The Banished of Muirwood

by Jeff Wheeler

  The guards parted the curtain and the captain walked in first, ducking beneath the heavy folds of fabric before turning and ushering her between the poles supporting the entryway. To Maia’s surprise, there was a Leering with a lantern hanging from its jaws on each side. She could sense their power as she passed them. Once she was inside the tent, the feeling of the Myriad Ones faded.

  The ground was carpeted with bearskins. A small brazier filled with sizzling coals sat at the center of the room. The top of the pavilion was open, allowing the smoke to escape outside. The fabric of the pavilion was pale, decorated with purple trim and a design of strange flowers and runes.

  There were several people inside the pavilion, but the first person she noticed was Feint Collier. He did not look like a man about to be decapitated for treason. He stood beside a man to whom he bore a pronounced familial resemblance—they were almost of a height, though the king was shorter, and they were both handsome with dark hair and broad shoulders. The main difference was that the king looked slightly younger, wore a colorful doublet, and glittered with jewels, from the earring in his right lobe to the rings glittering on his fingers and the jeweled saber at his side. Even his belt was studded with gems.

  Maia dropped to one knee and bowed her head in respect. Her stomach churned with conflicting emotions. She knew the protocols of the Dahomeyjan court and wondered how long she would be able to preserve her secret without telling an outright lie to the king.

  “My lord,” the captain said, “I bring your captive as you commanded. The killers who accompanied her have been confined and await your orders. We found a tree of suitable height.”

  “Thank you, Captain.”

  Maia was startled at how much the king’s voice resembled Collier’s. Even in this they were alike.

  “As you asked, we stripped her of this before bringing her to your lordship.”

  She heard the sound of the kystrel chain unraveling. Glancing up, she could see it dangling from the captain’s gloved fingers. If her arms were not bound, her wrists wreathed in ropes, she would have leaped for it. The woven strands of the kystrel sang to her, called to her. It was her magic. It was also her only hope of escape.

  The king walked forward, looking at the kystrel as if it were a dangerous serpent. He gingerly took it from the captain, barely touching it with his own gloved hand, and then walked over to a small camp table and set it down by a jewelry box. It gleamed and Maia hungered for it. She kept her eyes downcast.

  “Leave us,” the king ordered.

  “My lord?” the captain asked warily, his goatee twitching with nervousness.

  “She is bound with ropes, Captain, and my collier will run her through if she tries anything foolish. Depart.”

  “As you wish, Your Majesty,” the captain said, and he did as ordered, leading his men out of the pavilion. The evening shadows had deepened, but there was sufficient light in the pavilion. The interior did not smell of the filth of the camp, and she noticed some incense sticks poking from the lip of the brazier. The two men stared at her as she waited on her throbbing knee.

  “Well, Your Majesty,” the king said with a snort. “I shall leave the two of you alone to talk.”

  Maia’s head jerked up with startled surprise. The king stroked his chin, winked at Feint Collier, and then walked to the opposite side of the pavilion, parted a secret fold, and disappeared.

  Maia stared in disbelief.

  Collier scratched the corner of his eye, looking a little abashed, and then walked over to help her to her feet.

  “You?” Maia whispered, her breath tremulous. She was bewildered.

  “I am whoever I want to be,” Collier replied. “It is one of the many privileges of being a king. For you, I am Feint Collier. To many, I am called the Mark of Dahomey, though I resent the nickname. People believe whatever they want to believe anyway.” He unsheathed a hunting dirk from his belt and walked behind her. She felt a prickle of apprehension and fear before the ropes binding her arms were severed and fell away. Her wrists were still secured together, but the gesture gave her a sliver of hope.

  “Welcome to Dahomey, Princess Marciana,” he said, touching a lock of hair by her neck. “Or do you truly prefer Maia, as I have been informed?”

  She shivered at the familiarity of his touch and whirled, backing away from him. “You deceived me.”

  He smiled proudly. “Thank you.”

