by Jeff Wheeler
Lady Shilton seized Maia’s wrist, her look desperate. “I have confessed all of this without torture. I deserve to perish and will gladly face the headsman’s axe. I implore you to spare my granddaughter. She was corrupted and twisted as a youth. She was never even given the chance to study at an abbey or become a maston. She has not been hardened by suffering as you have. Please spare her life, Your Highness. I beg of you!”
Maia felt the strain on her wrist from the old woman’s fingers. She glanced up at Richard and saw the displeasure rife in his face.
“There is a saying from Ovidius,” Maia said, wresting her hand away from Lady Shilton’s grip. “What is allowed us is disagreeable, what is denied us creates intense desire. You were a maston and you knew you sought a forbidden path.” Maia slowly rose from her chair. “Your daughter was executed because of what she learned from your example. And now your granddaughter seeks to destroy the kingdom—nay, the realm—because of her ambition.” Maia tried to feel compassion, but it had withered away. “What did Corriveaux promise, I wonder? That he would spare the kingdom if you succeeded in killing me?”
Lady Shilton’s tears trickled down her cheeks. She shook her head. “He will not spare Comoros,” she said, grieving. “Only the lives of my Family. Everyone else will be destroyed. Including you.”
“I am sorry for the choices you have made,” Maia said, folding her arms. “But you made them willingly. You knew exactly what you were doing. Richard, have her sent to the dungeon. Her servants must be questioned as well. If any knew and did not tell, they will share her fate.” Maia stared down at the woman, her enemy. The door opened and in walked Suzenne, her face gray with pallor. She looked on the verge of despair.
“Take her away,” Maia whispered.
“Your Majesty, I beg you!” Lady Shilton shrieked.
Maia shook her head. “You could have come to me sooner, Lady Shilton. You could have exposed this threat to my kingdom, and I would have pardoned you. An earlier confession would have saved you, and it would have saved your granddaughter.” She repressed a shudder. “Do you know what Corriveaux has done to my grandmother?”
Lady Shilton’s face crumbled. “They have brought her in chains to Naess. She will be executed.”
At that, Maia nodded to Richard to have the woman removed. Lady Shilton began choking down sobs as the guardsmen took her away.
From the expression on Suzenne’s face, Maia feared the worst. She closed the distance and hugged her friend fiercely, smoothing back her golden tresses and feeling her repressed sobs in the movement of her back.
“Billerbeck Abbey has burned,” Suzenne whispered in a quavering voice.
“No!” Maia groaned, shaking her head and feeling tears threaten her. So many years had been poured into rebuilding it. Now it was gone . . . like Cruix Abbey. And it was the signal that the armada would strike her realm. The flames would summon the fleet like vicious moths. She remembered her dream from the previous night. A dream about an abbey burning and the joy and delight felt while watching it.
And she knew in an instant that Murer had done it. Maia could feel the connection between them. She knew that if she delved into that buried part of herself, she would be linked to Murer’s mind. She could learn about her enemies, know their plans. But it would require her to sink back into that terrible abyss. It would allow her to be sucked into the Myriad Ones’ web.
Maia pulled away, cupping Suzenne’s cheek. She rubbed one of her friend’s tears away with her thumb. “What else did you learn?” she asked.
Jon Tayt rose from the bench and came forward, his expression intense and furious.
Stifling a sob, Suzenne folded her arms across her bosom. “I thought it was my fault, at first. That the Medium would not work for me because I was too anxious. I could not cross the Apse Veil myself. But the Aldermaston sent for his steward, and he could not cross it either. So both of us traveled to Muirwood, and it worked. They have also been unable to contact Billerbeck Abbey today. The nearest abbey to that location is Sempringfall. I crossed with several others and discovered they had just heard of the abbey’s destruction. A short while later, word arrived of the armada’s landing at Billerbeck. There are riders coming to warn you, Maia, but the Apse Veils were faster.” She wiped her eyes. “Forshee Hundred has been invaded. I have no word from my husband. I do not know if he is even alive. Or where he is right now.”
