The Ciphers of Muirwood (26 page)

Maia shivered as the wind continued to caress her. “It does, if I am honest.”

Collier nodded gravely. “I am so confused, Maia,” he said, staring off into the orchard with a faraway look. “Your grandmother is . . . she is truly a special woman. I
want
to believe her, which conversely arouses my doubts and stubbornness! Would she truly have given away a king’s ransom with no thought or expectation of obedience? I would have gladly been in her debt instead of someone else’s, but she says I owe her nothing . . .” He shook his head in respectful wonder. “I am struggling to even comprehend that.”

Maia put her hand on his arm. “She is the kindest, wisest soul I have ever known,” she told him sincerely. “One of the oaths an Aldermaston makes is honesty. She cannot lie.”

He glanced down at her hand on his arm and then up to her face, hungrily. “Walk with me.”

“What?” She was a bit startled by the abrupt request.

“I cannot sit here with you like this. The temptation to kiss you right now is too great. Walk with me.” He rose from the trunk, leaving the half-eaten fruit on the ground, then reached down and took her hand to help her up. She left hers as well and took his hand. He did not release his grip as they began striding down the row of apple trees. His hand felt strangely comfortable in her own, and a bubbling lightness shot down to her knees and back up through her chest just from being so near him.

He sighed as they walked, occasionally ducking to pass beneath some of the branches because of his height. “I am tempted to kiss you,” he confessed, “because in my heart, I do not believe it will kill me. Yet if what you say is true, if what Sabine has said is true, then I have been deluding myself. I am chafing inside, wondering what would have happened if I had taken the maston test instead of abandoning it. What if I had pressed my father, while he was yet alive, to fight for you and to pressure your father to fulfill the plight troth of our infancy?” His hand squeezed hers with pent-up frustration. “I will admit, Maia, that I am tormented by many thoughts. If you were a . . . if you were
evil
by choice, our relationship would be less . . . tragic, in a sense. If your kiss does indeed bring death, and I am your husband, then how can I
ever
kiss you without coming to harm? I want so much for that to be
wrong.
You were tricked, unfairly, into becoming this thing. Why should you bear such awful consequences?”

Maia listened, both her heart and throat constricting with his words, which mirrored the anguished thoughts in her own mind. She tried to focus instead on the feeling of his hand and on matching his languid gait. She wanted desperately to comfort him, but the futility of their predicament pressed in on her just as it did on him.

“I want it to be wrong,” he said again, breathing heavily. “I have taught myself to believe that the maston order is nothing more than a fusty tradition from our ancestors. One used to keep us from doing what we please. There is ample evidence of this. Yet . . . but yet . . . what if I have been wrong?” He laughed bitterly. “I can comprehend why Kranmir looked so angry. How can I judge the man when I have suffered the same blindness, but not for so long? He has convinced himself he is right. But that does not make him right.”

“There is a quote in the tomes,” Maia said, her voice low. “Ovidius said we are slow to believe that which, if believed, would hurt our feelings.”

“I do not remember that one,” he said, chuckling. “How true it is, though. What I struggle with, Maia, is the lack of proof. The Medium responds to kystrels just as it responds to mastons. One order says it is wickedness to force the Medium. The other says it is foolish to curb your desires when both aims produce the same results. You have convinced me that you intend to become a maston, that your duty is to stay and open the Apse Veil. But Maia . . . can you tell me how long that will take?”

Maia shook her head sadly.

“I cannot
remain
here,” he said disconsolately. “This is not my kingdom. And I imagine your father will be incensed to learn that I have married his daughter without his permission. I cannot trust his hospitality, though he believes I have no coin left for him to plunder. My intention, you know,” he whispered conspiratorially, “was to negotiate for lands, titles, and an earldom if I were to marry his daughter. Then I was going to spring the trap and tell him that I had already married you.” He clucked his tongue. “Shaming Deorwynn like that was a small price to pay, however. And I will still get an earldom from this. Watch me.” He winked at her, some of his good humor returning.

