by Jeff Wheeler
Collier leaned forward, listening intently.
“I learned that the answers I seek—the solution for saving my people—can be found in Naess. There are records that were taken there, and only the High Seer—a woman—can show me where they are. That is where my fate binds me. I must go to Naess.”
“You thought I was mad,” he muttered under his breath. “You . . . are going there, my pretty dove?”
“I must,” she said softly. “I will likely not survive the journey. But I must try. My people are murdering each other.”
He leaned back in the chair, the leather creaking as he shifted. He sniffed once and then shook his head in disbelief. “You are very good, Maia,” he said at last. “Your sincerity rings so true, I almost believe you. You are Gifted with lying. Well done.”
She bristled with fury. “I speak the truth!”
“What is truth?” he countered flippantly. “I think your father sent you to the lost abbey to brand you a hetaera. If he can prove you are one, he will be able to claim your mother is as well. Then even the mastons will sanction his divorce, giving him what he has desired all along. A corrupt kingdom where he can practice his depredations without interference.”
“Is that not what you desire?” she said angrily. It made her blister with fury to consider her father may have sent her to Dahomey for an entirely selfish purpose. But no matter what his motives were, she had to do this thing. She had to save her people.
Collier looked amused and batted away her comment as if it were a tiresome fly. “The Dochte Mandar. The mastons. They are all the same in my mind. I know a group of heretics in the hinterlands who believe that trees can speak in women’s voices. It is all a game of power, my dear. I excel at it. My ancestor managed to unite all the kingdoms under one ruler through the force of his will. I seek to do the same.”
“He ruled over a kingdom of bones,” Maia said with disgust. “I saw them south of here. He ruled an ossuary.”
Collier’s look darkened. “At least he ruled something,” he said softly. The chair creaked again as he rose. He started to pace. Then he turned to her. “Let me see your shoulder.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head.
“If you wish, we can be man and wife first,” he teased. “Despite your stubbornness and ill humor, I do wish to honor the plight troth. Let me be blunt, lass. I am imprisoning you until you relent.”
She screwed up her courage. “Until the Dochte Mandar find me.”
“I will move you from one manor to another. From one hideaway to the next. You are too precious for me to let you slip from my fingers again. Perhaps you go to Naess to destroy the seat of the Dochte Mandar yourself. Maybe you will kiss the High Seer and kill her with your lips.” He narrowed his eyes. “I am not sure I even believe the legend, myself. For you, I would almost risk it. But just in case the mastons have been telling the truth all along, I do not think I will.” He took a deliberate step toward her. “I would not stand in the way of your journey, if you are intent on making it, but you are to be mine.” His eyes narrowed with satisfaction. “I will make your father suffer for his ill treatment of you, Maia.”
There was a part of her that desired to relent. To throw down her pride, succumb to her shame, and abandon her duty. But to do so would mean marrying a man who believed her a hetaera—a man who was willing to destroy the world so long as he could rule it. And though she knew her father intended for her never to marry, she longed for it. Her heart’s wish was to be a maston, married by irrevocare sigil to another maston. She believed in the bond, though her father did not.
Still, her father was the one who had brought the kingdom to this precipice, and if he had truly sent her to the lost abbey with the hope that she would become a hetaera. . . . What a twisted dilemma she faced. But could she depose her own father? Could she commit treason? If only she knew her father’s true mind, his true intentions for her. She hardly knew her own heart.
“I do not wish my father harm,” she finally said.
“Done.”
She looked at him curiously.
“This is a marriage negotiation. Name your terms, Maia. A political match. Here are my terms. I will not love you. I will not consummate this marriage. I will vow it on the Medium or whatever oath you would have me take. Now name yours.”
“Release me,” she said, holding up her bonds.
“Done.” He drew the dirk again and slit the bonds. The ropes fell away, and she felt a jolt of relief. She rubbed her sore wrists, staring at Collier as she would a mountain lion.
“Your terms are too easy, my lady. I do not ask for a dowry in coins or land. Comoros itself will be sufficient. But though I will claim it on your behalf, you will be queen in your own right.”
“I am not going to marry you,” Maia said, shaking her head. “You will release me and help me on my quest.”
He stared at her for a moment, then shook his head. “No, I will only help you with your quest after we marry.” He held up the kystrel again, dangling it dangerously close to her.
“It is my understanding of the hetaera lore,” he said slyly, “that if a man wears her kystrel, he shares her power. They are bound together. Like . . . wedding bands, you might say. What would happen if I wore yours, I wonder? Would my eyes glow silver? Would your tattoo transfer to my flesh? It would give you more power, would it not?”
Maia’s mouth went dry. That was written in the tomes of the Dochte Mandar, a warning to any man who wore a kystrel, that the hetaera who had forged it must already be dead.
“Ah, by the look on your face, I see I have struck near the mark! What would happen to us both, Maia? We would be inseparable. Would I do your bidding, or would you do mine? Whose will is stronger?”
“Do not,” Maia warned as he lifted it higher.
