The Banished of Muirwood (18 page)

She shook her head. “How can I betray my own people?”

“How can you stand by a father who tossed aside his lawful marriage and banished his wife and his daughter?” He leaned forward eagerly. “What else do you wish to know of your husband to be?”

She stared into his eyes. “How can I trust anything you have told me?” she asked, sighing. “Nearly every word you have spoken to me has been a lie.”

“Lies are the spices that garnish a dish. They do not change a fowl into a fish. They only season them.”

She shook her head, not convinced. “A pretty saying, my lord, but it does little to ease my apprehension.”

“What do you fear?” he pressed.

“You said if I married you, you would let me go. Why would you do that? You said you would not consummate the marriage because you believe I am a hetaera. What if I am not? Besides, your plan gives me plenty to fear—such an act would be considered treason in any kingdom.”

He snorted. “You are trying to
save
your kingdom. Or at least, that is what you pretend. Your father sent you to my kingdom to find a cure for the Myriad Ones. The only cure is to allow the Dochte Mandar back into the realm. He is too stubborn to realize that. But truly, Maia, does this not all hinge on whether or not you are lying to
me
? I want to believe your stories, but they do not align with common sense. You have admitted going to the lost abbey. Prove you are not a hetaera. Or I will force you to reveal yourself by wearing your kystrel. As I have said, I would prefer for you to be willing. But you will wed me before the sun rises. Dieyre waited too long for his Marciana. I will not make the same mistake.”

Maia tried to settle her breathing. Involuntarily, she started to tremble.

“Are you cold?” he asked.

She was not. She was terrified. She hoped enough time had passed to give the kishion an opportunity to escape and for Jon Tayt to put some distance between himself and the camp. “So you seek to marry me regardless? Even if I am not a hetaera?”

“Truly, I do,” he said. “The political advantage exists regardless. Surely you realize that.”

“Yes,” she said. Why could she not stop trembling? She was suddenly so very tired. Weariness and exhaustion plundered her strength. She had been in flight for so long; her muscles ached with fatigue. The supper in her stomach was pleasant.

“Are you all right?” he asked, looking concerned.

“I am weary, that is all,” she said.

“I know I have said it before, but you are not what I expected,” he said, giving her a probing look. “Not at all. I had truly expected you would be more . . . willing. It almost seems as if you have a conscience.”

She stared at him and smiled sadly. “I do.”

He took another gulp from his cup. “Very well. Time to lay aside the games. Prove your words through actions. I spared your servants, though little they deserved it.”

Maia nodded. “Let me prove my innocence.” A horrible, guilty feeling swelled inside her breast, though she little understood it.
The Medium will guide you
, she assured herself. It had led her to the north road. It had led her to this man’s tent. She had to trust it. She had to trust the path she was on.

Maia began to unfasten the lacings on her bodice, loosening them enough to expose her shoulders. It mortified her, for the first few strings exposed the curving tattoos that had climbed up her chest—a mark she normally went to great lengths to hide. Her fingers shook and she struggled to compose herself, for she was blushing furiously, embarrassed for his guarded eyes to stare at her so fixedly.

“The kystrel leaves a taint on the skin, as I said,” she explained as she worked loose the weave. “Even the Dochte Mandar have it. It is a consequence of using the magic.”

“I know,” he said, his eyes still studying her.

Maia felt her breath quickening. He was staring at her hungrily now. Her mouth was suddenly dry, and she knew she should hurry and finish the deed so she could cover herself again. Clumsily, she undid a few more lacings, just enough—and then pulled the fabric away from her shoulder.

His eyes widened.

The feeling in the pavilion changed palpably. It was a dark feeling. She felt something stir inside her blood, radiating like a furnace of power. Maia felt a whisper through the shadows.

She jerked the fabric back up, covering her bare shoulder. Inexpressible horror jolted through her. She had seen it as clearly as he had.

The brand on her shoulder.

The two serpents.

