by Jeff Wheeler
“Is that wise?” Suzenne asked, keeping up with her. “If there is another kishion, he may also try to kill you. You would be safer here at Muirwood.”
“I will not abandon my people,” Maia said firmly, “but it is vital that I have no set routine. Have my chambers emptied. I do not want any of my ladies-in-waiting to be at risk. Remember when they marched us all over the palace the night before our execution? That is what we must do. If we do not stay in one place for long, then it will help safeguard us while Richard investigates the murder. A new kishion will not know Comoros. I will tell Justin to have the city watch on the lookout for him. Asking questions. Hurry, Suzenne, there is much to do.”
The caretakers of Claredon Abbey were used to Maia’s sudden arrivals, and there was usually an escort waiting for her to bring her back to the palace through the gate it shared with the abbey.
She went straight to the chancellor’s tower and found Richard in deep conversation with the lord mayor, Justin. The two men had formed a strong partnership over the past month, much to Maia’s satisfaction.
“Ah, my lady,” Justin said, bowing gracefully. “Ill news, I fear.”
Richard nodded somberly. “I just received the coroner’s initial report if you would like to hear it.”
“Thank you,” Maia said with a curt nod, and took her place at the window seat where she had often sat as a child. Suzenne had gone to warn her ladies-in-waiting about the plan to move and change locations frequently. Sorrow burdened her now that she had the opportunity to absorb the news. She had valued Simon’s frankness and had come to rely on him for quick information from Dahomey.
“Simon’s body has been moved to the castle,” Richard began, leaning back in his chair a little, locking his fingers and resting his hands on his stomach. “The murder was similar to the other suspicious deaths we have seen, including Crabwell’s. The position of the knife wound on the spine was almost identical. He was rendered helpless first, but would have survived for hours with only that injury. The neck wound was done deliberately so that he would die quickly. He bled to death, my lady. They are still cleaning up the mess.”
Maia shuddered, feeling her stomach twist. “Were there any witnesses?”
Richard shook his head. “Just the ones who found the body this morning. Nothing unusual happened during the night. There were no signs of force . . . no broken latches or windows. The door was unlocked. It seems Simon greeted the man and allowed him in. There were no signs of a struggle.” He stared into her eyes before continuing. “Do you think . . . was it the kishion who saved you?”
“I do not think he is the culprit,” Maia said. “Why would he do such a thing without cause?”
“He had plenty of cause,” Justin said, moving toward her. He did not look the least bit squeamish. He had dealt with plenty of murders as lord mayor of Comoros, and it had hardened him. “Simon was helping us hunt him down, per your orders. Maybe one of Simon’s men got too close?”
“True,” Maia said, nodding thoughtfully. “But there is also the fact that the Hautlander ship arrived yesterday. A man could easily have slipped into the waters in the dark. All our attention was on the ship and its passengers. One of them could have been another kishion. It makes sense that they would send one to stop him if he no longer follows their orders.”
Richard furrowed his brow. “I do not think my counterpart in Hautland would have permitted it. Such an action would have put him open to retaliation.”
“Precisely what Corriveaux may have intended,” Maia said. “I have a dreadful feeling that this Hautland commission is nothing more than a distraction to us. Treaties take time, anyway. Perhaps Corriveaux seeks to lull us into inaction with the futile hope of preventing an invasion.” She shook her head firmly. “The Naestors are coming. I have no doubt of that.”
“Will you still meet with Prince Oderick?” Richard asked.
“I must. If only to disabuse him of the idea that I will marry him. I gave this much thought last night while I paced. My mind is unchanged—I will not abandon my true husband. Yes, the Dochte Mandar may have invalidated the marriage, but that can and will be rectified. Do we know how Simon sent messages to Dahomey?”
Richard looked to Justin and both shrugged. “We are not certain,” the chancellor said.
“Find out. But send a royal message to King Gideon at once to inform him of Simon’s death. I am sure Simon’s people have already done that, but I want one sent with my extreme condolences as well. I wish he were here. I feel certain the attack is coming soon.”
