The Banished of Muirwood

by Jeff Wheeler

  “What a grave expression,” he said shrewdly.

  “I suppose it is,” she replied. “I was not expecting to see you in Rostick.”

  “Are you grieved to see me in Rostick?” he asked teasingly.

  Rather than answer the question, she said, “You took a great risk coming here. If the Hautlanders knew . . .”

  He nodded. “Exactly. If they knew who either of us were. Hmmm. The ransom they would charge would cripple my kingdom. And I think even your father would ransom you.” He reached up and rubbed her chin with his thumb. “But if he did not, I would.”

  “You enjoy taking such risks,” she said. “I should think you would be more cautious.”

  “Life is risk,” he answered. “I thrill at the opportunity. Yes, that fencing master could have killed me. He took the same risk as I did, and he lost the use of his sword arm. Maybe permanently.”

  “Why did you not spare him the wound?” Maia asked, smoothing ripples in the salve she had applied to the scar.

  “You never spare a Paeizian the honor of sporting a vicious wound!” he said with a bark of laughter. “First of all, I was held hostage in Paeiz, so I have some natural resentment. But fencing masters are also arrogant and proud. If you best one, they will come at you again and again, trying to win back their lost honor. Give one a decent scar, and it becomes a badge of honor. Truly, it is maddening business, their sense of revenge. I have always been very capable with a sword. It comes naturally to me. When I was twelve, I defeated my first master. I was considered too young to be a target for a blood feud, but that changed when I was fourteen. They consider you man enough to die at that age.”

  She looked down at her handiwork and then wiped her blue fingers off on a rag. “Let me bind this.” She fetched a linen wrap and he sat up and shrugged off the rest of the shirt. She tried not to look at him, for each time she saw the kystrel, it made her stomach wrench and her mind darken. She wound the wrap around his chest and tied it off with small knots.

  “Thank you,” he said as he lifted himself off the bed and walked over to a chest in the far corner, hidebound and tacked. He withdrew a small key from his pants pocket and fit it into the lock.

  “You locked your chest?” she asked curiously.

  “For good reason. I do not want anyone stealing my clothes,” he said, opening the chest and rummaging until he found a padded shirt and a fine embroidered doublet. “Or yours.” He pulled on the padded shirt and fastened the doublet over it, then tossed the ruined shirt in the corner and swept back his dark hair, shaking loose some water droplets. Once he was dressed, he reached into the chest and withdrew a deep voluminous gown made of cloth of gold. The fabric almost glowed in his hands.

  “I see by your eyes that you like it,” he said slyly. He unfolded the gown and let it drape out so she could appreciate the full effect. There was a subtle pattern of lilies, the Dahomeyjan royal flower, in the design. The fabric was immensely expensive and luxurious and Maia’s heart hungered for it. She had worn gowns like that once, but not in many years. The sleeves, which were pinned to the upper arm, were long and full and trimmed with a wine-colored fabric and inset with pearls.

  “Beautiful,” Maia said, blinking. “It is not really suitable for traveling.”

  “Of course not,” he said. “But I would like to see you wear it for the voyage at least. It is the gown of a queen.”

  She bit her lip. “I . . . while I appreciate the gesture—”

  “You cannot refuse me, Maia. Your gown is soaked! You need something to wear while it dries. You must wear this. You are my queen.” His voice fell to a whisper, almost haunted. “You are a great queen.”

  Maia stared down at the fabric, her cheeks growing hot. She wanted to wear it. She wanted to feel it against her skin. She sighed. “Will you give me some privacy to change?”

  He looked a little disappointed. “If you prefer it that way. Let me check with the captain. I will not be gone long.”

  He held out the gown and she accepted it, then watched as he unlatched the door and slipped away. Maia stared down at the soft folds of fabric. A gown like this must have cost at least several thousand marks. It truly was a gown fit for a queen. Her stomach churned with conflicting emotions. There was a deep ache inside of her that she did not fully understand. In her own country, she was considered a bastard, even though her parents had been married in an abbey by irrevocare sigil.

