The Ciphers of Muirwood (8 page)

“What would you have us do after you leave?” said Tomas, the steward. He looked as shaken as Maia felt.

“What you have always done,” Sabine replied. “All of us must seek the Medium’s wisdom in this situation. Jon Tayt, I entrust you with my granddaughter’s safety. Right now, her presence here is not commonly known, though it will not remain a secret for long. I have a sense that a confrontation between you and your father is coming, child. He will try to make you sign the Act of Submission. You must not, Maia. One cannot attempt to force the Medium to obey without dire consequences. His decision may trigger a devastating Blight on this kingdom. We must do all that we can to persuade him to abandon this folly. We
must
persuade him.”

“You may as well try persuading a stone,” Jon Tayt muttered darkly. “He will not heed.”

Sabine stood to leave and Maia rose and pulled her grandmother into a tight hug. Their time together had been painfully short, and she already felt the keen edge the absence would bring. At least she could say good-bye. She had lost her mother without having that chance. She still had not resigned herself to it, and the news that her father had celebrated such a tragedy sliced into her already scarred heart.

She glanced over and saw Dodd staring at her intently, his eyes blazing with emotion. She felt the weight of her duties crushing her shoulders, growing heavier moment by moment, like watching a rockslide gain new stones as it tumbled down a hill. How would the descendants of her ancestors feel about the world to which they returned? They would be joining a corrupt kingdom led by her father, a faithless king. Yet it was that or face the armada of the Naestors who sought to destroy them.

She felt Sabine’s thumb on her cheekbone, brushing away a stray tear. “You are not alone,” Sabine whispered, her voice urgent.

“I do not want you to go,” Maia said, a sob threatening to choke her.

Sabine’s eyes glistened with tears. She leaned forward and touched her forehead to Maia’s. “I do not know what will happen,” she said. “My gift of Seering is of the past. Our ancestors faced hard trials like this one. Lia’s father knew he was going to die, knew that he would never be able to raise his daughter. He still obeyed the Medium’s will.” She bit her lip. “Perhaps the Medium will expect us to give our lives to this cause. I do not know, but I do know this. It is scriven in Lia’s tome over and over. Trust the Medium. Trust the Medium. Even when the present becomes unbearable.” Her fingers tugged gingerly in Maia’s hair. “Seek the Medium’s will and then do it. I will do
all
that I can to return before Whitsunday. But no matter what happens, you
must
redeem the abbey, Maia. You
must
fulfill the Covenant.”

Maia stared into her grandmother’s eyes. “I will.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Alone

T
he cloisters were perfectly quiet as Maia set down her scriving tool and stared, tear-stricken, at what she had just engraved. She experienced a twisted mesh of feelings as she brushed the tiny shards of aurichalcum away. Next to her tome lay her mother’s, open to its final sheet, her last entry, the one Maia had just engraved into her own. Blotting her tears on her sleeve, she read the passage again. A passage Catrin had written to her husband.

My most dear lord, king, and husband,

The hour of my death now draws near. The tender love I owe you now forces me, as my illness also compels, to commend myself to you and to remind you of the maston oaths that you made in peril of your immortal soul, which you should regard in higher esteem than the honors of this second life. You have brought many calamities upon yourself, my dear husband. For my part, I pardon you everything. I will not accuse you when the Apse Veil is opened at last and we stand in judgment before the Medium. Remember our daughter, the symbol of our love. I entreat you most earnestly to restore her to favor and not to punish her for loving me most faithfully. I entreat you also, lord husband, on behalf of my maids, they being but three in number. They served me faithfully. They are wretcheds all. Lastly, I make this vow. That my eyes desire you above all things.

Yours in truth and honor,

Catrin

Tears gathered on her lashes as she read the words one last time, amazed at what a person’s heart could endure. Her mother had been a banished queen in Muirwood for the final part of her life, but despite Maia’s father’s inexorable cruelty to her, she had loved him to her last breath. There was something strong that bound two hearts together. Love was a power indeed.

She felt her heart begin to burn with the Medium, spreading feelings of warmth and love and sympathy throughout her body. The words her mother had written had been scribed with a human hand—a hand of flesh and bone and blood—yet they seemed to be wreathed in flames. The woman’s body was now resting in an ossuary, a hull. But there was part of her that existed independently. Maia felt it, almost like a ghostly hand that rested on her shoulder. The feelings spasmed in her heart, stronger and more urgent.

Mother, are you here?
Maia thought.

There was a scuffle on the steps, and the feeling vanished as if it had never been. Maia quickly dried her eyes as Suzenne ascended into the cloisters, her face drawn and pinched with concern.

“I saw your note,” Suzenne said. “How long have you been here? I did not hear you leave.” She glanced around the cloisters, looking for signs of disruption.

