The Void of Muirwood

by Jeff Wheeler

  “Was it a dream . . . or something worse?” Collier asked her tenderly, his look serious and intense as he sat at the edge of the bed.

  “Hold me,” she whispered, opening her arms and pulling him close. The terror and sadness of the dream still wrenched at her heart. She felt as if she had lost someone dear to her. Her memory raced to find a source. Was she grieving her mother’s death? Her father’s? So many conflicting, tangled emotions writhed inside her.

  Collier held her close, wrapping his arms around her and softly stroking her hair. She felt the first sobs bubble up and tried to choke them down.

  “Ssshhh,” he soothed, stroking her. “I am here.”

  “But you are leaving,” she said with distress. “I want you to stay.”

  He sighed. “Believe me, this is painful for me also, Maia. Your kingdom is so vulnerable right now. You are vulnerable. I want to be here for you. To help you take your first steps as the ruler of Comoros. But it is as I told you. You are the heir. It is yours to rule by right, not mine. Simon will help you. He will deliver my letters to you.”

  “You will write to me?” she asked, pulling away and looking up at him hopefully.

  “Every day,” he replied. He stared into her eyes, his face full of shadows. Stubble covered his chin and jaw. She realized he had not been sleeping; he had watched over her during the night.

  “I could come to your realm through the Apse Veil?” she suggested. She was aware of the warmth coming from him. Aware she was wearing a thin chemise and he was still dressed in his clothes—his disguise as he prepared to cross the sea to Dahomey in one of Simon’s cargo ships.

  He pulled her cheek against his chest and then started stroking her hair again. “I will be at war, not near the abbey. What were you dreaming about, my love?”

  She scrunched her face at the memory. “It was awful.”

  “Tell me,” he said soothingly.

  She could hear his heartbeat beneath the padded shirt. It was soothing, repetitive. “I was in Dahomey.”

  He grunted. “That does not sound terrible to me,” he joked.

  “It was the cursed shores. Spider bites and ticks.”

  “Ah, yes. That is not a place where I intend to build a palace for us. Go on.”

  “There was a place there. A place full of bones, topped with a Leering. A graveyard, really. We found it while we were looking for the lost abbey. My heart was heavy . . . so heavy. It felt like I was drowning in sadness.” She shook her head a little, pressing her nose against his shirt. “It was terrible. The kishion was there.” She shuddered, grateful for the comfort of Collier’s presence.

  “Him again. Was it a dream?” he asked her.

  “I thought not at first,” she replied. “I was afraid that falling asleep in the castle had doomed me. To be truthful, I do not even remember falling asleep.”

  She heard the chuckle in his breath. “It happened quite quickly, I assure you. You are exhausted, Maia. You changed into your chemise and were asleep within moments of lying down on the pillow. You tried to talk to me at first, but I could see it was pointless.”

  She smiled in embarrassment, hiding her face further. “I am sorry. I do remember that. I so wanted to talk before you left. Have you been awake all night?”

  His hand rested on the back of her neck. “It is night still,” he answered. “Though I was going to wake you soon, for I must leave. You were sleeping peacefully, Maia. It was only at the end that you seemed disturbed. I enjoyed watching you sleep.”

  She pulled away, brushing some hair behind her ear, and looked into his piercing blue eyes.

  “You do not understand, do you?” he said wryly. “You are beautiful, Maia. I could watch you always and never grow tired of it.”

  There was a burning feeling in her chest, one that throbbed with happiness, and it extinguished the fear and sorrow that had clung to her from her dream. She let herself bask in the feeling for a moment, but only a moment.

  “I have never fully trusted handsome men,” she confided. “I will not always be young. My father’s behavior taught me that most men cannot be trusted.” It was a fear she had held in her chest ever since she had admitted to herself that she loved him.

  His look grew serious. “A fair accusation. Considering how we met and my . . . disposition at the time, I have given you reason to think your fears are justified. At the time, I was not a man worthy of your good faith.” He had the good grace to look abashed and she loved him all the more for it. An uncomfortable silence hung between them, but then he looked up and gazed into her eyes. “But I am not that man anymore.”

