The Void of Muirwood (Covenant of Muirwood Book 3) (35 page)

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.

“You must
go
,” she said, struggling to fit her hands through the sleeves. The impatience to be gone was frightening.

“You are
not
going to Dahomey,” he said angrily. “What was this dream? Tell me.”

Maia repressed the urge to scream at him and the gown in frustration. “It was not a dream, it was a vision. I was in a ship . . . no . . . I could
see
a ship heading to Dahomey. My stepsister was there.”

“Murer,” said the kishion knowingly.

Maia finished putting her arms in the sleeves, only to belatedly realize that the gown laced up in the back. She did the first of the lower strings, but she knew she could not finish it herself. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment; it galled her to her core to have to ask
him
for assistance.

She straightened the skirts and pulled the strings as tight as she could manage. Gritting her teeth, she rested her head on the wooden frame of the changing screen.

“Can you . . . help me?” she asked in a small, defeated voice.

He had a quiet step, and she barely heard his boots on the floor, but he approached the screen.

“What is it?” he asked.

Maia sighed, smothering her pride, and stepped around so he could see her. “I cannot do the lacings . . . by myself,” she said. “I should have chosen another dress, but I was not thinking.”

He gave her a curious look. “For a moment, I thought you had discovered a tick and needed me to fetch a hot needle.” A low smile came to his mouth as he brought up their shared memory of the cursed shores. He shrugged as if it were no matter to help a queen with her gown and quickly cinched up the lacings and tied the string off deftly.

“So Murer is headed to Dahomey,” he said.

“I have to warn my husband,” Maia said, fidgeting.

“But he is
not
your husband,” he reminded her. “You fear his faithlessness so much? I am not surprised,” he added with a chuckle.

“I do not fear his faithfulness,” she said, perhaps too hotly. “But Murer is a hetaera . . . or nearly one. And she has
my
kystrel. That is why I connected with her so easily. It was like I was inside her mind.”

The kishion frowned. “Was she aware of you?”

Maia nodded, folding her arms over her chest to quell the heaving of her stomach.

“Then there is likely a trap waiting for you,” the kishion said. “They are luring you away.”

Maia stared at him, not wanting to believe what he said, but seeing the truth in it.

“You doubt me,” he said, snorting. “I am no Victus, Maia. But I have worked for them long enough. What does a fisherman use? Not just a hook. He uses bait. Corriveaux tried to murder you in person. Now that you have not complied with his will, he wants you out of the way. If he cannot come to you, then he will make you come to him.”

“But I can travel through the Apse Veil,” Maia said, growing angrier by the moment.

“And do you not suppose that they are watching the abbeys on that side as well?” He folded his arms and gave her an imperious look.

“I must at least send him a message,” Maia conceded, “with someone I can trust.”

The kishion nodded. “I knew you would think of it once you had calmed down. Good lass.”

She was about to storm to the door, but he caught her sleeve.

“Brush your hair first. You are a queen.”

There was so much to do that Maia did not have time to eat. The lord mayor announced the evacuation of Comoros that morning, and the plans they had formed over these last weeks were put in place immediately. The city would be abandoned quarter by quarter—those closest to the river first, followed by those on the outskirts. The city watch roamed the streets and manned the gates, helping the carts and wagons as they began to trundle toward Mendenhall castle, leagues away, where the citizens of Muirwood Hundred would be gathering before trekking into the Bearden Muir.

Sempringfall Abbey still stood, but reports had streamed in throughout the night confirming that Billerbeck had been razed and the armada had arrived. There was still no word from Dodd or his army. The Naestors had brought both horses and foot soldiers, and they had pillaged Forshee, driving the inhabitants from their homes in fear and terror. Refugees were arriving in hordes from the north, heading toward safer ground. Word had been sent to Augustin and Ceaster Abbeys in the south and west, warning them that the invasion had begun. Fishing boats were being used to ferry people from Caspur Hundred to Winterrowd, where they would walk on foot to Muirwood. The Earl of Caspur had sent word that his army stood ready for Maia’s orders. Should he come to the capital and help with the evacuation? Or defend the southern borders should the second attack arrive as predicted?

After counseling with her advisors, Maia had ordered Caspur to hold the south and slow any advancing army to buy time for the people of Comoros to flee. If Lady Shilton’s warning bore weight, it would be the most useful position for him . . . and it would help trump the Victus’s plan.

What surprised Maia was how many people were refusing to abandon the city. According to the lord mayor, at least two in ten households desired to remain behind and ride out the storm.