Maia could not help but smile. She looked up at his face. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

She grew very serious in that moment, not used to exposing this particular vulnerability. “Thank you for defending me in that room. It has been a long time since anyone has protected me.”

His eyes grew soft as he reached out and trailed his finger down her cheek. “You are most welcome.” He sighed in frustration. “I am tempting myself again. We had better keep walking.” They started once more.

“I also regret what happened to me at the lost abbey,” Maia said miserably. “Every part of me wishes it could be undone. I . . . I . . . would understand if you . . . as a husband . . . considering the restrictions”—she swallowed, almost too afraid to say the words—“if you decided to leave me. But I hope you do not.”

He looked at her with startled surprise. Then he shook his head slowly. “You rouse my sympathies, Maia. You are most beautiful. Also modest, to a fault. A compassionate young woman, and so wise . . . well, compared to me. Not being able to kiss you . . . well . . . I would be lying if I said it was not a bitter disappointment to me. I am not certain how to endure it . . . but . . . patiently, I suppose.”

She ached inside at his words, and the two walked in silence for a while.

“What if your father is not persuaded by Sabine’s arguments? What if he does not want to cleanse the barrel? Believe me, the barrel is disgustingly putrid. You cannot be at court for long without smelling the rot.”

“How so? I have not been to court in years.”

“It would offend your sensibilities,” he said enigmatically.

“Tell me, Collier. I am not as innocent as you think. It will sadden me, that is all.”

He shrugged and squeezed her hand almost comfortingly
as
they walked. “Your father has a new mistress, and she is your
age.
Lady Deorwynn is as sour as milk about it, you can imagine.
Yet
how she can be surprised is beyond me, since she—as a lady-
in-waiting—stole your father from your mother first.”

Maia felt the pangs of sorrow. “You mean Jayn Sexton?”

He nodded. “So you had heard of her.”

“She is Suzenne’s friend. They were companions.”

“Ah, that make sense. The court is all aflutter with rumors that the king plans to marry her after Whitsunday. Kranmir has already agreed to do it, assuming the chancellor can get Deorwynn out of the way. It is a messy business, Maia. The court reeks of intrigue.” Collier pursed his lips and gave her a hard look. “Your father is truly depraved, Maia. I can
not
understand why you refuse my help with this situation. You even made me
promise
not to intervene! Sadly, Maia, your wisdom has failed you in this matter. Your father will kill you if you do not conform to his accursed plans.”

“He is still my father,” she replied weakly.

“By the Blood, how can you be so loyal to him?” Collier demanded. “Brannon has done nothing but injure you, humiliate you, torture you. He hired a
kishion
to be your protector! What does that say about him?”

She stopped walking, feeling the conflict burn inside her. She gazed down at their entwined hands, struggling for the words to make Collier understand, yet knowing no simple way to explain such a tangled mess of a relationship. “Because I remember how my father
was
. I cannot forget that. Back when he and my mother were friends . . . well . . . they were like
this
,” she said, gazing up at his eyes, squeezing his hand so hard it would hurt. “Their marriage . . .
broke
. Like a porcelain dish. But I can still remember what it was like. And I believe he can come back. He can remember his maston oaths, he can remember what he has lost. I must hope, Collier.”

He stared at her pityingly. The look in his eyes said he shared none of that hope with her.

“You will not face him alone,” Collier said, shaking his head. “Your father has a rash temper. I have witnessed it. If I am standing next to you, he will watch himself. But clearly you should only confront him on the abbey grounds. He has no legal authority here . . .
yet
. Once he has taken over the abbeys, you may be cast out of here. Then you will come with me to Dahomey. We will open the Apse Veil from another abbey if we must.”

Maia shook her head obstinately. “It must be here. This is where the Covenant was made.”

