “This one is from Willem Bend, the court physician.”
“I know him,” Maia said. He had examined her after she was poisoned at Lady Shilton’s manor, and had reported the incident to her father.
“He is a trustworthy man,” Richard said, scratching his earlobe. “Let me summarize it for you. Your father’s lips and stomach revealed the presence of poison. Doctor Bend believes the poison used was strychnos nux. It was a painful, slow death. In essence, he was strangled by convulsions.”
A chill shot down to Maia’s very bones as the words were spoken. She blinked back tears, unable to help imagining her father twitching on the ground, trying to breathe. In spite of what he’d done to her—what he’d been willing to do—the thought horrified her and made her cold and nauseous.
“That is terrible,” she whispered, choking on her words.
Richard nodded compassionately. “It is clear he was murdered, Maia. The kishion admitted it to you, so I think there can be no doubt as to why. As we both know, you would not have survived if he had stayed his hand. It seems, from the witnesses’ statements I have read today, that once your father passed orders to execute you, the kishion infiltrated his personal chambers and poisoned his wine cup. He has been impersonating the king’s headsman for several executions, including Lady Deorwynn’s and, fortunately, your own. I do not believe he means you harm, but it pains me that we have still been unable to locate him. The hunt continues.”
Maia felt herself trembling, but she nodded in agreement. The kishion needed to be found.
“What about Chancellor Crabwell’s death?” Maia asked. “Any news there?”
“Yes,” Richard replied thoughtfully. “Doctor Bend also examined his body. When they found it broken on the ground by a turret, it at first appeared he had killed himself. But the doctor found a knife wound in his back. It was a killing blow that punctured several major organs and severed part of his spine—crippling him. There is no way he could have climbed over the stone railing, my lady. He was helped off the wall. The wound was caused by the kishion’s preferred weapon—a sharp knife. Crabwell would have died from the stabbing in a day or two anyway. It was a mortal blow. The fall did not kill him initially, but he died shortly afterward from the tremendous shock to his body. It was a cruel death. The facts confirm what you said.”
Maia felt herself turn dizzy.
“I am sorry to trouble you with such a grisly report, but I thought it best to prepare you before the rest of the council hears it tomorrow.”
“Thank you,” Maia gasped, feeling her stomach wrenching. He had done this for her, to remove the power of those who would rather end her life than allow her to challenge them. The guilt of that was a heavy burden.
“Are you unwell?” he asked softly.
“A moment,” Maia said. She hated to see anyone suffer, no matter how they may have deserved it. She tried to steady herself, grateful to the Aldermaston for having delivered the shocking news to her now rather than in front of her Privy Council. Before them, she would look strong. “Thank you, Richard, for telling me. In spite of everything, I did not seek my father’s death.”
“I know,” he answered kindly.
She bit her lip. “I am sure the High Seer showed you my mother’s tome, so you know that she forgave my father.”
“She died in her sleep, and we found her with a peaceful look on her face. She did not suffer. I did read the last words in her tome,” he admitted. “I consider your mother a woman of true virtue. I knew her for many years, Maia. It was not easy for her to forgive your father, but you can rest assured in the knowledge that her feelings were sincere. There is magic in forgiveness.”
Maia swallowed. “I only wish my father knew it . . . before he died.”
Richard’s eyes were full of compassion, and he nodded.
“The kishion must be found,” Maia said with an ache in her heart. “I do not want it said that I resorted to murder to claim my father’s crown. Or condoned his murder by letting his killer serve me still. Where can he be hiding?”
Richard nodded at her. “It will not be easy to find him anywhere in the city, Maia. Even the palace has many hiding
places. As he has shown, he is a man who knows how to live in the shadows. I have asked your grandmother to lend the support of several Evnissyen to help in the search.”
She smiled. “I saw Jon Tayt working with the Assinicans at Muirwood. Maybe he could be summoned to help? He knows the man we are seeking. His scars make him distinctive enough. Hopefully that was the worst part of your report,” she said with a weak laugh. “What else will you share with the Privy Council on the morrow?” She touched the soft fabric of the blanket next to her on the window seat.