  But Collier knew who she was, and he treated her as befit her status. They had been plight trothed together when they were children. And she had agreed, albeit unwillingly, to marry him. In the eyes of the world, they were husband and wife. But in Maia’s eyes, and in her heart, they were not.

  As a girl, she had always dreamed of marrying a maston. She knew it was her duty to prolong the chain of mastons that had existed for centuries. Collier was charming. He was undeniably handsome. She liked being in his presence, and he had come to her rescue more than once. He treated her like an equal in station. Yet he did not share her beliefs. He considered her a pawn in his game to become the emperor of all the kingdoms. She set the beautiful dress down on the bed and covered her mouth, struggling with herself.

  She needed to tell Collier the full truth.

  A shiver of despair and fear pulsed through her. How long had she been away from her mind the last time the Myriad One took over? She had no idea. Had it been days? Even longer? No matter what it took, she needed to root out the evil being inside her and banish it forever. She had to reclaim her tainted mind.

  Maia took a deep breath. She would tell him. She would confess her secret. Maybe he would reject her and refuse to offer his continued help. She had to accept that possibility. Her heart burned with fear and worry.

  Fighting the feelings, she reached back and began unfastening the buttons of her sodden bodice.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Betrayal

  The door hinges squeaked and a rush of salty air entered the captain’s quarters. The boat swayed as it glided along the water. Maia was perched on the small stool by the captain’s desk, fidgeting with one of the cuffs of the gown, wishing she had a mirror to examine herself. She turned her head and saw Collier securing the door behind him. Her stomach twisted cruelly. She was so nervous, her hands trembled.

  “We passed the gatehouse without . . . problem,” he announced and then stumbled a bit. He stared at her. “The gown . . . it enhances your beauty. I clearly have good taste.” He smiled at her and approached. “We will feel the boat jostle when we reach the sea, but it should not be enough to alarm you.”

  “I thought they might try to stop us,” Maia said, only partially relieved.

  “The armada is positioned to prevent attack on Rostick, not to block ships from leaving. In situations like this, it has been my experience that word travels slowly and messages can be confused. Blocking a major seaport like this would be difficult. With all the ships bringing cargo, it is a bit of a jumble.”

  Maia nodded and turned the stool to face him, resting her jittery hands in her lap. “We need to talk, Collier.”

  “Such a grave look,” he said, a smile quirking his mouth. “On such a pretty face. I like how the gold contrasts with your hair.” He gestured toward her, but then folded his arms and shook his head, a thoughtful expression on his face. “But it does not match your eyes. I have something that might.”

  Looking eager, he stooped over the chest again and rummaged through the contents. She waited patiently, squirming inside.

  “Ah, here we are,” he said, fishing out a leather-bound box with gold fasteners. He brought the box to the table and set it beside her. Flipping open the little hasps, he opened it. On a bed of black velvet lay an array of butter-gold jewelry embedded with clear turquoise gemstones. The workmanship of each piece was exquisite, with delicate weavings of metal and stone. There were two necklaces, several sets of earrings, as well
as bracelets, rings, and even filigreed hairpins bedecked with dazzling gems. She stared at the treasures, understanding how much they must have cost.

  “When did you purchase these?” she asked, dazed.

  “They were commissioned as wedding presents,” he said. “I had heard your eyes were a mixture of blue and green. The stones don’t do them justice, but they were chosen for their unique color. I think they came from Avinion. Quite expensive, but a queen must have her jewels.”

  Maia stared down at her hands, feeling guilty. This was evidence that his interest in her was premeditated and not limited to his suspicion that she was a hetaera. “Collier—”

  “No, not yet. Let me see them on you first. I would have had a bath drawn for you, considering we just plunged into a murky river, but we cannot have such luxuries aboard. Your hair is still damp. Let me comb it for you.”