“Then perhaps the Medium will give me the evidence I have long desired to see. I will stand by you, Maia, as long as I can. Maybe until one of us is proved wrong.”

Maia looked at him, feeling at once comforted and confused. “Tell me about your plans.”

He looked away grimly. “You proceed as you think best, Maia . . . and let me do the same. I do not believe the Medium will come and strike down Kranmir or your father. A beautiful orchard can still be razed with axes. And an abbey that has only just been reconstructed can still be burned to the ground. However, I do not think that is Brannon’s intent. He wants coin.
And
power
and
youth.” He looked at her challengingly. “The Medium will not intervene in this. It gives us what we desire, even to our detriment. My own maston father was the captive of the Paeizian king . . . where was the Medium then? The Medium was on the winning side, as it always is.”

Maia bit back her retort when she heard someone calling her name. Recognizing Owen Page’s voice, she called out to him, and he joined them in the grove, shrouded by the swelling fruit.

“The Aldermaston bid me to find you both,” he said breathlessly. “The king has arrived.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

The King’s Will

B
y the time Maia and Collier reached the council chamber, it was already crowded. Davi and Aloia, the kitchen maidens, were hurrying to place more dishes of treats on the serving tables, and many attendees had gathered around to try the delights the cook had made in preparation for the Whitsunday festival. The smell of cider filled the air, and crumbs pattered on the floor rushes like rain. Maia quickly surveyed those in attendance, recognizing most of them. And there he was, talking with the Earl of Forshee, Chancellor Crabwell, and Captain Carew over by the cider cups. As soon as she saw her father, her heart flinched. She had not seen him since that dark night he had sent her away to Dahomey to find the lost abbey. He was heavier now—his cheeks fuller, his chest bigger—and there were streaks of white in his beard. He wore a plumed velvet hat fitted with an eye-catching feather. Glittering rings bedecked both of his hands. He was deep in conversation with Carew, and had not seen her enter the room.

Collier’s grip tightened on her arm, and he led her over to where the Aldermaston, his wife, and Sabine were standing, conferring with the abbey’s steward, Tomas. The tall steward smiled at her, dimples flashing, but she could tell he was agitated. Sabine nodded to Maia, giving her a steady smile—as if she were steeling herself before entering an arena.

Lady Deorwynn and Murer were there, Maia noticed, huddled in a corner with Aldermaston Kranmir, speaking in hushed tones. Though Lady Deorwynn was pale, her eyes flamed with rage when
she noticed Maia and Collier. She motioned toward them, her mouth
twisting spitefully as she said something to her uncle. Murer just
gave an injured sniff and looked determinedly away from the couple.

There were other onlookers as well, people from court who had
come with the king, most of them nobles of the realm. She recognized
some of them as earls, but many were young and owed their power
to her father’s beneficence. She saw Suzenne standing with an
older
couple who looked to be her parents. There was no sign of Dodd.

Maia was nervous and kept looking at her father, waiting for
his gaze to fall on her. When it finally did, his smile melted away, and with a cool, cunn
ing look, he appraised her from across the room. He thrust his goblet into Crabwell’s hand and then clapped his hands and strode into the center of the room. The gibbering and laughter subsided instantly.

“Well met, my friends,” he said in a loud, commanding voice. “It was a long and tedious journey, to be sure, but we have all arrived at Muirwood as planned. The inns are overcrowded, Richard. The roads are pure muck. This will need to be corrected before we next assemble here.”

There was a spattering of clapping, very subdued. Aldermaston Kranmir began to edge closer to where the king stood.

The king smiled and nodded as his gaze fell upon those gathered before him. “Wh
en I sent my heralds to announce we would be celebrating Whitsunday at Muirwood, I had not expected certain illustrious guests. Sabine—it is our pleasure and honor to welcome you to Comoros.” He dipped his head formally. “If I had known you were coming, I would have prepared a more festive welcome.”