Why do children fear the night? Just as dark is the absence of light, and despair is the absence of hope, so these symbols exist between day and night. I have seen in my life that the manifestations of the Medium are strongest when the souls of mankind are awake, their thoughts aroused and vigilant. When darkness comes, so come the Unborn. A friend from my early days at Muirwood liked to quote
The Hodoeporicon
, “Retire to thy bed early, that ye may not be weary; arise early, that your bodies and minds may be invigorated.”

—Lia Demont, Aldermaston of Muirwood Abbey

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Privy Council

A
s the voices began to rise, sizzling with heat, Maia looked up from the parchment map, her ears instinctively drawn to her father’s words. She loved being in her father’s solar, for here she had access to maps, globes, quills, ink, and even little books, which she was forbidden to peruse outside his presence. That Lady Deorwynn was arguing with the king in front of several members of his Privy Council, seated at a nearby table, surprised her. She was normally more circumspect. And the uncomfortable looks on their faces showed they wished they were anywhere else at the moment. The chancellor’s mouth was actually gaping open with shock.

“I do not want her at court any longer,” Lady Deorwynn said scathingly. “My daughters should not have to befriend and comfort someone who has been banished. You may as well isolate us all in Pent Tower!”

“If my lady would like me to accommodate that request,” her father said, his voice hot enough to sear, “it can be arranged!”

“Send Marciana away!”

“And where would you have me send
my
daughter?”

Maia’s stomach roiled with disquiet at the argument, which sent tendrils of nausea through her. Her ulcers had only grown worse after trouble had broken out across the kingdom, and the physicians could do nothing for her.

“Kenningford,” Lady Deorwynn snapped. “I can think of a dozen other suitable places. Send her away from court, my lord. I beg you. She is given far too many privileges for one of her station.”

Maia noticed the Earl of Forshee scowling, but it was hard for her to tear her eyes from the main players in the argument.

“Privileges?” her father snorted. “You amuse me. I learned that you forbade the servants from lighting her brazier in the mornings. She was suffering from chills.”

“Why should a servant trudge all the way to the tower for
her
?” Lady Deorwynn countered. “A little hard work would warm her up!”

“I will not send her away, madame. I am deaf to the idea.”

Maia glanced at Lady Deorwynn’s daughters. They were quietly sewing in the far corner of the room, their postures perfect, and their expressions indifferent to the storm raging around them. But Maia knew they were listening to every word, and she had no doubt the words would be used as barbs to torment her later.

Lady Deorwynn knelt by the high-back chair, her hands touching the king’s jeweled surcoat. “I beg you! I cannot tolerate her. The looks she gives me. They would curdle milk, I tell you. She is insolent, lazy, and stubborn.”

“Say no more.”

“I must! You shame me by allowing her to stay at court. I am mocked because of her presence. The sneers and quips are intolerable! I beg you, my lord. Send her away!”

Maia swallowed, setting down the map she had been studying of the various kingdoms. She had been tracing the borders of Dahomey with her finger when the argument became loud enough for all to hear. She had only visited Pry-Ree, and though she knew it was unlikely to happen, she longed to see all the realms. She took any chance she could to speak with ambassadors from the other kingdoms, to learn little bits about their ways and manners. Being sent to a distant manor house far from her father and mother, where she would be isolated from everything that interested her and everyone who cared for her, would be a terrible fate. She had long wished to join her mother’s exile at Muirwood, but that was impossible. Her father’s heart was flint.

He stared down at Lady Deorwynn coldly. “Mayhap if you treated Maia more civilly, there would be less gossip and fewer sneers! She is my daughter, and I will not exile her from court. She has been obedient to my orders, patiently suffering her disinheritance and
your
mistreatment of her. By the Blood, woman, if you treated her with a bit of compassion, there would be none of this rancor in my house!”

Lady Deorwynn came to her feet with startled fury. Her eyes blazed with rage; her jaw quivered with emotion. “How dare you!” she said through clenched teeth.

“How dare I? She is my daughter, not yours. If you treated her with a morsel of dignity . . . but I see that is beyond you. You care only for your own flesh and blood.”