  She licked her lips. “You have changed, Collier. So have I.” She swallowed, summoning her courage. “I want this to work. Between us. I am still . . . fearful, but I trust you.”

  “Do not prove me by my words,” he said seriously. “Prove me by my actions. You are a treasure to me, Maia.” He slid his fingers into her hair gently. “You are worth more than a ransom to me.”

  Her heart felt like it would burst. “Come back to me,” she whispered, taking his other hand in hers and squeezing his fingers. “Please come back to me!”

  A small quirk twisted on his mouth. “With such an incentive, I pity the King of Paeiz. He will regret the day he chose to invade Dahomey. I will do my best to defeat him and perhaps even win him to our cause. You will not stand against the Victus alone, Maia. Neither storms nor gales will keep me away.”

  She reached out and hugged him around the neck, savoring the feeling of his hands, his arms.

  The door rattled and opened and Suzenne entered, catching them midembrace. “Forgive me!” she gasped with shock, blushing. She hurried to leave, but Maia called her back.

  “It is all right, Suzenne. Please stay.”

  There was a splotch of crimson across Suzenne’s cheeks as she reluctantly returned to the room. Collier laughed at the look on her face and stood, pulling Maia up with him.

  “I thought you had returned to Muirwood last night,” Suzenne stammered. “I was coming early to light the Leerings and get your gown ready for the Privy Council meeting. I am sorry—”

  “Do not apologize,” Collier said offhandedly. “If there is one thing I have come to learn as king, it is that privacy is a rare gem, and as such, must often be stolen.” He switched his language to Dahomeyjan. “I depart with the tide for my kingdom. Look after my lady while I am gone.”

  Suzenne did a formal curtsy and replied in the same language. “I will, my lord.” She turned her back on them and started fussing with Maia’s gown for that day, giving them a moment without being observed.

  Collier walked over to the window and parted the curtain. “It is time. Simon will be anxious to have me on board. He is the type of man who will tell you the truth, even if you do not want to hear it. Such a man is worth fifty thousand marks.”

  “I will heed him then,” Maia replied, following him to the curtain. “Safe journey, Husband.”

  Collier smiled when she said it and pulled her into a final embrace. “I like the way you say that,” he answered, toying with the earring in her earlobe. He had given them to her before her journey to Muirwood, and she had worn them ever since. “Rule wisely, my love. May the ancient enmity between our kingdoms and our Families finally be healed.”

  “Make it thus so,” Maia whispered in benediction as he left the room with a final backward glance.

  Maia and Suzenne walked arm in arm down the corridor toward the private room that had been chosen for the Privy Council’s meetings. Out of the endless array of gowns at her disposal, Maia had chosen a simply designed cream-colored gown. It had a woven sash bedecked with beads around the front and a fur-lined robe that fastened with a royal brooch. It was one of the simplest gowns that had been sent to her, and she had chosen it in the hopes of setting an example for the court. Suzenne had helped to arrange her hair in a simple yet comely design. It was the kind of elegant look that Sabine favored.

  The corridor was decorated wi
th polished bronze torches. The ground was capped in smooth stone tiles inlaid with gold. The workmanship was exquisite and ostentatious and it made Maia shake her head with anger. The people starved in the streets, yet she and her courtiers trod on gold.

  At the end of the long hallway, she could see Captain Carew waiting outside the new council room.

  “I am sorry,” Suzenne whispered again in her ear, “about interrupting you this morning.”

  “You are my friend as well as my chief lady-in-waiting, Suzenne. I am certain there will be other embarrassing occasions in the future.”

  “I know. But if someone had walked in on Dodd and me, I would be mortified.”

  Maia reached and squeezed her hand. “Let us not talk of it again. I am so pleased to have both of you on my Privy Council, you know. You are the first woman to be invited. Please do not be daunted to give your advice, Suzenne. I will expect you to speak your mind. You must speak for the women and the children of the realm.”