Suzenne’s face crumbled and she started weeping violently. Maia hugged her close, feeling her own heart breaking.
Maia sent for Jayn Sexton to help comfort Suzenne and take her to bed. Soon Jon Tayt and Maia were left alone in the solar again. The night was dark and oppressive, and Maia found herself staring at her own reflection in the glass window. A panel in the wall opened in the reflection, and she whirled around to look. A moment later the kishion stepped through a gap.
Jon Tayt’s neck muscles tensed as he saw the other man enter the room.
The kishion sauntered over to a tray of leftover food and began nibbling on a piece of meat. He fetched himself a goblet and poured some cider.
“What do we do now?” Maia said. She heaved a mournful sigh and folded her arms in front of her.
Jon Tayt rose from the window seat and hooked his thumbs in his belt. “It is a fine kettle of fish,” he said with clenched teeth. “How much did you overhear?” he asked the kishion.
The man grunted as he swallowed a mouthful of food, then scooped up some roasted nuts and munched a few. “All that I needed to hear,” he said enigmatically. He gave Maia a probing look. “Spiders, as I warned you. Corriveaux fled, but you can be assured he left others in the city to work his mischief.”
The bruise on his cheek had turned purple, she noticed, and there was a brownish-red clot of blood on his split lip. He seemed to enjoy the nuts and took another scoop.
“We must evacuate the city immediately,” Maia said. “It will take a lot of time to move so many people.”
“To Muirwood?” the kishion said with a disapproving grunt.
Maia nodded. “That Hundred is our most defensible position. They cannot attack it by sea. The Bearden Muir will slow them down and give us time to call for aid.”
The kishion looked smug and shook his head with barely concealed mirth. “You believe that if you wish, Maia. Dahomey is locked in battle with Paeiz. It is deliberate, I assure you. Prince Oderick of Hautland is retching violently and sick with fever. Even I know he will not recover from his illness, and it is no poison of mine that afflicts him. So will Hautland come to your aid? I think not. That leaves . . . Mon? You burned their main abbey, if you remember. Besides, getting word to them will take time, and time you do not have. That leaves Pry-Ree and Avinion, the two smallest kingdoms. And your grandmother has been imprisoned. Do not think the Victus will not use her as leverage to prolong the ordeal. They will kill her, you can be certain, but not before they use her to get what they want. Avinions can carve gems and catch fish. Perhaps one of those skills will be useful to you.” He laughed heartily and took another fistful of nuts into his mouth and chewed them noisily. “Believe me when I tell you that the Naestors have enough men and enough axes to cut down every stunted oak tree between here and Muirwood Abbey. And that will provide the kindling. They are going to unleash a Void. The sooner you accept this truth, the better.”
Maia felt anger stir at his hopeless appraisal of the situation. “I will not abandon my people. I trust the Medium will assist us.”
At those words, the kishion sneered. “Very well. Let the Medium save you. But when you learn to your grief that it obeys whoever forces it to obey, you may remember what I have told you. You have always had a soft heart for your people, Lady Maia. But they will forsake you in the end. Especially when Corriveaux promises to spare their lives if they give you up.” He gave her a stern look. “You know as well as I do that he is a liar. He will dangle hope and then crush it under his heel. Even Lady Shilton is a fool for trusting his promises. Men like him know only h
ow to burn things.”
He tipped his goblet toward her. Then he looked at Jon Tayt. “It is my turn to guard her. Off with you now.”
Jon Tayt’s eyes burned with anger. He sat rigid, his curly coppery hair glinting in the light. In that moment, he looked like a man prepared to fight to the death.
Maia approached the hunter and put her hand on his shoulder. “Good night, Jon Tayt. I will stay in the castle tonight.” She gave him a gentle nudge. She could not bear to lose him too.