  “You knew who I was all along?” Maia pressed.

  “Your beauty is renowned, my lady. It took more than blisters, scabs, and dirt to conceal it. And be fair, I did try to tell you.”

  “How so?” Maia asked, her mind racing.

  “The flower I left in your saddlebag. A lily of Dahomey. The royal flower. I wanted you to know that I knew who you were, so I gave you a hint. You have been under close guard and I could not speak freely, lest the kishion slit your throat or mine.”

  “He was sent to protect—”

  “He is a hired killer.” He walked over to a small tray and grabbed a few salted nuts and began munching them. “Your father likely paid him to keep you from falling into my hands. How very rude of him to treat his future son-in-law that way.”

  Maia stared at him in shock.

  “Yes, I deceived you most shamefully,” Collier said with a mock bow. “Did you not enjoy it, though? I certainly did. I will always remember that dance in Briec. There was such a wicked innocence to it. You did not know who I was. I pretended not to know who you were.” The self-satisfied smile on his mouth made her want to slap him hard across the face. “Rarely am I so entertained.” He finished the nuts and brushed his hands together smoothly. “So, for the rest! Now that I have captured you, my lady, I am not going to hold you for ransom. No, nothing like that. I will not execute you, nor will I allow the Dochte Mandar to do so. I will set you free this very evening and you may go on your way to do whatever mischief you were sent here to accomplish. All I ask, my lady—and it really is a small request—is that we marry immediately.”

  “You are mad,” Maia gasped in wonderment.

  “Hardly. Cunning, wise, treacherous, and—to many a lady—charming. Let me put it this way,” he continued, sitting on the edge of the small sturdy table. “I seek to fulfill the plight troth of our infanthood, solemnizing our union under the auspices of the Dochte Mandar—for I am not a maston and neither are you!” He grinned with triumph. “As my wife, you will provide me with the lawful grounds to invade your kingdom and claim it on your behalf, deposing your feckless, ruthless, and quite possibly insane father, giving us the thrones of Comoros and Dahomey. My ambitions, naturally, do not end there, as with our combined strength, we will topple the other kingdoms and then invade the homeland of the Naestors.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully and winked. “We can accomplish all this by Whitsunday. What do you think?”

  Maia stared at him. She blinked, trying to rally her wits. Was he serious? Was he toying with her? She was still reeling from all the double-dealing and deceit.

  “You are too quiet,” he murmured, shaking his head. “That surprises me. Perhaps you prefer a little more nuance in your trickery. I, myself, tend to take few things in a serious vein. But I am quite serious, Lady Marciana, about all that I have suggested.” He approached and she backed away. “My tone may be jovial, but I speak in earnest. If you are squeamish about murdering your father, we can confine him to Pent Tower for the rest of his old age. He has confined you for quite long enough.” She saw a certain heat radiating in his eyes, an anger that belied his teasing. “You are the rightful heir of Comoros. What he has done to you . . .” His voice trailed off and she could see him mastering himself.

  “What he has done, he has done,” Maia said, trying to find some strength in her voice. “I am here because he bid me to save my people. When the Dochte Mandar were expelled from the realm, it unleashed a threat.”

  “Of course
it did,” Collier said arrogantly. “The Myriad Ones have always been among us, in my kingdom most of all. This is where they have glutted themselves to excess,” he said in an offhanded way. He went to the table where her kystrel rested and took a goblet of wine, drinking a swallow from it. “Men are too weak to resist their baser instincts. They must be ruled, and I intend to be the one who rules them, as my ancestor Dieyre once did.”

  Maia stared at him and shook her head. “He ruled over their demise.”

