The Banished of Muirwood (Covenant of Muirwood, #1)(100)

Maia shook her head and backed away from him. “I will not do it,” she said strongly, though her voice quavered.

He snorted. “We do not need your permission. Or your willingness. You, foolish girl, allowed a Myriad One to inhabit your body. You have been in the thrall of a most ancient being who desires revenge against the mastons for destroying her order. Our interests are quite aligned. We make you queen . . . empress . . . goddess of the world. The abbeys will be destroyed again, just as you destroyed Cruix Abbey. They are so much easier to burn than to build.” He smiled. “We will send you to Assinica first, however, to unleash you upon the mastons. We have a fleet of ships, a veritable armada, which will then collect the Leerings and jewels and art from that vanquished people. A treasure greater than the one we stole from the other kingdoms.”

Maia’s heart was pounding in her ears. She could feel the rejoicing of the being trapped inside her.

“You think you can tame her?” Maia said, aghast. “She will destroy you.”

“I think not,” Corriveaux said. “She needs us, just as we need her.”

“You are mistaken,” Maia said, shaking her head. “It would be wiser to simply kill me. She will destroy all that you have built. There will be no empire left for her to rule. She only knows how to destroy.”

Corriveaux scratched the edge of his mouth. “I think I am done speaking with you, Lady Maia. I see you are still struggling with her. It is only the light from the Leerings that has kept her from reclaiming you thus far. Let me quench them.”

Maia felt his mental command to tame the garden Leerings. As they dimmed, she felt a wall of despair slam down on her. Her thoughts struggled under the pressure. Her vision blackened. Yes, the darkness gave power to the being inside her.

Maia reached out to the Leerings in her mind and lit them again, washing the gardens with brightness once more. She felt a hiss in her mind, a scalding pain that continued to intensify, crushing against her will.

“Enough,” Corriveaux said. He darkened the Leerings again, but their light did not go out fully. Maia struggled to cling to her connection. She was drowning in darkness. The gardens were pale, the light wavering in the Leerings as her will and Corriveaux’s contested for them.

Help me, Maia begged in her mind. She pleaded with the Medium. I would rather die than accept this fate. Give me the strength to keep the light!

“You are strong,” Corriveaux grunted, impressed. She saw sweat glisten on his brow. “But given your heritage, you would be. It was crucial to our cause that you were never allowed to train in an abbey. I feel your will bending. You cannot defeat me. I have trained for too long. Of course, you were trained as well. One of the best Victus of all was assigned to tutor you. To groom you for your role as the empress who will destroy the mastons. Walraven did his job admirably.”

Maia licked her lips, her stomach wrenching, her mind pounding with pain. “I do not believe you,” she gasped.

“You doubt my words?” Corriveaux said. “You were sent to the lost abbey to become a hetaera. Not, as you may suppose, so that your father could divorce your mother. All has been part of our design. The Victus have fashioned you. You do not even begin to comprehend our subtlety, but then, we were trained by the best minds. Our ancestors could not read. They could not scribe until they were taught by your husband’s ancestor, the last Earl of Dieyre. What treasures of wisdom we learned from the tomes. You were made by Walraven, like a carving from a master sculptor. And he is here to appreciate and marvel at his creation.”

Maia stared at him. “What are you saying? He is dead!”

Corriveaux smirked. “There is a certain venom from a certain serpent in Dahomey, you see. A poison, if you will, which will render its victim lifeless for three days.” He spread his hands wide. “No one has opened his ossuary in your cursed kingdom. They would consider it sacrilege. Enter please, my friend Walraven. I think more than enough time has passed since you last saw your protégée.”

As his voice boomed out beside her, one of the wooden panels on the wall opened silently, revealing a secret door and tunnel.

Her childhood mentor stood before her. His wild silver hair was as unkempt as it had ever been, and he wore a royal dress similar to Corriveaux’s, including the scabbard and ruby-pommeled sword. His face was stern and serious, his eyes flat and free of compassion.

“Ah,” Walraven said, his voice croaking with age. “Thank you, my friend,” he said, addressing Corriveaux. “I told you she was destined to be a queen. Queen of the Unborn. Is she not magnificent?”

He bowed slowly to Maia, his wrinkled face full of crags. “Your humble servant.”





One of the hard lessons I have learned in my life is to seek the will of the Medium amidst my suffering. If I did not get what I wanted, I suffered; if I got what I did not want, I suffered; even when I got exactly what I wanted, I still suffered because you cannot hold on to anything in the physical world forever. Time is like water. Please understand this, great-granddaughter, and teach it to your posterity. Your mind is your predicament. It wants to be free of change. Free of pain, free of the obligations of life and death. But change is law and no amount of pretending will alter that reality. The Medium always brings change.


—Lia Demont, Aldermaston of Muirwood Abbey