Lady Deorwynn trembled with rage. “I treat her,” she said venomously, “with all the dignity she deserves considering her
rank
, which you, my lord, gave to her. What shall I hear next, that you plan to marry her to the Prince of Hautland? A banished daughter? You mock me, my lord, you mock me!”

“I have problems enough to vex me,” the king said curtly. “Why do you add to my griefs? Out! Out!” He flung his arm wide, nearly hitting her. “Give me peace, woman.”

Lady Deorwynn retreated, subtly, beyond his reach. She gave a deep curtsy, but her face was full of anger and anguish. “As you bid me, my lord,” she snarled. Then, sweeping up her skirts, she turned and stalked away from the solar chamber, snapping her fingers twice as she went. Her daughters bowed their heads, sighed, swept up their needlework, and followed in her wake.

Maia felt a throb of triumph at how her father had defended her in front of Lady Deorwynn. But Maia knew the woman’s games, knew that she would make her father suffer for the humiliation. Though they bickered often, their fights never lasted long, and words shared on a pillow seemed to tamp the flames of anger that often blazed between them.

Her father knuckled his eyes, his head stooped and downcast. Seated quietly near him, mute, were several members of his Privy Council. They watched him wrestle with his emotions, wisely saying nothing.

He rubbed his beard and exhaled deeply from his nose, staring off into the distance. He fidgeted one of his ruby rings with his lips, toying with it, smoldering. In the past, Chancellor Walraven had always been there to dispel his more violent emotions. She felt the kystrel beneath her bodice grow warm in response to her thoughts, so she chased them away. Many members of the Privy Council were mastons. What would they think of the king’s banished daughter if her eyes suddenly started glowing silver?

Her father had always been an emotional man, easily swayed by his feelings. He could be all sunlight and warmth one moment, with easy smiles and a teasing tongue; and in the next, he could be as hard and violent as a whip, his words lashing out with stinging barbs. The Dochte Mandar had helped regulate his mercurial sways. But now that Walraven was dead and the other Dochte Mandar had been exiled from the realm, her father had more trouble than ever achieving equanimity.

His head turned and he looked at her, startling her.

A grieved smile twisted his mouth, and he beckoned for her to approach him. His summons surprised her, but she promptly obeyed, setting aside the map to come to his side. Her coarse woolen skirt rustled as she knelt by his chair. He cupped her cheek with his palm.

“I would have you near me, Maia,” he said softly. “You . . . comfort me.”

Her heart skidded with pleasure and she gave him a rare smile in return, saying nothing. He motioned to a chair from the table. “Sit by me. We discuss grievous matters.” There were flecks of gold in his hair still, but she was surprised, being so near him, by how much silver was already there.

She pulled the chair up next to him and sat down, resting her hand against his. The rings on his fingers were jagged and rough, but the skin beneath hers was warm.

Chancellor Morton was frowning at her, not certain how to proceed after the embarrassment of the interruption.

“Say on, Morton,” her father commanded. “Ignore the trifling arguments between my lady and myself. I daresay if I eavesdropped in your household, I would find cobwebs in the corners of your manor house as well.”

“Few spiders, my lord. Mostly ants. We cannot seem to rid ourselves of the menaces. Would there were a Leering that would banish them.” He seemed to realize the blunder of his poor choice of words. “My apologies, we were discussing the sanctuary privileges of Muirwood Abbey.”

“Yes, we were, Chancellor Morton. You are a scholar of no small reputation, and you have said that I cannot compel a maston to leave the sanctuary by force.”

“Yes, that is what I was expressing. The charters of the abbey clearly—”

“The charters were granted by a king. Why, then, cannot they be revoked by one? Hmmm? I know the charters. I know the
tradition
. But I am King of Comoros. My word is law in this land.”

“To a point, Your Grace,” Morton said delicately. “Were you not anointed king at Muirwood as a child? Who put the anointing oil on you as king? Was it not an Aldermaston? If you were given your authority under the auspices of Muirwood, you cannot then revoke a privilege given by the very hand that ordained you.” He leaned forward, gesturing to emphasize the absurdity of the idea.