  “I can manage that,” Maia said, flushing. “I saw a comb on the table . . .”

  “It is right there. Here, allow me.” He raced her to it and snatched it from the table. The comb had a decorative carving along the spine. There were wider bristles on one side and narrower ones on the other.

  “I can do that myself, if you give me a moment.”

  “But how many moments have already been stolen from us?” he asked in a conspiring voice, putting his hand on her shoulder and nudging her to turn back toward the table. “I have often thought on that, Maia. Imagine if your father had not broken off our plight troth.” The teeth of the comb slid into her dark hair. He started low, at the tips, and gently began teasing the comb through some of the knots. He was very gentle and, she discovered, quite confident. She could tell he knew what he was doing as his fingers began separating and smoothing locks of hair. “We may have been wed two or three years ago. Formally, that is. When I consider those stolen years we might have known each other, I begrudge your father for stealing them from me.”

  There was a little tug at her scalp when the comb encountered a thicker tangle, and he muttered an apology and worked it loose. Slowly, he began to move higher up her hair. Her cheeks were warm and she was grateful he was behind her and could not see her blush.

  She said, “I believe your father promised you to someone else as well. We were quite young when the deal was abandoned . . . I was seven . . . eight years old? You were younger. And you are quite skilled with a comb. How is that?”

  “I have older sisters, of course,” he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. “Older sisters teach you many important lessons about dealing with other women. I could tell you stories about them. However, you distract me from my confessions. My sisters both married well. As Family, we are all pawns in a game of power. What if the Dochte Mandar are the true religion after all, Maia?” He combed more vigorously now that the majority of tangles were gone. He smoothed his hand over her scalp and she felt tingles of heat in her stomach and the threat of a shiver. She tried to focus on his words and not his touch. “How familiar are you with the teachings? You were a favorite of one of them, if I recall. A chancellor?”

  “Chancellor Walraven,” Maia answered. “But he never tried to persuade me of their teachings.”

  “No, they tend not to be preachy. Unlike mastons,” he added with a barb in his voice. “The Dochte Mandar believe that souls are born and then reborn. Sometimes they point to the mastons’ words about this second life as an example of their philosophy. That one can die, depart, and then come back again in another life, hundreds of years later.”

  “Yes, I have heard of that,” Maia said. “But it is not true.”

  “How are we to know what is true and what not?” he said dismissively. “Have you not sometimes felt that you have been somewhere before? When I came to Rostick, it seemed . . . familiar to me. And sometimes when I travel to foreign lands and come upon an ancient Leering, it feels as if I should know it. Does that ever happen to you?”

  Maia thought about it and said, “Yes, but I always supposed it to be the Medium. I have often . . . heard little whispers in my mind. Guiding me.”

  “Hmmm,” he said, smoothing her hair with his hand. He seemed to be enjoying himself. “It may well be. As I told you before, I took the maston test, but I never took the oaths. I learned some of the teachings that are not shared outside the abbeys. It is all rather confusing. I tend to go with my heart and follow where it leads me.”

  Maia looked over her shoulder at him. “Our hearts can be deceived, though. We should not make decisions solely based on feelings.”

  “Of course not!” he agreed. “But feelings are a delicious spice. I am enjoying mine very much at the moment. There is a lot of pleasure to be had in looking at a beautiful woman. Maia, you are beautiful. Yet timid too . . . almost as if you are not aware of it or you pretend not to be. Modesty personified,” he said it playfully as he set the comb down on the table and placed his hands on her shoulders. “We cannot trust our feelings always, can we? I am more than half tempted to kiss you, which would be utterly foolish. While I may not believe in all the sorcerous ways of the Medium, my head does warn me that kissing you would be very dangerous. I am not sure it would kill me with some horrid disease. But you just might destroy my heart.”

  He let go of her shoulders and his tone became more brisk. “Now for the jewels. Lift up your hair.”