He scratched the fleshy part of his throat and nodded. “Chancellor Crabwell kept meticulous records. He had underservants, mostly lawyers, who kept detailed records of the Crown’s expenditures and taxes. As you know, the treasury is not located in one place, but the men holding the keys have all been summoned, and I have met personally with several of them. Others have yet to arrive. From what I understand, Maia, you rule one of the wealthiest kingdoms. Comoros has not been involved in any wars for several years, and yet your father continued to raise taxes every year.” He turned and pulled out a wax tablet covered in markings. “The earliest estimates show you have in excess of five hundred thousand marks and that is conservative.”
“Oh dear,” Maia said, blinking quickly.
“It rivals the treasury of Hautland and Mon,” Richard continued.
“What about the money already seized from the abbeys?” Maia pressed.
He shook his head. “I did not include those treasures, Maia, as you instructed that they should be returned to the abbeys for reconstruction. If your father had claimed them all, it would have nearly doubled his holdings.”
Maia stood and began pacing, her mind afire with ideas. “Unbelievable,” she whispered.
“Your father was a shrewd man,” Richard said. “He was lavish with his spending, but very disciplined, and more apt to spend another man’s coin than his own. He also was wise in his trading agreements and sold more than what he bought. He has been positioning Comoros, you see, as a place where luxuries are valued.”
“Yes, I should say so,” Maia agreed, still pacing and struggling with her feelings. She turned to the Aldermaston eagerly. “Richard, all this wealth has been accumulated and increased but to what purpose? You have seen the throne room?”
“I have,” Richard replied, his look darkening. “There is hardly a suitable word to describe it.”
“Opulent,” Maia suggested. “The amount of gold decorations, the marble tile on the floor, the cushioned seats and benches. Every time I walk into it, I feel the Myriad Ones snuffling about like rats. I think my father had two lions chained as pets! It was all for show, all to flaunt his wealth and power in front of visitors.”
“Yes,” Richard agreed. “My understanding from the men with the treasury keys was that your father’s intention was to provide a show of power and strength that would prevent other kingdoms from attacking Comoros. Yet he built his kingdom on the backs of the poor. Those who could not pay his taxes were forced into prison.”
Maia gritted her teeth. “That is unjust!”
“It is, Maia. This is what we must discuss at the Privy Council tomorrow. The tax collectors are still at work. The prisons are overcrowded. The poor are hungry, living in the streets, and we are selling bushels of apples and cider overseas.”
She sighed and wrung her hands. “I see now why the people were nearly ready to revolt. Why have they not acted yet?”
Richard smiled at her. “What choice did they have? The earls control the knights and soldiers. The king controlled the coin and could summon mercenaries if there was an uprising. The people have grown used to the depravity. As you have said, they have forgotten what the Medium feels like.”
Maia stopped pacing and stared at him. “I grew up always wanting to be a maston. But over the years I never truly understood what it meant. It is time we set a proper example. It is time we stopped crushing the poor. I want a kingdom the people will want to fight to preserve. I do not want to hire mercenaries who defend us for a fee. If we are to survive the Naestors’ incursion, it will not be because of the size of our army or navy. We cannot hope to match what they will send against us.”
She walked toward him, her eyes afire. “My grandmother told me that when an apple barrel is corrupt, it must be cleansed on the inside first. We must clean the kingdom before another Blight descends upon us. We do this, Richard, by first cleansing the streets. Every day people are walking in mud and muck to and fro to do their business. I want the streets cleaned. I want every window to be washed. Every house painted. When I went to Rostick in Hautland, I saw a city much larger than this one in which every paving stone was swept clean. The people wore tidy, clean frocks and coats. The coronation gives us the excuse to rally the people to help cleanse our city. Use the treasury, Richard. Be generous with those who will work hard. When people arrive for the coronation, I want them to feel the difference.”
A smile quirked on Richard’s mouth. “Yes, my lady. I think they will.”
She walked over and knelt in front of his chair. “When I was coming here, I saw a child cleaning the corners of the corridor at this late hour.” She shook her head. “No more. Children are children, not slaves. I will be inspecting the kitchens and the stables and all the places where the lowest live. If I could make this city into a replica of Muirwood, I would. I want children chattering and laughing, like Aloia and Davi, while they work. The Medium will not grace us if there is so much suffering in this place. This is what I want, my lord chancellor. This is why I chose you.” She gripped his arm and saw the tears in his eyes.