  He frowned and shook his head at her. “He failed because he could not claim that which he desired most. The love of a certain woman.” He tipped his cup toward her. “A woman named Marciana. Is this not rich in irony? I wish to be your husband. I wish you to rule by my side. But do not expect love from me, and do not expect me to fall victim to you. I will never consummate our marriage vows with a kiss. I have read the tomes, and I know what you are. I told you I was not a maston, but I faced the maston test. I failed it, though I learned much in the process. I know why your father sent you to the lost abbey, and it has nothing to do with vanquishing the Myriad Ones or any such nonsense.” He set the goblet down on the table and lifted the kystrel, dangling it by its chain.

  “You want this back,” he murmured softly, his voice like bubbling cheese.

  Maia stared at it, aching at the sight of it so close. Her wrists chafed at their bonds.

  “I can feel your thoughts writhing for it. As I said, I seek an alliance with you—one that will start with our immediate marriage. This very evening under this very moon. I have been candid regarding my intentions. With your help, I can seize and conquer all the kingdoms, which we will rule together.” He swung the medallion back and forth, teasing her. “The lost abbey is where the hetaera’s Leering was taken when Dochte Abbey fell. The Leering is carved like a serpent. A serpent in a circle. Its mark is branded on your shoulder. Come, Maia,” he insisted, his voice husky and soft. “No deceptions between us. I will give this back to you. I know you must have already used it against me, for I dream of you at night. You can use me and twist me as you will as long as you give me the power I seek. I will give you your freedom. Marry me—tonight—and it is yours.”

  I have been to the hetaera’s lair and faced their test. It was the Medium’s will that I leave a curse on their Leering, a curse bound by irrevocare sigil. A curse to last for all time. I faced the Queen of the Unborn, Ereshkigal, who sought to turn me into her slave. She threatened me and my posterity with revenge. The Leering was too powerful to destroy, but it was moved from Dochte Abbey, hidden away by the Dochte Mandar. You must understand that it still holds great power, and its brand—two entwining serpents—can still be burned into a shoulder. It is usually the left shoulder. That is how you can tell a woman is a hetaera. In my day the hetaera seduced kings and sheriffs and secretly plotted to have all the mastons murdered. My own mother was killed by a hetaera. In your day, many mastons are weaker in the Medium than the Dochte Mandar who use kystrels to amplify their power. But a hetaera would be even stronger—she would have the power to destroy their civilization. I must warn you that the curse I placed on that Leering is still in force. A hetaera’s kiss will bring a plague. The Naestors fear this above all else, and they will murder any girl who wears a kystrel or has the mark on her shoulder. Eventually, they will kill any girl who even learns how to read.

  —Lia Demont, Aldermaston of Muirwood Abbey

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Fate

  Maia was so startled, so amazed, so frightened by Collier’s words that she could only stare at him, dumbfounded. She closed her eyes, trying to untangle the conflicting thoughts, convulsing feelings, and tremors of dread that threatened to mute her permanently. She had been to the lost abbey. That much was true. She had ventured into the area that contained a dark pool, a place the Dochte Mandar had used to commune with the dead. She had beheld the Leering of which he spoke, had felt its raw power. But she had not touched it. She had been too afraid.

  But she could also appreciate that to this man, her sudden presence in his kingdom could be misinterpreted in a thousand different ways. She wore a kystrel around her neck. Surely that would persuade him of his own accuracy, if nothing else did!

  Though Collier was wrong about her, his accusation sent thoughts dashing around in her mind, colliding and sparking and crumbling to dust. Why had her father sent her to the cursed shores of Dahomey? What were his true motives? She could only guess, but had not Chancellor Walraven said that one of the ways to dissolve a marriage by irrevocare sigil was if the wife was found to be a hetaera? She had read about the hetaera in the tomes of the Dochte Mandar. She knew the legends of their deadly kiss. Had her father sent her to become one?

  That thought sent a searing shard of wrath through her soul.

  She opened her eyes and stared at the Mark of Dahomey. He still dangled her kystrel in front of her, as if she were some fish that would succumb to a hook if only the correct bait were presented.

  “You misunderstand a great many things, Your Majesty.”