“They would rather linger here and
die
, Justin?” she asked him, shocked. She cast her eyes around the mostly empty council chamber, shaking her head in disbelief.

He tapped his goatee and pointed at her. “You would be surprised how many of them have never left the city before. They feel safe behind these walls, even though they
know
the walls cannot protect them from the Dochte Mandar. They just do not believe that the Dochte Mandar would murder them all. Some say you are fearmongering.”

“I cannot understand,” Maia said, shaking her head. She glanced at Suzenne and Jayn, who sat close to her, to see if they shared her incredulity. “We have been planning this for several months, Justin. Why are they balking now?”

“Some people will not believe in a danger unless they can see it with their own eyes. There are undisputed reports that the Naestors have arrived . . . in force.” He puffed out his breath. “I think our estimates of the size of their army may have been too hopeful. Tens of thousands have disembarked on the first day alone. They are coming ashore on canoes and skiffs. Some of our people want to trample each other to flee. My question for you is this, my lady—should we force everyone to leave? And what about the prisoners being held in the dungeon?”

Maia gave him an icy look. “Send them in barred wagons to the dungeon at Mendenhall castle. They will not be left to face Corriveaux’s questionable mercy, but they will not be freed. They have had second chances enough, and will face trial when this war is over.”

The door to the solar opened and Richard strode in with a tall man wearing a hooded cloak. The man was gangly and tall and unfamiliar, but his clothing was Dahomeyjan. Her pulse quickened.

“What do you think of those who will not leave, Jayn? Suzenne?” Maia asked, looking to her friends.

“Two in ten is significant,” Jayn said. “But can we truly force them to come? The Medium resists compulsion in any form. They cannot be persuaded to see reason, Lord Mayor?”

Justin threw up his hands. “It is a simple enough argument. If you remain in the city, you will die. We thrust out the Dochte Mandar, if you remember. I imagine they will not be friendly when they return on warships. I do not know how much more motivation I can offer them!”

Maia turned to glance at Suzenne.

It seemed as if they shared the same thought, for suddenly Suzenne quoted the maston proverb that had been running through Maia’s mind. “A gentle answer turns away wrath. Harsh words stir up anger.”

Maia smiled and nodded to Richard. “That is one of the Aldermaston’s favorite ones. I remember it well. Justin, you have done all you can. Continue to oversee the evacuation. This city must be deserted when the Naestors come. Suzenne, Jayn. Gather my handmaidens. Go out into the city and seek to persuade the families to leave. Especially the elderly and those with little children. If their parents will not leave, coax them into letting us help their children escape. This would ease my burden greatly.”

Jayn and Suzenne both rose, holding hands to give each other strength. “We will go,” Jayn promised, and Maia loved her for it.

She had entrusted a message for Collier with Richard and begged him to send someone loyal and reliable to deliver the missive to her husband. She had not expected an answer so soon, as she knew Collier was likely riding with his army against Paeiz rather than waiting behind in Lisyeux. The man next to Richard was almost twice his height, a scarecrow of a man.

“Maia, this is De Vere from Lisyeux Abbey. He is the Aldermaston’s steward.”

The man lowered his hood, revealing a head of close-cropped hair that was pepper colored and well spotted with white. He was lean and long, his complexion weather-beaten, as if he had spent his entire life out of doors instead of inside an abbey.

“My lady,” the man said with a crooked bow and a thick accent. He had a gouty hip joint as he bent and winced. “I bring this from my master, the King of Dahomey. He gave it to me himself and requested that I entrust it to no hand other than your own. As you and I have never met, he bade me to ask you a password to confirm. He asked for the name of your favorite hound.” He gave her a pleasant smile and awaited her answer.

“Argus, who shared a name with a village in the mountains south of Roc-Adamour.” Maia replied softly in Dahomeyjan, smiling warmly at him.

The maston’s face crinkled into a delighted grin. “You do justice to my mother tongue, my lady,” he said jovially. “I heard that you did. You are our true queen, Lady Marciana. If you will have us.” He extended to her a small folded card, sealed with wax.

“Is this an answer to my warning?” Maia asked, taking it with trembling fingers. She could not believe Collier had responded so quickly.

“No, my lady,” De Vere answered. “I was with him this morning and saw him write with his own hand. What warning?”

Maia’s stomach wilted and she broke the seal. As she opened the paper, a tiny blue flower nearly tumbled out, and she caught it before it could flutter to the floor. It was a small flower with dainty blue stems.