by Jeff Wheeler
Dodd shook his head. “She is the true High Seer. If you would meet with her, you would—”
“Risk being deceived myself?” Hove challenged. “I pity your lord father and brothers, Dodleah Price. Truly I do. But they died in accordance to the laws of the realm. You cannot wrest my lord’s earldom from him out of revenge.”
The young man’s words pained Maia. She could see he was sincere. He truly believed she was a hetaera, controlled by a being beyond her. He had come into the heart of Comoros to challenge her right to rule, knowing that he would likely be killed. Perhaps Kranmir had even knowingly sent him to his death in the hopes it would help support his cause. The machinations of men sickened her. Hove did not look malicious, she thought, but he was clearly proud. His views were probably much like his tunic and cape—he saw things in black and white. He trusted his Aldermaston and obeyed him. She had to respect him for that, even if he had been misled.
The pressure on her heart grew stronger. Something was going to happen, something awful. She sensed it, though she did not understand what she should do to stop it. She only knew that the young maston should not be killed in the great hall on her coronation day. That would be awful. It would grieve the Medium further.
“I do not wish to fight you, but I will if you force my hand,” Dodd said, still keeping his axe pointed away.
Hove brushed his arm against his mouth, wiping away the sweat. “How gracious of you,” he said with disdain.
“We are brothers,” Dodd said, opening his arms wider. “We are both mastons. Cannot we resolve this peacefully?”
“You, a true maston?” Hove snorted. “I heard you were allowed to pass the test so you could remain sheltered at Muirwood instead of facing your fate with your father as a man.” His words were meant to provoke.
Dodd frowned, but his expression was smooth. “Well said. You will not yield then. I arrest you in the name of the queen. Lay down your arms or I will compel you.”
“There is no Queen of Comoros,” Hove replied bitterly. He struck out at Dodd, slashing his sword down and across in a series of swooping circles.
Dodd did not retreat from the slashes. He brought up his sturdy axe haft, using it to block the attack, and then kicked Hove hard in the stomach. Hove was knocked backward, but he recovered quickly and started a series of feints and thrusts toward Dodd.
It was axe against sword.
Maia squeezed Suzenne’s hand and reminded herself that Dodd had been trained to use an axe by Jon Tayt, who was an Evnissyen—the royal protectors of Pry-Ree. They were cunning in battle. Lia’s group of protectors had disarmed Maia’s father and all his men with efficiency. She felt a spark of hope, but it did not counter the feeling of doom that had seeped into the hall.
Dodd whipped up the flat of the axe head and blocked a blow and then jabbed the butt of the axe into Hove’s chest. The two continued to strike at each other, but the effort was mostly one-sided. Hove kept pressing the attack; Dodd kept defending against it. When an opening came, he took it and delivered a kick or an elbow to the other man, but he never used the axe blade itself for harm.
Before long Hove was panting with the exertion, but although Dodd’s brow glistened with sweat, he did not look winded at all. She realized now that all the hours he had spent chopping wood by Jon Tayt’s shed had served more than one purpose. He had a familiarity with the axe and he had the endurance to outlast his opponents. Dodd was not trying to hurt the black-and-white knight. He was wearing him down.
Those in attendance gasped and cheered every time a blow was dealt or missed. The emotion of the moment seared into the onlookers, making the fight at the center of the room the focus of all eyes. Some cheered when Dodd landed a blow against his enemy. Others booed at Hove, the sound rising and growing louder and louder.
Hove’s face grew more frantic as his strength ebbed and the crowd began calling for him to fall. Every thrust, every move was easily countered. The two were not the same size—Dodd was bulkier than his adversary, his arms more accustomed to the rigors of labor. He had a solemn look on his face, even as a ball of sweat dropped from the tip of his nose. Hove’s attacks were growing less and less intense, his legs starting to tremble as he shuffled one way and then the other. Carew had scuttled away from the fray, and now he stood watching the fight with some of his guardsmen on the fringe. His eyes were savage and full of hate toward the intruder, but she detected some grudging respect for Dodd. The captain held a bloody napkin to his nose.