Maia tried to smile, but her mouth would not cooperate. “I could not sleep, Suzenne. I did not want to wake you.”

The Leerings were already lit, and Suzenne rubbed her arms as she walked around the tables, approaching Maia cautiously. There was a small disapproving frown on her face.

“What is it?” Maia asked, summoning her patience.

“You should have woken me,” Suzenne said, standing next to her table. “We are not allowed to be alone in the cloisters.” She seemed like a queen in state herself, her hair brushed and perfect, her gown washed and pressed. There was always a hint of haughtiness to her, though she tried to conceal it—or so Maia thought.

“I did not know that. I was restless since my grandmother is leaving this morning. We stayed up late talking and I came here to avoid waking you.” Maia had also spent a good portion of the night trying to write a letter to her husband to explain herself, her regrets, and the true reason she had abandoned him. But finding the right words had been particularly painful and difficult, and she knew getting a letter to him in a dungeon would be all but impossible, not to mention life threatening, since women were not allowed to read and write. Still, she needed to do this thing—both for him, even if he never got to read it, and for herself. She would work on it again later.

“You have not slept at all?” Suzenne asked, surprised.

Maia shook her head. “I wanted to be alone. And I do not have much time to prepare for the maston test. I learned that my father is coming to Muirwood for Whitsunday.”

Suzenne gasped. “Truly?”

“Yes, truly. The entire court will be descending in a few months.”

“How do you . . . feel about that?” Suzenne asked.

It was a good question, but one Maia was unwilling—perhaps even unable—to answer truthfully. How
did
she feel about her father? He had done so many ill deeds . . . and a part of her still had to wonder if he had purposefully sent her to Dahomey to become a hetaera. Was it possible to hate and love someone at the same time? Her feelings were a jumbled mess.

“My father does not know I am here,” she said, twisting a strand of her hair. “He will not be pleased when he finds out.”

An uncomfortable silence descended between them.

“I would think so,” Suzenne said, forcing the words out. She looked flustered.

“I am sorry if I worried you,” Maia said, hoping to steer them into safer waters. “I did not know about the rules. I will tell the Aldermaston what I did and see if he will grant an exception for me.”

“I would not . . .
mind
coming with you,” Suzenne said, gazing down at the floor. “Coming earlier to the cloisters, that is. I would enjoy learning from you. I appreciate the Dahomeyjan you practice with me at night. What is that tome you were copying?”

Maia sighed. “It was my mother’s.”

“Oh.” She fell silent again. Her expression was pained. “Maia . . . I heard the Earl of Forshee was here. Do you know if that is true? Was there any word about . . . the prisoners in the tower?” She glanced up at Maia, her emotions clearly at war with her curiosity.

“It is true,” Maia said. “And yes, there is news. Why do you ask?”

The look of torture on Suzenne’s face was exquisite. Maia could tell she wanted to ask about Dodd’s Family, only she did not know how to do so without revealing herself. Maia did not relieve her of her discomfort by volunteering the information. She felt that she owed as much to Dodd.

“One of the learners . . . well . . . not exactly anymore. His father was the former Earl of Forshee. I just wondered if there was any news about his father or brothers.”

Suzenne was still trying to mask her interest, but she seemed genuinely concerned—enough so to risk embarrassing herself.

“They will be given one last chance to sign the Act of Submis
sion before they are killed,” Maia said flatly, watching for Suzenne’s
reaction.

“Oh no,” Suzenne gasped, her expression crinkling with sorrow. “Poor Dodd.”

Maia looked at her in surprise. “You still care for him then?”

Suzenne blinked away tears and covered her mouth. She tried hard to regain her composure, but Maia could see the strength of her feelings slipping free of the mask of indifference. “Yes,” she finally gasped. “I always have.”

Maia rose from her chair. “Then why did you abandon him?” she asked. Though she did not seek to harm the girl, she could not keep herself from asking. Her own guilt at betraying Collier was sufficient motivation to pry.

Suzenne was miserable. “My parents,” she choked. “Oh, Maia! How can I make you understand? After Dodd was disinherited, my parents forbade me to even speak to him. They had been supportive of our . . . relationship . . . I was surprised that they would . . . but what else could I do? Do we not owe obedience to our parents? I trust their judgment. But in this thing . . . I wonder if they are more worried about
their
position in court than they are about
my
feelings.” She shook her head, burying her face in her hands.

Now Maia understood. Suzenne was from a well-bred Family, one whose position was answerable to the state of rank. Seeing how far the noble Prices had been cast down, her parents had done what they believed to be in their best interest.

Maia put her arm around Suzenne’s shoulders and hugged her as she wept softly, her shoulders convulsing.

