The Void of Muirwood (Covenant of Muirwood Book 3) (45 page)

Murer kneed Maia in the back, making her arch with pain, and wrestled her arms free again. But Maia had the kystrel, and she held it tight in her fist as she backed away.

“I do not need
that
to destroy you!” Murer hissed. Her eyes still glowed silver, and the waves from the pool were bobbing again, threatening to smash into Maia once more. The Leerings in the walls gushed out more water, and the whorl-shaped pool was no longer draining. The chamber was filling with seawater.

Maia silenced the Leerings with her mind, commanding them to end the onslaught of water. They obeyed her.

Murer bared her teeth and rushed forward again, slashing down at Maia, who turned and caught the dagger’s edge on her shoulder blade. Though blood dripped down her arm, she could not feel pain anymore. She felt power well up inside of her as she fought. The next time Murer rushed her, she caught the other girl’s wrist and grappled with her for the dagger.

“I will kill you!” Murer screamed into her face, her teeth gnashing.

Maia held the other girl back and turned her around slowly, their muscles straining against each other. There was power in Maia’s legs, from her long journeys across the lands. Her wrists and arms were stronger too, from hours of scrubbing clothes and polished brass. Murer had been raised in privilege, and had never done hard work before in her life. Maia saw the energy drain from the girl’s eyes, saw her jaw quiver as her muscles began to tire.

“Stop,” Maia ordered sharply, squeezing the girl’s wrist hard. Murer’s entire arm trembled with tension.

The waters bucked again, dousing both girls in a stinging flood, but Maia kept her feet, planting her legs wide to hold herself up. Still, she felt Murer slipping, and she knew that if the other girl fell, she would be dragged down on top of her as the waters receded back into the pool. The knife was twisted toward Maia’s heart, so the blow would be a killing one.

She released Murer to keep from falling on top of her and retreated, ready to ward off another attack from the razor-sharp knife. Murer’s legs were tangled in her drenched skirts, and she suddenly slipped, crashing to the stone floor.

She shrieked in pain.

Maia saw her stepsister’s eyes go wide with surprise as she pulled herself up onto her knees. The dagger protruded from her ribs. Her complexion drained of all color as a bloom of blood stained her bodice.

Rushing to Murer’s side as she collapsed, Maia caught her and held her face above the swirling waters. The eyes blinked, stupefied at what had happened. She had managed, somehow, to stab herself. Her limbs began to seize with the pain, and she shuddered violently.

“Murer!” Maia groaned, pulling her stepsister onto her lap.

Murer’s eyes, drained of silver now, gazed down at the hilt, looking at it as if she could not comprehend what it was. She took a breath and flinched with pain.

“Ah!” Murer gasped, wincing. Her face crumpled and tears leaked from her eyes. She gazed up at Maia, her expression beginning to soften from hatred to sorrow. “Maia,” she whispered. Maia gripped her hand tightly as she stared down into her face.

“Sshhh!” Maia soothed.

“I still feel her . . . squirming inside me,” Murer mumbled in confusion. “Leaving me . . . why is she . . . leaving me? I am broken.”

Maia blinked with sorrow. “You are no longer any use to her,” she whispered, reaching down and stroking the bridge of her nose. She was sorry to see Murer in such pain.

Murer’s convulsions grew steadily worse, and a look of panic filled her eyes as she realized she was dying. “The kystrel . . . showed me how much . . . how much Gideon truly loved . . . you. He wore it . . . while they kept him in prison.” She closed her eyes, squeezing tears from her lashes. “So jealous of you . . . how he felt . . . about you. So jealous . . . Maia. How I . . .
hated
you. He did not betray you. He was not . . . even there.”

“I forgive you,” Maia whispered, weeping softly.

“You are . . . wrong . . . though.” Her voice was so tiny, Maia barely heard it. “I know . . . he is . . . not dead.”

Maia stared at Murer, not certain she had heard the words correctly.

“Murer?” she pleaded, bending closer. “He . . . he lives?”

“I saw her thoughts. What
she
knew. His Family . . .” Murer paused, swallowing. “They . . . are immune . . . to the kiss. Cursed . . . to . . . survive. They cannot . . . be . . . slain in war.”

Maia stared at Murer, the flickering of hope in her heart now starting to fan into vivid flames. She stared away, her mind conjuring the sight of Collier lying on the ground in a pool of blood.

“His father died,” Maia said, her thoughts seething. “Dieyre is dead. He is . . .”

He is alive,
the whisper in her heart told her.

The knowledge came open in layers, like flower petals bending to kiss the sunlight at dawn. Lia Demont had cursed the Earl of Dieyre before the Scourge. She had cursed him to live. That he would be the last man standing, a witness to the destruction she had prophesied would happen. He had not been killed at the last battle, the place where all the bones moldered near a Leering. He had lived through the wars that had decimated the kingdoms. He had survived the plague invoked by the hetaera’s Leering. He would die of old age. But Collier could not be killed in a fight, which meant he had survived the death wound from the kishion.

Maia’s kiss could not harm him.

She gazed down at Murer’s face, which was now chalk white. There was just a little bit of light in her glassy eyes.

“Alive,” Murer whispered. Her eyes looked haunted. “What have I done? What have I done? I feel them around me. They are dragging me away. Maia!”

Maia felt joy and hope shoot through her body as she bent to kiss Murer’s forehead. “I name you. Ereshkigal, Queen of the Unborn. Depart from her . . . forevermore.”

A small smile curled the corner of Murer’s mouth. A sad smile. She sighed and breathed no more.

Maia gently set her down on the hard stone. She touched the cold hand, watching for a moment. Then, shakily, she stood and turned to face the hetaera Leering. The sigil burned and hissed angrily, glowering at her. Her injured arm burned now that the battle was done.