“Are you getting tired yet?” Dodd asked the boy with a chuckle. “It looks like you would use a little rest.”
“You mock me,” Hove snarled. “If you were a man, you would fight me truly and end this!”
Dodd smirked but said nothing. The provocation clearly had not moved him.
Even though Dodd was winning, Maia still felt a growing sense of foreboding. She glanced at Suzenne, whose lips were pursed, her eyes riveted on her husband.
Hove stabbed at Dodd’s foot suddenly and then rushed forward to tackle him. Dodd planted himself firmly, legs bent in a low stance, and bore the brunt of the collision without giving ground. Hove heaved against him, trying—and failing—to throw Dodd down. Catching Hove’s foot with his own ankle, Dodd levered his adversary backward and slammed him into the ground.
Though Hove bucked and tried to get up, clawing desperately at Dodd’s shirt collar, Dodd easily shrugged off the blow and encircled the young man’s neck in a chokehold. Maia’s heart tremored with worry as she watched the boy’s legs thrashing.
“Enough! Dodd, enough!” she shouted as she finally pushed away from the tables and rushed off the dais to reach the center of the room. Gooseflesh crawled down her arms as she watched Hove’s eyes roll back in his head. He went limp and blood trickled from a cut on his forehead.
Dodd released his grip and rose, fetching his fallen axe. The hall erupted with cheers, and people surged to their feet, stamping their heels against the ground and thumping the tables.
Kneeling beside the unconscious young knight, Maia searched his sweaty face and saw the smudges of bruises already forming on his cheek.
“Fetch a healer,” she called, waving Suzenne over to join them.
“I did not kill him,” Dodd whispered with concern. “You knew I would not, Maia. He will be fine.”
“It is not that,” Maia said, hovering over the fallen knight. She felt the pressure around her heart releasing, the danger passing. Noise echoed throughout the hall, so she could not have heard anything. But she sensed it . . . a presence in the hall. Looking up, she slid some hair behind her ear and looked to the wooden struts and rafters supporting the roof of the hall. She saw him there in the shadows—the kishion—and his crossbow was aimed right at her.
For a moment, her heart spasmed with fear. He slowly lowered the crossbow and looked down at her, frowning with disgust at her efforts to save the very knight who had threatened her authority. She realized then why the Medium had been warning her. The kishion had planned to kill Hove regardless of the outcome. He would always eliminate anyone who threatened her. It was a loyalty she did not want.
“Dodd,” she breathed, trying to find the words, though they were slurred. “Dodd, he is here!”
The kishion slung the crossbow around his shoulder and then gracefully strode down the wide beam toward one of the upper windows in the hall. No one else had seen him. All eyes had been fixed on the struggle down below.
“Who?” Dodd asked. Maia shook with fear and dread as she watched the kishion slip away.
“Nothing,” she whispered. She knew he would be gone without a trace before she could even summon her guards. And most of her guards, she realized angrily, were probably drunk.
“Take him to Pent Tower,” she said, wiping some of the blood from the young knight’s temple. “I will send Richard Syon to speak to him. I think he can help the young man understand his misconceptions about the Medium. Thank you, Dodd.” She rose and took his hand. “You are my new c
hampion.”
She raised his hand in the air, and the hall thundered once more with cheers and applause.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Rebellion
As soon as she crossed the Apse Veil the next morning after spending the coronation night in Muirwood, Maia was greeted by the Aldermaston of Claredon, who awaited her on the other side with Richard Syon. Claredon’s Aldermaston was a portly man named Dower whose crest of snowy hair ringed a gleaming bald head. A warmhearted man, he always had a smile and a kind word for her. Richard looked as if he had not slept at all the night of her coronation. The undersides of his eyes were puffy and shadowed, but he stood at attention, waiting for her to finish greeting Aldermaston Dower.