“You are so subtle,” he said, flashing her a handsome grin. “You bid me to do the very opposite of that which you wish me to do. Oh, how I am enjoying this game! I almost put it on right away to force you, but it is so much more pleasurable to dance around the threat. Marry me willingly, and I will give it back to you. If you do not, I will wear it and infest you with my thoughts and ambitions . . . or perhaps it will be the other way around. Our minds will begin to entwine, will they not? This is delicious!” He stepped closer to her, his piercing blue eyes cutting into hers. “I do not fear you, Maia, but I may be rash and this may be foolish. Willingly marry me. That would be my preference.”
A voice came from beyond the tent flap. “My lord?”
He scowled with displeasure. “What is it?” he barked.
“The gallows are ready. The hunter’s dog is whining. Should we spear it, or do you wish to keep it in your kennels?”
He cocked his head at Maia. “Do you wish to keep Argus or not? It is your choice. I have plenty of dogs. Another wedding gift?”
“Do not hang those men,” Maia said desperately. Her stomach clenched with dread. In her surprise and panic, she had forgotten the threat to her companions.
“Hanging, beheading . . . makes little difference to me. The kishion deserves to dangle from a noose. Jon Tayt rejected my proposal and defied my invitation. He would not serve me for any amount of coin, which makes him useless to me. I will execute them both.”
Maia grabbed his wrist. “Do not harm them!”
His eyebrow crinkled with surprise. “They must die, Maia. I do not believe you are squeamish. This is another trick. You are so very good at deception. I applaud you, truly.”
She dug her fingers into his wrist. “They are my loyal servants. They obeyed me. If anyone is to be murdered tonight, it should be me.”
“That would defeat the purpose of my alliance,” he said, clucking his tongue. “Though plenty have been murdered since you entered my realm. The village on the top of the mountain. The guards on the north road. I deliberately told you to take the south road, did
I not? And yet you rushed into the teeth of my men in an act of defiance.”
“You know we were attacked by the Dochte Mandar in the village,” Maia said, feeling more desperate with each moment. “Corriveaux and the Dahomeyjan soldiers are to blame for that. Not I.”
“And the watch on the north road? Hmmm?”
Maia’s face turned hot. “Your captain ordered his men to kill my protectors and bring me to his tent!”
Collier’s eyebrows lifted. “Truly?”
She wanted to pound on his chest with her fists. “Everything I have told you this evening is the truth!”
“Then show me your shoulder and prove it.”
“I am a king’s daughter,” she murmured.
“I am a king’s son,” he replied.
She knew that if she showed him her shoulder, he would discover she was not a hetaera.
An idea came to her. She wished she had the kystrel to advise her, but she did not.
She looked into Collier’s eyes. They were so blue she could drown in them. She saw the little scar on his cheek and wondered how he had gotten it.
“You are so interesting,” he murmured softly, reaching out and brushing aside some of her hair. “Why do you resist what is clearly in both our interests? You are not like I thought you would be.”
“My lord?” reminded the voice from outside.
He paused, hand still touching her hair. He raised his eyebrows questioningly.
Her voice broke, almost unwillingly. “Release them. Set them free. Promise to let them go and not to harm them or injure them in any way. Pardon their treason in writing and with your seal.” She swallowed. “Then I will marry you.”
He stared at her, his eyes glimmering with delight. “Done.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Headsman’s Noose
She walked alongside Collier through the smoke-filled camp. He had changed from his rider’s tunic to an elegant doublet, black velvet and trimmed with gold sigils of the Dahomeyjan lily. He wore ceremonial chains around his neck and a signet ring on the little finger of his right hand. The same sword was belted to his waist, but his countenance and stride completely transformed him from his former persona. He had the bearing of a ruler as he walked through the camp with firm deliberation, stopping in front of an enormous tree with two long ropes dangling from it. Two stools stood by it, and kneeling before them were the kishion and Jon Tayt. Maia’s heart raced.
She heard Argus barking and saw a man wrestling with the boarhound, who had been fitted with a collar and a leather leash.
“Let them go,” Maia pleaded, wringing her hands.
Jon Tayt’s head whipped around, his eyes bulging with fear until he saw her. He smiled, though his expression looked more like a grimace. Then he looked at Collier, his eyes showing first confusion and then sudden understanding.
“Ach,” he muttered. “Now that is a surprise.”
Maia started to approach, but Collier grabbed her arm, preventing her. “Not too close,” he urged her. “Give the order.”
“Release them,” Maia said in a voice of command. “Set them free.”
The guards stared at her in surprise, then glanced at Collier for his orders.
“You heard my lady,” he said with a curt nod.
Jon Tayt’s eyes glowered. A dark look came over his face as several soldiers approached and loosened his bonds.
“Bring his dog,” Maia said, motioning to the soldier who still struggled with Argus.
As Jon Tayt struggled to his feet, the boarhound charged him and began licking him with a frenzy. The hunter whistled for Argus to heel and stared at Maia in shock. “By Cheshu, what have you done, lass?” he asked in Pry-rian.
Maia felt her heart aching, but she could not reveal her plan. Not in front of everyone. She answered in Pry-rian, “I release you from my service. May we meet again someday in Pry-Ree, in the mountains where men fear to tread.”