She silenced the Leering with her mind and closed the water Leerings that had summoned and drained the seawater. They obeyed her.

As she stood there in her drenched gown, staring at the cooling sigil of the entwined serpents—the one that had been unwittingly branded on her shoulder—she realized a deep truth. There was only one Family in all the seven kingdoms that was immune to the plague. Collier was a reckless swordsman because he could not be killed by a sword or a dagger. She doubted he even knew the truth. The kishion’s wound had not been mortal. And she realized with sweet joy that she could kiss him, and she could kiss his Family, and she could one day even kiss her own children because they would share in his protection.

Closing her eyes, she sank to the stones on her trembling knees, overcome by an immense feeling of gratitude. The Medium had never deserted her. It had guided her path all along.

Thank you
, she whispered in the silence of her mind. Her heart was overflowing. Collier was alive. And he was not as injured as she had supposed.
You did not have to bless me this much. I would have served your will regardless.

Rising from her prayer, her arms stinging with pain, she walked up the ramp to the doors, determined to face the kishion and seal the hetaera’s lair forever.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Hunted

W
hen Maia emerged from the tunnel after revoking the door Leering’s power, which would prevent others from entering the lair, the sun shone down on her in blinding rays, forcing her to raise her uninjured arm to shield her eyes. She strained for sounds to help her understand what had happened, but the story was laid out before her. There was a dead man guarding the porch. Her kishion had won the battle.

She stepped away from the corpse, sick of death, and wandered a short way from the entrance. The kishion approached her from a distance, his face hardened with determination and strength. In one hand he clutched the chains of several kystrels, the medallions swaying as he walked. She had fastened the one she had taken from Murer to her girdle, and it hung against her leg. His rucksack was slung over his shoulder. The kishion stared at her as he approached, his grave expression shifting to one of worry.

“You are bleeding,” he said, rushing up to her worriedly. He looked over her shoulder at the dark tunnel, as if expecting another enemy to emerge.

“Murer is dead,” Maia said.

The kishion stared at her in astonishment. “
You
killed her?”

Maia could read his thoughts in his expression. He could not believe she, of anyone, would harm another person. She gripped her cut arm tightly, wincing from the pain. “She fell on her own blade.”

“After stabbing
you
, it seems,” he said. Then, taking her by the arm, he led her away from the opening, back toward the little garden they had visited on their first journey. “The Dochte Mandar are all dead, even the one who ran away.”

She was appalled by his brutal efficiency. They reached the small stone enclosure, and he quickly knelt in the soft turf and swung his rucksack loose. Inside, she saw a blue-stained leather bag of powdered woad, some needles and gut thread, and small strips of cloth for bandages.

“Sit here.” He gestured next to him.

She obeyed, but she did not feel at ease. As she watched the sinking sun, a feeling of urgency thrummed inside of her. She had to return to Muirwood. Collier was still alive. Her people were in grave danger, and she felt the Medium warning her that it was time for her to leave the kishion.

He looked at the wound on her shoulder first, grunting at the size of it, and told her he would need to stitch it. He offered her a piece of root to dull the pain, but she shook her head no.

“If you will not chew it, then hold perfectly still,” he warned her. “The needle will hurt as it goes through.”

She nodded and shifted so that her back faced him. He undid some of the lacings of her gown and pulled the fabric down to expose the skin of her upper back. Then, with deft and experienced hands, he began to stitch the gut strings through her flesh. She flinched and hissed at first, but he worked quickly, and the pinch of pain became familiar. Once he was finished, he dabbed the area with woad to help stifle the bleeding and covered it with a bandage. He then covered her up with the dress.

“Let me see the arm. Those look painful.”

Indeed they were. Maia untied the cuff string and pulled the sleeve up to reveal the angry red slashes on her arm and elbow. Taking out his water flask, the kishion undid the stopper and bathed away the dried blood. His eyes looked so determined as he bent over her wounds. How could a man with violent hands use them in such a tender way? Images swarmed in her mind of their many journeys together. She was no longer disgusted by his severed ear and his grim scars. There was a man behind the hard flesh. A man who had somehow, despite years of killing, managed to grow the semblance of a heart.

His gray-blue eyes glanced up at her once, but when he caught her gaze on him, he glanced away and scowled down at the gashes he tended. He scrubbed one of the cuts clean and began stitching it, his fingers handling the implements with skill and precision. How many of his own wounds had he treated the same way?

“You must let me go,” Maia said softly, daring to speak the words that burned on her tongue.

His eyes flicked up again. He finished tending to one of the cuts and leaned back on his heels, eye level with her. He wiped his nose, his expression stony.

“There is plenty of food here,” he said, sweeping his hand toward the gardens. “Strawberries. Peaches. The greens poking up over there are carrots, I think. The Leerings in this garden produce food. We have enough to survive here forever.”

Maia looked into his eyes imploringly. “I
cannot
stay!”

His mouth turned angry and wrinkled into a frown. “It may take some time before you see I am right,” he said flatly. “Perhaps it will not happen until the Medium has destroyed everyone else. You are safe here.”

“I am
not
safe here,” Maia argued, shaking her head. “The Medium brought me here to stop Murer. But now it bids me to go.” She stared at the sun, watching as it slowly dipped across the trees, the light still blindingly brilliant. Suddenly, starkly, she knew something terrible would happen if the sun went down and she had not yet departed.

“Convenient,” he said with a snort. “It always does what
you
wish it to do. I brought you here, Maia. If others come, then I will take care of them.”

She felt the urgency grow more intense. “Please! You must let me go! The Medium is warning me to depart this instant.”

He looked incredulous. “And where would you go? No ship is waiting for you. You want to cross the mountains again into Dahomey? I murdered their
king
.”