  “Please. Call me Collier, and I will call you Maia. Our pet names for each other.”

  She clenched her jaw, feeling the swell of fury rise up inside her. She squeezed her fingers into fists, wishing she were strong enough to shred the ropes that bound her wrists.

  “I am not a hetaera,” she said tightly. “You have misunderstood me entirely, and in so doing, you have deceived yourself most of all.”

  He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Anger is an excellent way to conceal a lie. It is so easy to feign outrage.”

  “I am not dissembling,” Maia said, stepping forward. “I am not what you think, but I can understand why it must look that way to you. You also already know that the Dochte Mandar are hunting me and seek to murder me, but—”

  He waved his hand. “I will not let them harm you,” he interrupted. “Of course they seek your death. Let me shield you from them. They fear you because they know you are more powerful. More powerful than them. And more powerful than the mastons.”

  She shook her head. “I am not what you think I am.” The thought was repulsive.

  “Well, there is a very simple test to prove your innocence,” Collier said languidly. “Open your bodice.”

  Maia flushed with shame and rage. “I bear the kystrel’s taint.”

  “Of course you do. Let me see your shoulders. Long ago the hetaera would cover the marks on their bosoms with paints or tattoos, but nothing could cover the brand. It was always the left shoulder, I believe, though I do not know if it makes a difference. How about we start there?” He smiled mischievously.

  Maia felt heat and awkwardness battle inside of her. She was not a hetaera! But she was also not about to disrobe in front of this man to satisfy his vulgar curiosities.

  “No,” Maia said, shaking her head.

  He sighed and then sat on a camp chair, the kystrel still dangling from his fingers. He rubbed his eyes. “I should have seized you in Roc-Adamour,” he grumbled. “I nearly did, but I enjoyed the hunt too much. And dancing the Volta with you . . . I meant what I said. It is a memory I will cherish forever. The look on your face!” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “This is not about treachery and murder, Maia. I wish to speak plainly, for I see you as my equal.”

  “Your equal?” Maia interrupted, holding up her wrists and showing him her bonds.

  He waved her implication aside. “In rank and station,” he said. “We were plight trothed when we were infants! Did you not, for many years, consider yourself to be training for the day when you would be Queen of Dahomey? You speak the language remarkably well. You are a little shy about our customs, but truly you are a charming girl. You are beautiful, which I had not fully appreciated until we met. You are caught in a spider’s web, spun up in silk, and your blood is being sipped by creatures in your father’s court. I have known this, Lady Maia. My spies are well paid. I desire t
o invade your father’s kingdom, but not just to accumulate power. I have pitied you many years.”

  “So now I am the wretched and not you?” she replied evenly. “My father did not send me here for the purpose you suggest.”

  “Then why did he send you? I will humor you for a moment by listening to your lies.”

  She wanted to box him on the side of his head. It took all of her self-control to salvage her dignity and pride and stare him down. “When my father expelled the Dochte Mandar from the realm, we were immediately afflicted by the Myriad Ones.”

  “Naturally,” he said with a shrug. “Why do you think I keep two Leerings posted at the entrance to my tent? You can hardly sleep in a rough camp like this one without drawing thousands of them. Why do you think we scavenge the broken abbeys for them?”

  She gave him an angry stare.

  “I interrupted you. Forgive me.” He fell quiet, though he seemed to be chafing with impatience. He swung the kystrel back and forth, back and forth.

  “As soon as the Dochte Mandar left, the Myriad Ones invaded our realm. We have mastons, but they were not strong enough—or plentiful enough—to withstand the tide. Our kingdom is fracturing from within.”

  He looked about to say something, but he clenched his jaw tight and did not.

  “I was sent by my father to seek the lost abbey to learn from the rites of the dark pool how we could overcome the dangers we face and keep the kingdom united. I visited the hetaera’s Leering. It was hidden away behind a stone door. There were dead Dochte Mandar all around it. Skeletons. None of them were allowed to leave.”