“Good morning, my dear friend,” Maia said to Richard, taking his arm and leading him briskly away. When they emerged from the abbey, she realized what a beautiful day it was in Comoros, with a sunlit sky as bright and clear as any she had seen. A few birds bickered and chased each other from the steeple. He guided her toward the outer walls of the abbey, the one that connected with the street rather than the gate that separated the abbey from the palace grounds. She looked at him curiously, wondering at his choice.
He said nothing, only gestured as the porter wrenched on the bars of the gate and pulled it open. The street was crowded, as ever it was, but when they entered the flow of traffic she immediately noticed that the streets had been meticulously swept during the night. There were no broken flasks of wine, no debris to clog the gutters.
Maia stopped in place and stared down at the clean streets. The people in the street were noticing too, she realized. Some stopped to stare at a clean window, looks of mild surprise on their faces. She also saw a good many smiles on passersby. Maia was not dressed as a queen and earned only a few pointed stares, mostly from men who were blatantly admiring her. Without a crown or a scepter, she was unlikely to be recognized and could maintain a disguise not unlike Collier’s.
“Thank you, Richard,” she said. “This is exactly what I had hoped to achieve. Every day, we must start again with clean streets.”
He patted her arm. “There is no shortage of men looking for work. They are joined by the masses from Assinica who insist on working for nothing. They want to help wherever and however they can. It is not just the part of the city near the palace that looks like this, either. All the streets do.”
Maia beamed at him and then followed him to the palace wall. They headed to the secret corridor Maia had used to escape the castle not so very long ago, and were able to silence its power, to create fear, and pass. Due to its special ability to repel trespassers, the alley was as empty as ever it was. When they reached the end of the wall, Richard knocked on the door, which was opened by a member of her guard.
“Your Majesty.” The young soldier greeted her with a salute.
Maia asked him for his name and tried to memorize it as they continued across the greenyard toward the palace, walking quickly.
“What did you learn from the young knight in Pent Tower?” Maia asked. “I believe Hove was his name.”
“Yes. He hails from Augustin Hundred originally, but he was recently knighted by Forshee for his willingness to challenge your champion. He believed he risked his life and was surprised that we did not lock him in irons and throw him into the dungeons.”
“Thank you for not doing that,” Maia said. “What did he reveal to you?”
“I tested him on his maston training,” Richard replied. “He is one, truly. We had an excellent conversation. He was so fearful that I wondered if he would even be able to feel the Medium at all. But after some assurances and gestures to lower his defenses, I learned that he is well intentioned. He is ambitious, to be sure, but that is normal for young men his age. After the intensity of the moment ebbed, he looked younger and younger and began to worry more about his parents and what they would think of him.”
Maia nodded to the pikemen guarding the palace doors, winning surprised looks of gratitude from both of them, before she and Richard entered.
“Did you tell him the truth about me?” Maia asked.
“I told him just enough to explain, no more. An Aldermaston cannot deliberately lie, so the boy trusted what Kranmir told him explicitly. I explained to him the doctrine of investment and how Kranmir’s actions have forfeited his right to govern an abbey. It is troubling indeed that Kranmir is spreading gossip and lurid misrepresentations about you, which will only fan the flames of distrust in ardent young men like this one, who do not understand that something can be untrue without being fully a lie. I am being brief, of necessity, for we must meet with the Privy Council, but I believe the youth is no longer our enemy.”
Maia nodded in agreement. “What do you believe we should do to him?”
“I would like to release him at once.”
She smiled. “Good. That is my will also. Have him set free immediately.”
“I will,” he said, returning her smile. “I am glad to see we think alike on this matter. I had the sense you would not want to keep him incarcerated, but I wanted to leave the judgment to you.”
“Thank you, but you have my authority to act on my behalf, Richard. I trust your wisdom in matters such as this.”
“Very well,” he agreed meekly.