I perceive that the kishion loves her. Or he feels what he esteems to be that emotion. Truly, the powers of a kystrel are penetrating. Her short time with him managed to overcome even the most arduous training a man can endure. One is brave who overcomes his desires—not just his enemies. The hardest victory is always over self. If Maia can vanquish a cold-hearted killer, then I imagine my daughter will make far easier sport of her victims. She wants to seduce Dahomey’s king for revenge. We should have unleashed Murer with a kystrel earlier. Then Comoros would not have needed to be destroyed.
—Corriveaux Tenir, Victus of Dahomey
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Forgetting
In her dream, she was floating. There was a subtle bob and sway, the shifting groan of timbers. She was at sea. It was not the Blessing of Burntisland. It was the Argiver. Looking down at herself, she saw she was wearing a rich gold gown, a costly dress from the master seamstresses of Dahomey. It fit her well, hugging her hips and draping featherlight against her skin. How strange it was that she could remember even the smallest details, the intricate seams and beaded designs woven into the fabric. It was the gown of a queen, and she had not worn its like since abandoning her destiny as a hetaera.
Maia rubbed her arm, feeling the smooth fabric there. It was so real. Were dreams normally this vivid? Collier had left her to change, she remembered. Her husband then—but no longer. Her stomach was worried, wrought with the anticipation of his return. Maia needed to tell him something. What did she need to tell him? Her mind was a syrupy fog. She had to confess something. When she had married him, she had not been herself. The urge to speak the truth to him burned on her tongue. She had to confess herself, had to give him the chance to cast her aside. He would show her a box of jewels. In her mind’s eye, she could see them.
No, they were in a box on the table in front of her. The wooden box with velvet seating was open, and she saw the lustrous baubles wink up at her. She remembered the stones . . . gems that were bluish green . . . the color of her eyes, he had said. Her hands moved of their own will as they lifted the necklace and fastened it around her neck, her skin feeling the poke of the little hasps as she arranged it. The necklace was made of gold and stunning gems, and she could feel its weight just beneath her kystrel.
Confusion warped Maia’s mind. No, Collier wore her kystrel. And yet she could feel the medallion nestled against her bosom. It was warm, almost burning. Her breastbone was stained with creeping, ivy-like tattoos. They were small, like a tiny budding flower. A taller wave made the ship lurch, and Maia gripped the table and watched the jewelry box slide. The swell ended and then she reached in and took the bracelets, sliding them onto her wrists. There was a spot for earrings, but they were missing. She would have to wait for them until Maia was dead.
The thought sent a spasm of alarm through Maia. She was asleep, yes, but this was not a dream. She was leagues away, on a boat. As she tried to clear her vision, she saw that she was not in the Argiver at all. This was not the captain’s quarters, but a lush room fit for a ruler. There was an enormous canopied bed, and gowns had been tossed hither and yon. There were still more hanging from wooden pegs and stacked on chests. The room was rife with the smell of the sea as well as the overpowering smell of cider.
On the far wall, there was an oval mirror. Maia was certain she was in someone else’s body . . . and she thought she knew whose. If the woman would only look at herself in the mirror, she would know for sure.
As if in obedience to the thought, she felt the woman rise.
So you wish to see yourself? Very well.
The mirror showed a shaft of light as the door opened and a man drew in his head. He had a pointed beard, a thick muscled chest, and a rakish look. There was a sword at his hip. He was easily forty, and sweeps of gray meshed with his dark locks. He was unfamiliar to Maia.
“You look . . . dazzling,” the man said in a thick accent, absorbing her with his eyes. Maia felt the pulse of the kystrel and could sense that it inflamed the man’s passions even more. He stared at her, his eyes hungry, his mouth slightly open as if he were dumbfounded. Maia could sense his desire and passion as a physical force.
Maia saw all of this through the reflection in the mirror. The door was somewhere behind her, but the mirror revealed it. And then another image blocked her view. The woman herself.