Collier gave her an angry look. “No more chat,” he said waspishly. “That is enough.”
“I released him from my service,” Maia replied, her expression equally dark. “He is Pry-rian, so I did it—”
“Yes, yes, be done with it. Take this letter,” he said, handing it to the hunter. “It bears my seal. You have a fortnight to quit the realm, Tayt. Return to Pry-Ree or Paeiz or wherever you choose. But if you set foot in my domain again, you will hang. As for you.” He turned his angry gaze to the kishion. “All my instincts tell me that you will be nothing but a problem for me later, and I should end your life tonight. I will not have you roaming my kingdom freely. Captain, take him to Calis and put him on a boat. I do not care where. Make sure he is not unbound until after you have deposited him on a ship and it has weighed anchor and left. If he attempts to flee, stab him in the ribs and spill his guts.” He clenched his teeth. “If you come near my lady again, I will kill you myself.”
The kishion’s eyes were hard and violent. He nodded once and said nothing, but his scarred cheek twitched.
“Send him away. Tayt—have some ale before you depart if you wish. But you must leave my camp before midnight. My lady wishes to spare you the noose, and so I obey her will.”
“Maia,” Jon Tayt said, his voice low and purposeful and full of warning.
“All is well, Jon Tayt,” she said, looking at him fiercely. “Do as I bid you this one last time.”
Argus seemed to sense something. He padded up to her and she lowered to caress his fur, getting a wet lick on her cheek for her efforts. It made her smile, and her throat closed with emotion. “Keep him safe,” she whispered to the boarhound.
Jon Tayt stood there, perplexed and obviously uncomfortable. “Well, Your Grace, thank you for not executing me, but I will not linger. Argus, come.”
The boarhound nuzzled Maia one last time and then trotted to catch up with Jon Tayt as he started to walk away. The hunter paused and turned, thought better of what he was about to say, and then disappeared into the smoke. The Myriad Ones mewled with frustration at having lost their kill for the evening.
Maia watched as the captain who had brought her to the tent arranged for the kishion’s banishment. His arms were still bound, his wrists tied behind his back, and she watched as he was helped onto a horse. His head hung low in defeat as someone took the reins for him, but she could see the defiance in his posture. He glanced back at her once, his eyes full of enmity. He then looked back and rode into the dark with the riders.
Maia felt a jolt of relief that she had managed to save both of her protectors, but she felt the loss of the kishion especially, since she was unlikely to see him again. They had been through so much together, and without him, she would have never survived this long. Better for him to be exiled than slain, but she would miss his companionship. Now she needed to buy some time and delay Collier’s plan. She hoped Jon Tayt was wise enough to realize that she had been telling him where to meet her again. The mountain pass guarded by the Fear Liath—the one they had planned to use for their escape. If she could get her kystrel back, she would leave for the pass immediately.
Maia and Collier returned to the pavilion, walking side by side. As they moved through the camp, she took note of details she had missed on her first whirlwind tour. The clank of pans and smell of sizzling meat filled the air. Fires crackled and the smoke shifted with the winds. She saw nobles dressed in finery mixing together, their garb more like their king’s. The common soldiers had stacked their breastplates and helmets near their fires, where the armor glimmered in the light. Stands of pikes stood at various positions throughout the camp.
Maia looked at the Leerings as she passed them, studying the design. They looked as if they had been taken from the ruins of an abbey, which cohered with what Collier had told her. The interior of the tent smelled soothing, and Maia suddenly realized she was starving. In their absence, trays of meat and vessels of melte
d cheese and broth had been arranged around one of the fur rugs.
“Are you hungry?” Collier asked her.
“Very,” she replied. With the haze over the camp, she could not make out the stars through the open roof.
He settled down on the rug and motioned for her to join him. It was by the brazier, so it was plenty warm. She knelt and smoothed the fabric of her skirt.
“What questions do you have for me?” he asked, skewering some meat and placing it in the broth. He did several, including some for her.
“You said you faced the maston test,” Maia said. “At what abbey? How old were you?”
“How old do you think I am now?” he asked, arching his eyebrows. “Do you remember?”
She nodded. “I was a little child when our parents arranged the marriage. You are two years younger than me,” she said. “I remember that.”
“I have always preferred the idea of marrying someone closer to my own age than a rich heiress who would only desire me for my youth and handsomeness.” He winked at her. “I took the maston test a year ago. I knew I would fail it and I wanted to be done with abbey life. My ancestor Dieyre was restless also. You know most of the history, do you not? Of my Family?”
She dipped bread into the bubbling cheese and savored it. “Dieyre sired a son through a wretched from Muirwood before the Scourging. That child was not a wretched, for the mother, a lavender named Reome, acknowledged the parentage. He was adopted into a Family, thus removing the taint of illegitimacy.”
Collier nodded. “Would you care for some wine or cider?”
“Water, if you please.”
“I will not poison you, Maia,” he said with a chuckle. “Or twist your thoughts with drink. As I said, I prefer a willing partner.”
“Water, please.”
He nodded and went to a table and poured some water from a pitcher into a fancy carved goblet. After delivering it to her, he served himself a glass of wine and sat back down on the rug.