“As you wish, my lady,” he answered softly. “It will take time.”
Maia shook her head. “That is not a privilege we have. The Naestors will come here first. They will try to ruin the symbol of my father’s power. We must be ready and waiting when they do.”
She rose and then smiled fondly at him. “You must get to sleep yourself. It is late.”
He chuckled softly. “I will, Maia. You can expect delegations from the other kingdoms to start arriving after the coronation. There is much to do.”
He smiled and nodded and turned back to his desk as she briskly descended the stairwell, full of energy and hope. She had to prepare herself to face the Privy Council on the morrow. She knew many would be resistant to her new ideas. It would take repetition and determination to change the standards of her father’s court. What had once been acceptable would now be eschewed.
It begins with a thought.
Maia smiled and startled when she saw both her guardsmen were gone. Collier leaned against the wall, arms folded, head cocked at her.
“You surprised me,” she said, brightening. The sight of him sent tingles up her spine, as ever it did.
“I must go,” he said.
Her heart sank. “When do you leave?”
“With the tide tomorrow on one of Simon’s ships,” he answered. He reached over and took her hand, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles.
“I was going to return to Muirwood to sleep,” she said, glancing down the hall. They were truly alone. “But I want to be there ere you depart.”
“Stay then,” he said, smiling in his roguish way. He squeezed her hand. “I will watch over you while you sleep.” His other hand came up and grazed her temple, smoothing hair over her ear.
“I . . . was hoping you would stay until after the coronation,” she stammered.
He shook his head. “If Dahomey is going to stand with Comoros when the Victus comes, we need to be at our strongest.” He brought her hand up higher and stared down at it as if he were going to kiss it, but he did not. “I must go tomorrow. But I do not want to.”
Fear of death is a terror unequaled. That is why we created the threat of the Void—the extermination of every man, woman, and child. The Medium uses it to enforce obedience. The maston saying is true. Men are swayed more by fear than by reverence.
—Corriveaux Tenir, Victus of Dahomey
&n
bsp; CHAPTER ELEVEN
Parting
Maia trudged through a dense forest, cold and shivering. There were little cuts from the branches across her skin as well as spider bites that itched mercilessly. A chill, rank mist clung to the treetops, sending feathery tendrils down. The crunch of boots against foliage and the short huff of labored breathing filled her ears. She was cold, weary, and weighed down with heavy sorrow, sorrow so thick she could hardly breathe through it.
Flicking her eyes up, she saw a figure before her, swathed in a tattered cloak. It filled her with dread. The march halted at the edge of a clearing. She heard someone else’s voice, a voice with a whine to it, but the words were garbled and impossible to understand. Staring ahead, Maia saw a field of bones and a Leering crowning the heap.
She started, remembering the place vividly. The hooded man turned and she saw the torn ear, the scars. The kishion looked at her knowingly, sharing her remembrance of the place.
Fear shook her to her core. She wanted to flee, to escape, but somehow it was impossible. The mist was raining down upon them. She could see the puffs of breath coming from the kishion’s mouth. I am asleep. This is a dream, she told herself. She wrestled against it, trying to rouse herself. Terror and sorrow battled for domination in her mind. If she were truly asleep, did the cogent quality of the dream mean she was once again being controlled by Ereshkigal? Before, the Myriad One had controlled her while she slept, controlled her while she revisited her most painful memories in her sleep. With anguish, she fought to surface from sleep.
Her eyes blinked open, her heart shuddering beneath her ribs. Cold sweat clung to her skin, and she shivered beneath a thick blanket.
A warm hand touched hers and she flinched, jerking away in fear until she distinguished her husband’s face in the dim light of a small Leering. A spasm of relief flooded her. She looked around, recognizing the room as her private chambers. She was on an elegant four-post bed draped with simple white veils. There were wardrobes and chests and a slightly crooked mirror in the corner. A deep bath was by the wall next to a water Leering. She filled her senses with every small detail, grounding herself in the reality of the place, the moment, and the nightmare slowly faded.