Sabine nodded respectfully to him. “I have never been disappointed in the hospitality I have received here. Simple fare is to my liking.”

“Ah yes, but not to mine. Thankfully I warned Richard’s cook I was coming! Here we are, assembled together before the formal celebrations tomorrow. I thought it might be . . . fitting if we had a little . . . conversation before. I should not like to have any more surprises thrust on me, eh, Gideon?”

He gave Collier a withering look, his expression subtly shifting from pleasure to anger.

“You cannot imagine how surprised I was to find her wandering in my realm, Your Majesty.” Collier winked. He hooked his arm inside Maia’s and patted her hand. “I was swayed by her beauty and charm. You did promise her to me, after all.”

The tension in the room intensified, and Maia could see the rage building in her father’s eyes. She swallowed, her heart trembling in fear.

Collier seemed to notice it as well, and his tone softened. “Our kingdoms have always been at odds, my lord. But with a careful union of interests, we have managed to avoid war. Being the weaker kingdom, I did take advantage of the situation. As a ruler, I am sure you can understand why,” he said with a wry smile, trying his best to look apologetic. “We can discuss the dowry terms later.”

His words had an immediate effect, seeming to soothe some of the fierceness in her father’s eyes, which slowly cooled. He still looked displeased, but the fit of passion was ebbing.

“How is my daughter?” her father asked shortly, his eyes glittering as he looked at her.

“I am well,” Maia replied thickly, trying to quell her violent emotions. She was so grateful to have Collier standing beside her, but she feared for him too. She feared what could happen to him if were caught in a fit of her father’s rage. “It is good to see you, Father.”

He sniffed, trying to compose himself, his feelings for Maia obviously as tangled as her own for him. She wondered how much of her mother he still saw when he regarded her. Her mother who had defied his will unto death.

“Did you accomplish your
errand
in Dahomey?” he inquired, his eyebrows arching. “I have expected you to return to the palace to bring me word of your journeys. Why have you not come?”

Maia swallowed down her fear. “Because I learned of a duty I must fulfill here first,” she answered simply.

“You have a duty to your father.”

“I do,” she agreed, trying in vain to console him. “But I also have a duty to the Medium. A charge that was given to our Family.” She glanced at Sabine, who nodded discreetly.

“Ah, yes,” her father said smugly. “Your mother often spoke of it, to my frustration. The Apse Veil, is it not? What gives you the impression that
you
are meant to fulfill it?”

Maia swallowed again. “It was . . . written in Lia’s tome.”

Her father nodded, his expression full of intrigue. “Have you read it yourself, Daughter? Or did someone read it to you?” He glanced at Sabine warily.

He was endeavoring to trap her with her own words, she realized. If she were to admit she could read—as he knew she could—it would invite the wrath of the Dochte Mandar on the kingdom. Not just her kingdom, but Dahomey as well. He seemed to take perverse delight in what he was doing.

Sabine stepped forward. “I shared the information with her, Your Majesty. I am the guardian of Lia’s tome. It was handed down to me. She saw the future in her visions, my lord. She knew it would take several generations before one of her descendants grew strong enough in the Medium to reopen the Apse Veil. Maia is the one.”

“So you say,” he replied curtly. He turned to Aldermaston Kranmir and chuckled. “You were right, Aldermaston. He warned me that you would try something like this, Sabine.”

“I do not understand,” Sabine said, confused but respectful.

“You knew that I intended to overrule your authority in my realm. I have made little secret that I despise the maston customs. I expelled the Dochte Mandar from my realm. I can expel your followers too.” His jaw began to gnash with suppressed fury. “The Naestors are sending an armada against me. They think I will be surprised, but I am not. And while they may have supremacy by sea, they will find this kingdom and its castles and keeps to be unconquerable. They may harass the coasts. They may starve us of trade, but if we—Comoros and Dahomey and Pry-Ree—unite against them,we will not be defeated. This is not the time to threaten me with mystical curses and old-fashioned morals. I am the King of Comoros, and I will not yield one span of dirt in this kingdom without fighting for it. Do you think the Naestors will care about your precious abbeys? Do you not think they will loot them and defile them and burn them? I will not let them seize what is rightfully mine. This is for the best, Sabine. I hope you have the sense to see that.”