“What if I had been anointed king at Augustin Abbey?” her father said angrily. “Is it because the deed was done at Muirwood?”

“It could have even been Billerbeck,” Morton replied. “All the abbeys in Comoros pay homage to Muirwood and Muirwood pays homage to Tintern where the High Seer sits.”

“Pry-Ree,” the king said with a sneer in his voice. “We used to rule that kingdom . . . long ago. It sickens me that they are the least of the kingdoms, yet they have authority over their betters. That the High Seer can block my divorce based on maston custom.”

“You agreed to that custom when you chose to marry the queen—”

“She is not my queen!” her father thundered, pounding his fist on the table. “You must watch your tongue, Chancellor!” His eyes burned with fury, and Maia saw the chancellor’s expression tighten like a walnut shell. He took the brunt of it quietly. Her father’s anger continued to fester. “I am no more her husband than that iron poker by the fire is my wife. I would that she were dead.” Maia’s heart shriveled with blackness upon hearing the words. She sat as still as a mouse, not daring to remove her hand from his. His words were like shards of glass crunching under boots. “Yet it begins with a thought,” he said in low, strangled words. “I will have this divorce, Chancellor. You must find a way.”

His face paled. “My lord—” he paused, swallowing. “There is no
legal
way to compel it.”

“I am not faithful to our marriage vows,” her father snapped. “By all that is right and just, she should divorce me.” He slapped the table, less violently this time, and grumbled under his breath. “Find a way, Morton. Put all your thought into this. I would not have my authority undermined by an Aldermaston in a sniveling kingdom less than half the size of our own, full of giant trees and . . . and . . . spoiled grapes. Tintern has authority over Muirwood. I think not. Oh, I think not. It should be Muirwood that compels the others.”

“As Your Majesty knows, the Aldermastons of Tintern have always been those chosen as the High Seer since the return of the mastons. They are the strongest in the Medium.”

“I care not for the history lesson, tutor,” her father said with a sting. “I do not wish my realm to be governed by the whims of Tintern Abbey. I am a king-maston by law, yet I cannot command those who live in the abbeys, who are said to be outside of the king’s tax. Well, the cost of rebuilding abbeys
chokes
my income. How many people live under the shadow of an abbey to avoid paying taxes? Hmmm? Look at Augustin. To see its decadence and splendor, you would think the abbey had hardly been damaged before the Scourging. It was pride that felled our kingdoms. It was the love of treasure within the abbeys themselves.”

Maia shrank from her father at those words and hid her hands in her lap, trying not to tremble.

One of the other men from the table stood, planting his palms down on the table. “If Your Majesty seeks an example of pride, then look no farther than your own mirror.”

Maia stared at the grizzled man. He was older than her father, much older. His dark hair was well silvered and his angry, brooding look surprised her. She had rarely heard him speak since coming to court. He was the Earl of Forshee, an earldom that was as far from the throne of Comoros as one could get.

Maia saw the tendons on her father’s hand harden like cords.

“I wondered when you would first find your voice, Forshee,” her father said angrily.

He was a powerful lord of the realm and he had five sons. Two of whom were already married by irrevocare sigil, leaving three as valuable prizes. Maia knew Murer had been vigilantly pressuring her mother to marry one of them.

“I came to court at your command, Your Majesty,” Forshee said darkly. “I did not seek a seat on your Privy Council. I will accept nothing for my service to you. In return, I give you my most candid advice, and it is up to you whether to accept it or not. You speak like a spoiled child who does not get his way. You are
not
the highest law of this land, Your Grace. The Medium is. Do you even wear the chaen, my lord? I see you have stripped away the other vestiges of your beliefs. Your selfish thoughts will ruin this kingdom.”

Everyone was silent, staring at the ancient earl with shock and, Maia could see, a touch of relief. Someone was risking himself enough to speak up to her father. Maia knew the earl had a bold reputation for being fearless and strict. But always fair. He was a descendent of the Price Family, a cousin to hers.