  Maia bit her lip, trying to understand the seasick feeling rising inside her. The boat was starting to rock a bit more. But any queasiness caused by that was eclipsed by the burning in her heart and the twisting of her stomach. Why was her mouth so dry?

  With gentle hands, he lifted the jeweled necklace and draped it around her neck. “The clasps are so tiny,” he said with a wince. “I think they were meant for smaller fingers, but I will do my best.” His fingers grazed the skin of her neck and she felt gooseflesh tingle across her back. It was a sweet agony. “There we are. It was difficult, but I rose to the challenge. The earrings next. Which do you prefer from the set?”

  “Those,” Maia whispered hoarsely, pointing with a trembling hand.

  “I like them as well,” he said, reaching for the dangling ones. “If I kneel, it will help me see better. It is rather dark in here.” She could feel his breath brush against her cheek as he knelt next to her. She prepared herself for his touch again and tried not to flinch when his finger traced the shape of her earlobe. “I think they go like so,” he said carefully, but she could see him now, could see the earnestness in his face. His hands were trembling too. His voice was confident and proud, but she could see an unsettled look in his eyes—almost worry.

  The pin of the earring poked her and she flinched.

  “Forgive me,” he muttered darkly, trying again. “I see the scar, but it is closed.”

  Maia nodded. “Let me.” She took the earring from him and quickly brought it to the right spot. It took a little force to push the pin through. Since her father had reclaimed all of her jewels, she had not worn earrings in a long while. There was a pinch of pain as she fastened it shut. Then she quickly did the other one, gritting her teeth against the prick, and they were done.

  His face was still level with hers. He was such a handsome man, his hair even darker than hers, his shoulders full and strong. She remembered how ruthlessly and bravely he had faced off against the men who had accosted her on the docks. He had stood up to Corriveaux for her. He wanted to dethrone her father because of her. So different from her father, who betrayed her at every turn.

  “I could almost kiss you,” he whispered. “Why am I so tempted?” He chuckled to himself and stood, shaking his head as if to clear it.

  She had seen the look in his eyes—the struggle. As she swallowed, she realized that she had been tempted as well. There was something very powerful in a kiss, she realized. It was a mark of intimacy. It was a claiming and a surrendering. And she realized darkly that with the brand on her shoulder, it was a boon she could never give. To any
one. Not even her own children.

  “One more thing,” he murmured softly. He returned again to the crate and withdrew another box made of sandalwood. It had a rich smell. It was about the size of a plate, tall enough for him to use both hands. When he opened it, her heart thrilled at the sight of the gold coronet inside. Delicately, he set down the box and settled the coronet on her head, pressing it gently until it stayed.

  “Now you look like a queen.”

  He knelt down in front of her, as if he were a knight paying homage, and grasped her hands in his. “You wished to tell me something, Maia. But before you do, I must tell you something first.”

  Her heart hammered violently in her chest. “What is it?” Her throat was so tight it hurt.

  “I must confess something. You are not at all as I imagined you would be. I have . . . how can I say this without it sounding strange? You have probably realized this by now, but I have thought of you for many years. We were destined to be together, you and I.” He swallowed. “First, we were trothed as infants to bring unity to our two kingdoms—Comoros and Dahomey. My real name, as you know, is Gideon, which I abhor and always have. Who wishes to be named after an ancient Aldermaston? You must call me Collier. Always. Promise me.”

  “I will,” Maia said, smiling shyly.

  “Thank you. Not in front of the nobles of the court, of course. You can address me with any endearment that suits you in that case. Second, when I was hostage to the Paeizians, I had a lot of time to think. Often I thought of you. I secretly hoped that your father would . . . well, that he would intervene. That he would help pay the ransom for me. It was a foolish hope, I know. I am ashamed to admit it. I hoped you would rescue me.” His mouth contorted into a sad smile. “I was disappointed. Heartbroken, actually. But my father finally paid the ransom and my brother and I were freed. Maia, there is nothing more important to me. My new name, Feint Collier, means freedom to me. Please keep the secret.”