He was nearly growling with anger and determination. Maia could see the purpose in his eyes. He believed in a twisted interpretation of the Medium . . . that a strong will and a determined mind could achieve what it desired. There was not good or evil, only the pursuit of one’s desires.

Sabine shook her head slowly. “Your Majesty, your spies have interpreted the situation incorrectly. The armada is not coming to Comoros.”

He barked out a laugh. “They are! You are daft if you believe otherwise. We are expecting the invasion imminently. I am celebrating Whitsunday at Muirwood, and let it be known that I was, because it is the most defensible by sea! They cannot surprise us here.”

“Your Grace—” Sabine said, “—hear me, please. The armada is not coming. I have it from the highest authorities within Naess itself that the armada sails for the maston homeland—Assinica. They are helpless there. They have been waiting for our abbeys to be restored, for the Apse Veils to be opened so that they might return. Your Majesty, your kingdom is about to swell with refugees from another country.” She strode forward, her voice sharp and forceful. “Now is
not
the moment to give in to pride and rash action. These people will come here looking for a king-maston to rule them. You must
be
that man! If the Apse Veils are not opened, these people will be slaughtered. The armada will murder them all to prevent them from adding to your power. These are artisans, my lord. Poets and scholars and artists and musicians. These are people who have lived in a land of peace all their lives. We must shelter them and protect them, and they will add to the wealth of your kingdom a hundredfold!” Her voice throbbed with passion. “Now is not the time to make a schism, Your Grace. Let us heal the breach between us.” She reached out her hand, a gesture of invitation. “I forgive you for what you did to my daughter. I bear no malice toward you. The Medium put you on your throne for this very moment, for this very decision.” Sabine reached out and griped Maia’s arms, hugging her. “Maia is your rightful heir, Your Majesty. She is the one who can open the Apse Veil. I know it with every feeling in my heart. Please, Your Majesty, I beg you! Do you not
feel
the Medium saying this is true?”

The Medium was there. Maia had felt its tendrils slowly creep into the room as her grandmother spoke. It thrummed in the floor. It burned in Maia’s heart. She felt tears prick her eyes, and it was as if a chorus were suddenly singing—not one heard with ears, but with the soul. Maia bit her lip, staring at her father.

“I feel nothing,” he said contemptuously. He waved a derisive finger at the High Seer. “You are deranged, Sabine. You
were
right, Kranmir. She is artful. But I will not fall for these emotional tricks.” He took a step toward Sabine, his eyes glinting with hatred. “I do not need your forgiveness. I neither desire it nor require it. Your daughter is dead now, and I rejoiced when I heard the news. I will not have
my
conscience dictated to.
I
am the master of this land.
I
am the lord of this land!” He glanced around the room at them all. “Tomorrow morning, I am coming through those front gates and will decree that Kranmir is both the new Aldermaston of Muirwood and the head of the maston order in Comoros. He has already signed the Act of Submission. All who fail to sign will be taken to Pent Tower and tried for treason.” He glared at Maia, his look swollen with fury, then glanced back at Sabine. “You might want to be gone when I return, Sabine. Truly, I do not wish to ever see you again.”

The door of the Aldermaston’s study closed. Tomas the steward hung his head, looking as grim-faced as if he were standing at the steps leading to the gallows. Sitting in his usual chair, the Aldermaston seemed disappointed but not surprised. His wife was standing just behind him, her hand on his shoulder, and he reached up to clasp that hand, smiling sadly. Sabine’s arms were folded, indicating she was deep in thought. But all the upset around Maia could not compare with the misery and disappointment in her own heart.