As they walked toward the council room, Maia was aware of the attention, the stares and whispers, of the people they passed. Even the lowliest servants were marking her, recognizing her, and watching her with interested eyes. They seemed . . . eager and most were busy with some kind of work. She remembered that she still wanted to visit them in their places and get to know them. But with the threat of rebellion hanging in the air, that would have to wait.
The mayor of Comoros was pacing outside the council chamber, his eyes bloodshot and haggard from the past night’s festivities.
“Good morning, Your Majesty.” He greeted her with a bow and opened the door.
She entered and found the full Privy Council in attendance. Bristling tension hung in the air, and a few of the council members bore angry looks, including Dodd. She sensed the shift in mood, the repelling of the Medium as she crossed the threshold. Suzenne looked at her with a small, tight frown, as if in warning.
“Good morning,” Maia greeted, walking in quickly, a little out of breath from the brisk walk from the abbey. Strange how she had broken her fast with Davi and Aloia in the kitchens of Muirwood not long ago. Just an hour prior, she had been trying to coax a conversation from the quiet Thewliss, the gardener whose wife ran the kitchen. Now that Maia was a queen herself, he had regressed back to his former silence.
She motioned for Richard to begin the meeting as she paced along the front aisle of the room. She hated seeing that tall, carved throne on the dais and could not picture herself ever sitting on it, gazing down at her council members from its imperious height.
Richard walked to the front seat and desk next to the throne, which was piled with stacks of scrolls, parchments, and even a gleaming tome. He paused for a moment and took a long look at those who had assembled before him. Even that was enough to make the dark mood in the chamber wane. With a stern look on his face, he cocked his head slightly and pointed to a spot on the tome with his thick finger.
“It is said in the tomes that anger is a choice. It is a decision. One wise maston once said”—he looked down at the golden page, his voice slowing deliberately to articulate the quote—“‘There are two things a person should never be angry at. What they can help. And what they cannot.’” He smiled at the saying and lifted his hand. “In a word, let us try to banish anger from these meetings. It is entirely possible for wise and educated persons to disagree about points of fact. But facts are stubborn things. Whatever may be our wishes, our inclinations, or the dictates of our passions, they cannot alter facts and evidence. We must strip away the rest. The happiness of the people is the aim of any good government. Now for the reports.”
He turned his gaze to the lord mayor of Comoros. “Justin . . . the s
treets of Comoros were exceedingly clean and passable this morning. Maia is pleased and commends you for your attention to detail. Do you have anything to report? Any difficulties faced?”
Justin shook his head. “It is interesting, Your Highness—I mean, Maia—what this change has already wrought in the city. There are some enterprising individuals who are looking to make a business of street sweeping. They are taking the coin paid to them and using it to pay the youth—younger men and girls—some small wages to help sweep and tidy the streets. They are making a profit while ensuring that the job is done and done well. If it works, I thought we might save money by hiring the children ourselves.”
Maia smiled and shook her head. “Do not rob these men of their initiative. If they earn a profit by influencing others to work for less, then we should not punish them for their enterprising spirit. Only intervene if they exploit the children. I will not have that.”
Justin bowed gracefully. “Very well.”
Maia continued to look at him. “Have rumors of the rebellion spread in the city?”
Justin shook his head. “Not yet, but there were many witnesses last night. Some of them were even sober,” he added with a self-deprecating chuckle. “We cannot contain the news for long, but we will try. The people are used to the threat of danger. They will not riot. They will stand behind you, my lady.”
Maia smiled and continued to pace. “What protections does the city have?”
“My lady, we have—”
“Do not let him fool you,” the Earl of Caspur interrupted. “Comoros cannot withstand an army of knights and mercenaries. Forshee has considerable power, and he will bring it to bear. The threat is very real.”
The anger in Justin’s eyes was unmistakable, and she could tell he was not just peeved at the rude interruption. There had been arguments about this very matter before she arrived. She clasped her hands behind her and glanced at Richard, saying nothing.