  Suzenne paled at the thought, but her expression was determined. “It is a privilege, Maia.” She squeezed her hand in return.

  Maia nodded to Captain Carew as they neared him. “Good morning, Captain!” she said cheerily.

  “Your Grace, good morning,” he replied, stiffening to a bow. His injured leg had been healing well, and he no longer winced when he put weight on it. “Your first Privy Council meeting is underway. They await you.” He opened the handle and invited her inside.

  In keeping with rules of rank, Suzenne fell several steps back so Maia could enter the room well before her. Designed as a half circle, the enormous room was dazzlingly appointed. Rings of stuffed leather-and-wood seats were arranged in concentric rows around a carved, polished throne chair stationed before several enormous stained-glass windows. The rich wainscoting on the walls was a buttery brown color that shimmered with bronze and gold touches. A large chandelier hung over the center, and Leerings for light had been fixed into pillars along the walls. The workmanship was more than fine—it almost assaulted the senses with its lavish detail. It reminded her of the Rood Screen of Muirwood, only more luxurious and costly.

  The members of the Privy Council rose as she entered and made her way down the center aisle toward the throne. She received nods of attention from the Earl of Caspur, his graying hair and pointed beard dipping dramatically as he bowed to her, as well as the mayor of Comoros, Dodd Price, and several others whom Maia had appointed to the council. The first seat was taken by Richard Syon, of course, and she noticed that her old friend looked about as comfortable with the setting as she was.

  She could feel their eyes on her, weighing her choice of gown, the simplicity of her style. They were all careful to guard their expressions, but she could sense a growing unease in the room. This was the first time a woman had ruled Comoros. She was intruding on a lair that had been dominated by men for centuries.

  They were all watching her. They were all curious to know how she would react. She felt a flush start to rise on her cheeks, and her stomach clenched with nervousness.

  Maia paused before the throne at the head of the room, unable to mount the steps to the seat. It would put her above everyone else around her. Her father had done that deliberately, she knew. She turned and faced them from the floor, feeling the strangeness of the moment as a physical weight. The others awaited her signal to sit. She acknowledged that by nodding for them to seat themselves.

  Memories began to unwind in her mind. Years ago, Chancellor Walraven had arranged for her to be sent to the borders of Pry-Ree to settle land disputes. She had seen a functioning Privy Council before. She knew how to rule. But she also realized that what she did outside this chamber would have more meaning to the people than what she did inside it. It was how she chose to treat her servants, down to the lowliest ones, that would matter most. Still, she needed her councillors on her side. How best to approach the situation?

  If Collier had been there, as Earl of Dieyre, it might have been different. People would have looked to him, a king in his own right, to lead the conversation.

  She folded her hands in front of her, still standing before the throne chair without sitting in it. She looked at each of those assembled, one by one, gazing into their eyes and nodding to them. She tried on a smile, which felt a little forced. “There is a saying in Pry-Ree,” she began. “Os nad iditch in gweebod forth, certheth in araf. If you do not know the way, walk slowly.”

  Some of them chuckled nervously.

  Maia then sank to her knees before them. “I cannot walk slowly, so I must kneel and beg your help. I am here before you reluctantly. I am young and inexperienced with the ways of men. We have a foe who seeks our eternal destruction. A foe that is even now summoning their forces to crush us, to destroy our beliefs, to make the rest of the kingdoms cower in fear and obeisance.” She shook her head slowly. “I do not know how long the Medium will have me be your queen, but I know there are enemies in our realm that we must face together. There is distrust and rancor amongst our people. It is the duty of every leader to protect her people, even at the risk of her own life and comfort. It is my solemn intention to carry out the task the Medium has given me to the public good and to the benefit of all of my subjects.” She sighed deeply. “I have entrusted my affairs and myself to you, my councillors, and I urge you to be faithful to the oaths you have sworn. To be loyal to me as your queen. To follow the example I give you, I who am only following the examples of others greater than myself.”