Richard nodded in agreement. “I feel it as well. Like clouds in the distance threatening a storm.”
“This is unlike any storm we have dealt with before,” Maia said. Then she rose from the window seat. “I will speak with Prince Oderick immediately. Much better for me to rebuff him quickly and firmly. I do not wish to be alone with him. Richard, can you arrange a visit in the solar? I would like Captain Carew and you to be present. Also the chancellor of Hautland. This is to be done in the open. If things become . . . awkward . . . I will end the conversation quickly.”
“We will make the preparations right away,” came his answer. His approving smile gave her some vastly needed comfort.
Maia was restless by the time the meeting had finally assembled. How she longed for this embarrassing meeting to be behind both of them. She was careful to select a plain gown—one that was no more formal than what her ladies-in-waiting wore. It had taken several hours to communicate the breadth of the situation to the Hautlanders and they, of course, had tried to bargain and wheedle for more time with her instead of a curt interview.
Instead of the solar, it was agreed that the prince and Maia would walk together in the royal garden, accompanied by their chancellors and full retinue. It was all quite exasperating, even down to the points of who would arrive first and how the greeting would take place. Ceremony was important to Hautlanders, it turned out, and the notion of an informal event made them uncomfortable. Among other demands, they had insisted trumpets play a fanfare before the meeting took place.
The day was warm and pleasant, and several pavilions for shade had been strewn around the lawns, between the fountains and manicured hedges. There were short tables laden with fruits, various cheeses, and other fare the cooks had devised to appeal to their guests. Maia was more nervous than hungry, and felt she would be ready for a feast when this ruse was over and she could finally relax again.
As she and Richard left the palace and approached the meeting point together, arm in arm, to the accompaniment of the trumpets, she caught sight of the Hautland delegation, dressed in opulent finery that made her own humble costume seem like a pauper’s rags. The prince was a little shorter than her, with a wide black felt hat with several plumed feathers. He had a restless, eager look, as if he could hardly bear to wait for her to make her approach. He broke decorum by pointing her out to the white-haired man beside him, whom she assumed was the chancellor. The prince was wearing a ribbed green vest, a shirt with puffy sleeves, and a cape that glittered with small gems. A jeweled sword was belted at his waist, and his collar was thick with insignia and necklaces. He was well groomed, well proportioned, and had a confident if not slightly arrogant stance.
He also made no pretense of hiding his adoration for her. His smile seemed to quiver with pent-up emotion as she and Richard came nearer. His hands trembled, and he began to fidget excitedly. Even though he was at least a decade older than her, he actually looked like a young man in the throes of love for the first time.
“Why am I doing this?” Maia muttered with despair, quiet enough for only Richard to hear. He just squeezed her arm and kept leading her forward.
“Chancellor Vorstad,” Richard said with a polite nod once they stood in front of the Hautland delegation.
“Chancellor Syon,” the white-haired man said, his speech heavily accented but properly enunciated. “Your Majesty, let me introduce you to Prince Oderick, heir to the throne of Hautland! H
e is most gratified to meet you.”
Oderick’s eyes were wild with enthusiasm as he came forward and took her hand and then bowed deeply, bending at the waist. His touch was surprisingly light. She had worried that in his enthusiasm he would crush her hand in his.
“Thank you for coming,” Maia said.
“Your Majesty, it vis my graat priwilege,” Oderick said in a heavily accented tongue that was not as precise as his chancellor’s. He straightened, bowed again, and straightened once more. He offered her his arm and gestured that they should take a walk in the garden, as had been arranged.
Maia sighed and took his arm, feeling awkward and uncomfortable. She wished again, hopelessly, that Collier were there to rescue her from this situation.
“I hef attempted, dear lady, to conform my tongue to your langwage,” he said with an attempt at gallantry. “I hef failt miserably. But I am persistent. Qvite persistent. You speak my tongue werry vell.”
“I do not speak your tongue at all,” Maia said. It was necessary for her to end this farce.
He looked at her oddly. “Ah, yes. Vell . . . I have hurt you.”
