The Banished of Muirwood (16 page)

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

M
aia 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 to 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.”

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?”