“Have you told no one this?” Maia whispered, stroking Suzenne’s beautiful hair.

The other girl shook her head with anguish. “I dared not,” she gasped. “The girls gossip and murmur and tease. I am sorry to give you yet another burden, Maia. You understand my situation, do you not?”

“All too well,” Maia said. “We love our parents, yet we are hurt by them. Loyalty, when divided, is sharper than a blade and cuts both ways.” She tipped her chin up. “I will not tell.” She observed her closely. “So Dodd does not know how you feel?”

Suzenne shook her head no.

“I see. Well, I can say he suffers as greatly as you do.”

There were sounds of approaching girls from the passageway below as the other Ciphers began to arrive.

“We can talk later,” Maia said, patting Suzenne’s arm. “For now, we must dry our eyes.”

Suzenne nodded, smiling. A burden shared was easier to endure. Maia could see the relief spreading across Suzenne’s entire countenance. A warm prick of heat came into Maia’s heart. She felt more respect for her companion now that she knew the truth.

Maia greeted the younger girls as they entered, unusually chatty considering the early hour, while Suzenne walked around and arranged the chairs into straight rows. Every now and then she dabbed her eyes on her sleeve.

Maeg came in with a gaggle of other girls, all chittering excitedly like little ravenous birds. “You will never guess what I heard!” Maeg said proudly, her eyes bright and gleaming.

“What is that?” Suzenne asked, not facing the other girl as she approached.

“The king and queen are coming for Whitsunday!” Maeg said with obvious delight. “The entire court is descending! Suzenne, is it not wonderful news! This is our last year, our last dance around the maypole. We will not have to suffer smelly blacksmiths or sniveling first-year learners—”

“Or that
fat
hunter!” chimed in another girl with a wicked chuckle.

“Yes, especially not
him
,” Maeg said with disdain. “Suzenne, this is perfect! Not only do we have a chance of finding a suitable husband, but likely a position as well! I would
love
to be in Lady Deorwynn’s household. I hear all of her ladies-in-waiting wear the finest gowns and are given jewels and perfume. That is where Jayn is serving. Oh, I could just laugh. We could end up together, Suzenne! All three of us again! It would be perfect.”

Maia’s cheeks flushed, but she kept her back turned so that they would not see her face. Serving Lady Deorwynn was not as glamorous as Maeg made it out to be. Maia knew firsthand of her caprice; she could not bear it if another girl was prettier than her or her daughters, and any spark of spirit was ruthlessly crushed in those who served her. Perhaps Maeg deserved such a fate, but not Suzenne.

“You are not thrilled?” Maeg said with a tone of surprise. “What is wrong, Suzenne? This is the most wonderful thing that could have . . . oh no, I see.” The tone suddenly changed and shifted, turning darker. “I see why you are not as excited as I am. Yes, how could I forget. Your new
companion
is the
king’s daughter
.” She said the words with utter derision.

Maia could hear the girl approaching her and steeled herself to face her petty abuse. She remembered the Aldermaston and how he had faced down the Earl of Forshee with quiet calm and an unflappable manner. And the last words of her mother’s letter to her father resounded with her too—after all his ill treatment of her, she had shown him only love. If they could do that, surely she could face one pompous brat.

“Yes,” Maeg said, circling around the desk to face Maia directly. “I can see why you are sad. It is pitiable, indeed.”

“No, that is not it,” Suzenne said, her voice flustered.

Maia lifted her gaze and stared at Maeg calmly, as if she were nothing more annoying than a bothersome fly.

“You should have been born a wretched,” Maeg said tightly, her face betraying her animosity at last. “You certainly look the part. You come in here with your airs and your languages and your reading. You look like a wretched. Do you obey orders like one?”

“Maeg,” Suzenne said plaintively.

“You may have been the princess once,” Maeg said, dropping her voice low. “Used to giving commands and orders. Snap your fingers,” she said, snapping her own sharply to add force to the words. “But look at you now.”

Suzenne approached and tugged on Maeg’s arm. “The Aldermaston’s wife is coming,” she whispered in an urgent voice. “She will hear you!”

Maeg stared at Maia coldly, her eyes blazing with heat, with power, with the desire to humiliate. Maia had seen such looks before. There were some women in the world who could only grow in their own eyes if they crushed another girl beneath them.

Maia pitied her, truly. Maeg had been born to privilege and groomed as a member of a favorable Family, but she would have to earn her place in the kingdom by manipulating the feelings of her betters. Glory was a tottering ladder to be climbed—one lie and half-truth and well-placed compliment at a time. The higher one ascended the rungs, the more exhilarating and nerve-racking the view . . . and the more devastating the fall.