“You have hurt me?” Maia asked, confused.
“Hurt? Oh, my pardon. Heard. Speaking your langwage . . . I have only started to learn it since ve met. You remember? When we met?”
Maia stopped and put her other hand on his arm. “I do, Prince Oderick. But I must confess something to you. You are mistaken about me.”
He frowned slightly as he met her eyes. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. I . . .” he swallowed nervously, “I . . . believe . . . I truly believe you verr a . . . a hetaera. Not so now.” He looked at her seriously, with a look of affection and great earnestness. “Hmmm? You have no kystrel?”
Maia stared at him in surprise. “No,” she answered, feeling strangely guilty and relieved. “I do not have a kystrel. Though I bear the marks of the hetaera, I am not one.” She looked at him pointedly. “This was not the case . . . when we first met.”
“Yah!” he said, his eyes glittering with enthusiasm. He gestured toward a bench in the park, and they sat down next to each other. She was aware of the eyes of all the bystanders watching them. They were not close enough to overhear what was said between her and the prince, but they could witness everything. She was grateful for that.
“So you knew?” Maia asked, looking at him worriedly.
“Yah,” he replied, nodding vigorously. “You said . . . I save you. You said . . . take to Rostick. I did. I knew . . . vhat you verr. But you took me . . .” He clustered his fingers together and then tapped his own chest. “Here. You took my hurt. My heart. So difficult. I will keep trying. When you fell sleeping . . . I saw no kystrel. Medium said . . . help you. Get help. I vent to find Aldermaston of Rostick. You verr gone when ve returned. Rope of sheets . . . hanging from vindow. Ve searched for you. Vanted to help you.” His pronunciation deteriorated as he tried eagerly to get out the long-withheld words.
Maia felt a prick of tenderness in her heart at his story. She had wondered why she had awoken in a locked bedroom rather than a prison cell. She had no memory of that night or of what she had said to Prince Oderick. His face was familiar to her, but it was as if she had seen it only through a sleepy fog.
“Help you,” Prince Oderick continued, taking her hands with his. “The Victus . . . they threaten my people as vell. Cannot fight them . . . alone. They gather ships . . . many ships. An armada to destroy Comoros. They wish to bring the Void.” He shook his head firmly. “Fight them together. You and I.” He began bobbing his head excitedly. “Maston and maston. Queen and prince. You and I!”
He looked at her imploringly, and Maia felt her heart throb with sympathy. She pulled her hands away from his. “No,” she answered, shaking her head. “No, I cannot.”
He stared at her seriously, as if deciphering her words. “Dahomey,” he said. “You love . . . Gideon of Dahomey.” He stifled a chuckle. “Handsome. Proud.” He shook his head with determination. “Not for you. Many vimen. Many, many vimen.”
“Women?” Maia asked.
“Yah. Wimen. Not for you. Not maston. Puny kingdom. Not like Hautland. Ve crush Dahomey like . . . fig. Comoros strong. Hautland strong. Good match.” His attempt to persuade her made his words more choppy and curt. He snapped his fingers a few times. “Dochte Mandar annulled marriage. Not your husband. You are free.”
Maia felt the pain of the moment keenly and knew she needed to end their conversation at once. “But my heart is not free,” she answered and started to rise.
“No, no, no!” he implored, seizing her hands and pulling her down again. “Ach, dizeng!” he muttered under his breath. “More thing! More thing.” He begged her with his eyes to stay. “I study tomes. Tomes . . . yah?”
Maia looked at him in confusion. “The maston tomes?”
“Yah!” he said, bobbing his head. He moved closer to her. “Zurit. Ach, no . . . pardon. Kiss. Maston tome say kiss of hetaera . . . umm . . . poison. Yah?”
“Yes,” she said, nodding in agreement. “What do you mean? You have a tome that speaks of it?”
Prince Oderick nodded vigorously. “Yah! Tome says there is cure.”
Maia stared at him in disbelief. “No, there is no cure,” she said, shaking her head.
“No, no! Tome says cure! Hetaera forsakes kystrel. Cure. You give up kystrel. Cure.”