Murer. Maia recognized her haughty face, but she saw in her eyes a vengefulness that looked both cruel and alluring. It was like looking at herself, and Maia’s senses reeled from the sight. Murer was wearing a wig, the hair a deep brown to match Maia’s own locks. The gown, the jewels, the hair. A sickening horror spread through her.
Ah, you understand at last. I am you, Maia. I am what you should have become. And he will mourn the day he spurned me in that dance. He will beg for my mercy and forgiveness, but he shall not get it. They are coming for you, Maia. I will claim the crown you stole from me after all your bodies are burned.
“Where are we, Captain?” Murer asked the man with the pointed beard, smoothing the fabric of the golden gown seductively, knowing he could see her reflection in the mirror.
“We have arrived at the riverhead, my lady. We will be docked within the hour at Lisyeux.” His voice throbbed with emotion. He could hardly keep his composure.
Murer smoothed some hair over her ears, a small frown forming on her face when she did not feel earrings there. Ah, but you have them, Maia.
“I have the cloak for you, my lady,” the captain said, entering with a deep velvet shroud. “You wished to be seen arriving from the abbey. There will be a coach brought straightaway.”
“Very well. That is all,” Murer said, waving him away with a dismissive look.
“Is there another way I may serve you?” he asked pleadingly.
“Be gone,” she said curtly, but gave him a sly look as he shut the door.
Maia struggled to force herself awake. She shook against the grip that held her and felt her left shoulder burn. The pain, oh, the pain—
“Wake up! Maia, wake up!”
She could almost hear the tinkling sound of Murer’s laughter as she was ripped away from the vision. Men are easily seduced, Maia. They never cease craving with their eyes. They want to yield to us. Even the mastons. You had your chance. Now it is my turn.
The vision broke apart and Maia found herself being shaken violently. She was in her nightclothes, in her bed in the palace. The blankets were tangled and askew. Strong hands gripped her shoulders, clenching hard enough to hurt.
“Please, wake up!” the kishion said with desperation. His fingers made the brand on her shoulder burn and she knew that if she had not been wearing the chaen beneath her chemise, the Myriad Ones would have already infested her. Even with it, she could feel them mewling around her, hissing.
Her eyes snapped open, and she saw the kishion’s face, a look of worry and fear mingling with his scars. His eyes were wide and sincerely concerned.
“I am well, let me go!” she said, realizing only then she was trembling, and pushed his arms away.
Looking relieved, he released his hold on her shoulders. She could feel the marks where his fingers had pressed and was very aware of how close he was and the smell of him, and a spasm of fear shook her.
Maybe it shone on her face. His look hardened, turning in an instant from concern to spurned anger, and he rose and stepped away from the bed.
“It was another nightmare,” he said, almost defensively. Frail light seeped in through the parted
curtains. She saw him walk to the table and grab a goblet. He raised it to his lips and gulped the liquid inside down quickly, muttering something to himself she could not make out.
Maia ripped away the bed sheets and blankets. It was dawn, just as it had been in her dream. That meant Murer had already left Comoros by ship and sailed across the channel to Dahomey. It was not a great distance to travel, and in good weather could be done in less than a day. She strode over to the changing screen, snatching one of her gowns on the way.
“What is it?” the kishion asked her gruffly. “In a hurry to leave me?” He scowled, as if already regretting the choice of words.
“Thank you for watching over me,” Maia said, holding the gown in the crook of her arm and pausing before the changing screen. “It was not just a dream . . . but a vision of sorts. I must go to Dahomey. Right away.”
“What?” he asked with a perplexed chuckle.
Maia summoned light from the Leerings in the room, and they dispelled the gloom and shadows, revealing her private chambers. None of her ladies-in-waiting were present, since Suzenne had ordered them to move around to various chambers to protect them and conceal where Maia slept. She quickly removed the nightgown and then pulled on the other gown, trying to hurry for fear someone would enter and find her alone with the kishion.