  When she looked up at their faces, she was surprised to see tears in their eyes, especially Lord Paget of Bridgestow, whom she remembered of old. Her Pry-rian words had touched his heart for certain. They were staring at her in amazement, as if they had never seen or heard such a thing before.

  “I will give my last drop of blood to save our kingdom from the Naestors,” Maia vowed.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Coronation Day

  It felt to Maia as if the entire world had filled the streets of Comoros. The sound of the crowd was as deep and penetrating as the rush of wind in a storm. The noise of the congregation could be heard within the palace walls, and when the outer doors opened, it flooded into the bailey and made several of the servants gasp with shock.

  The procession was long and solemn, its order and scope prescribed by the traditions of her people. The front was led by the gentlemen of the realm, or at least those who had left their Hundreds to support the anointing of the new queen. Hailing from obscure Families as well as famous ones, there were easily two hundred of them. They walked in rows, two by two, either flanked by a spouse or one of their fellows. They were followed by the knights of the realm; the city ealdermen of Comoros; and the mayor, who walked with his head held high and a jubilant smile on his face as he waved to the assembled crowds.

  The streets had been shoveled, broomed, brushed, and scrubbed in preparation for this day, all of which had tamed the fetid odors. The windows had been cleaned and polished, besides, with fresh paint or lacquer applied to the beams and struts of the houses and gutters. Fragrant garlands hung from the maypoles, and the streamers shimmered in the air. There would be dancing after the coronation. The faces in the mob were eager, the short straining against the tall to get a better view. Every window was jammed with people on every floor, and some brave souls even strutted up on the rooftops for a better vantage point. They murmured and talked as the procession marched solemnly past, walking along a carpet of blue cloth that had been laid from the marble porch of Pent Tower all the way to Claredon Abbey.

  Maia’s stomach twisted with nervousness, and though she tried to steady herself, to feel the subtle impressions of the Medium, she could not. Sabine stood at her elbow, her presence a comfort. Of course, it would be Aldermaston Wyrich, the newly appointed Aldermaston of Muirwood, who performed the ceremony, not her grandmother.

  “It is normal to be nervous,” Sabine whispered in her ear. “I would entreat you to enjoy the moment, but I know you will not. I am always uneas
y in crowds.”

  “I did not know so many people could even fit in the city,” Maia answered, her voice strained.

  Sabine smiled. “They have come from all the Hundreds, dear one. All who wanted to come. Some have been walking for days. A coronation does not happen often in a lifetime. The coronation of a woman to rule? Never.”

  Maia sighed as she watched the Privy Council join the procession next, led by Richard Syon. He looked grave and dutiful, a sharp contrast to the flamboyant mayor, Justin, who had worn his finest tunic, cape, and gloves. The Privy Council was followed by three knights who carried the naked blades of their maston swords, representing justice, the Medium, and mercy. They were followed by Captain Carew, who bore the sword of state. He too wore his most outlandish fashions, and she noticed an earring in his ear.

  Maia swallowed—it was nearly her turn. She pursed her lips, trying not to be sick.

  She dreaded what was coming. Part of the ritual involved her removing her gown down to her chaen. A canopy would be held around her to preserve her modesty, so only a few select individuals—those closest to her in the procession, meaning all those who were currently a part of her Privy Council—would witness the moment when the Aldermaston anointed her with the Chrism oil. Those few would see the brand on her shoulder; they would see the kystrel’s stain on her breastbone.

  “What if they reject me?” she whispered to Sabine, her voice throbbing with suffering.

  “I removed the binding sigil,” her grandmother replied, “so we can explain the situation to those who do not know. You are a maston, Maia. You made your oaths to uphold the Medium’s will. The symbol of the chaen is a more sure witness to who you are than the hetaera’s marks. If we sought to change the ceremony, to conceal the truth, it would only create more suspicion and doubt. Aldermaston Wyrich already knows the truth. So will the Privy Council. They must know it, and they will support you.”