A wrenching feeling twisted Maia’s heart within her chest. “No,” she said, shaking her head. How could she explain to him that she had spoken to Lia Demont herself, the woman who had put the curse on the hetaera’s Leering . . . and bound it by irrevocare sigil. The curse would last forever. “The tome is wrong,” Maia said, shaking her head. She looked over at Richard and gave him a miserable look, silently begging him to rescue her. He nodded and started to walk over to them.
“Not wrong!” Prince Oderick said vehemently. “Show you.”
Maia turned to look at him when his face suddenly collided with hers. He had released her hands, and he seized her neck as he pressed his lips to hers. She recoiled with utter horror and tried to shove him away, but his grip was strong.
She did not return the kiss.
It did not matter. The brand on her shoulder began to burn with fire, and she felt a tingling feeling pass from her lips into him as a Leering far distant was invoked.
Maia finally wrenched away from him and shoved him hard with her hands. “No!” she shouted, wiping his spittle from her mouth. He stared at her in confusion, a look of growing dread haunting his eyes as he touched his lips.
It was as if the kiss had burned him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Captured
Maia stood from the bench, her eyes wild with accusation and horror. She wiped her mouth repeatedly, trying to understand what madness had driven him to kiss her. Richard Syon rushed to her side.
“He kissed me,” Maia said shakily as she took a step back, watching the bewilderment in Prince Oderick’s face. He seemed to be realizing that what he had done would have terrible consequences.
“I saw it,” Richard said. He stared down the younger man. “Prince Oderick, what possessed you to take such a liberty with any woman, let alone the Queen of Comoros?”
Prince Oderick’s face was flushed, his eyes worried. He gestured for the Hautland chancellor to join him. “I vas told . . . by Aldermaston Breinholt . . . I saw his tome!” He gave Richard a look of desperation. “He vould lie to me? Sprechen gaffin!” When Chancellor Vorstad arrived, the prince spluttered a series of coarse words at the older man and jabbed his finger at Maia.
Maia’s stomach shriveled into a prune. She felt sick at heart. Both her grandmother and Lia had warned her never to kiss anyone. Oderick had completely startled her with his action. She had not expected it, and while there had been nothing she could do to stop him, she regretted it immensely.
The Hautland chancellor gave the prince a worried look and then turned to face Richard. “I myself spoke with the Aldermaston of Viegg Ab
bey not four days ago,” he said. “He showed us the tome that said the hetaera’s curse would lift if the kystrel was forsaken. The High Seer herself assured me that the queen had forsaken it!”
Maia stared hard at the man. “The High Seer is my grandmother,” she said, her voice trembling. “She would never have said it was safe for him to kiss me, Chancellor. Watch your words with care, sir. What precisely did the High Seer say?”
The man looked truly concerned and baffled. “I saw her in person, my lady. She came to Hautland to open the Apse Veil and arrived in Viegg . . . the oldest abbey in the realm. I counseled with her regarding your status, because the prince believed you were a hetaera and wanted to rescue you. The High Seer told me you had been deceived by the Victus, that you did not choose to bear the brand on your shoulder. Is this not true?”
“That part is true,” Maia said, nodding gravely. “What else did she say?” Maia glanced at Richard, whose face was twisted with concern.
The chancellor coughed and put his hand on the prince’s shoulder, almost as if to steady himself. “She said that you were married to King Gideon of Dahomey by the rites of the Dochte Mandar. After I informed her of the marriage’s invalidation, she told me she needed to depart immediately. The Aldermaston of Viegg offered to escort her back through the abbey himself. They went with some of his servants, as I recall. When he returned, he said she had crossed the Apse Veil to Mon. He then told me that the High Seer had mentioned a passage in the Aldermaston tomes . . . the tomes we are not allowed to read. He showed us the page . . . I saw the words myself, my lady. It said if a hetaera surrenders her kystrel, the Medium will not suffer her kiss to cause harm. The prince wanted to prove this to you. Upon my honor, my lady, this information was given to us by an Aldermaston.”
