The Banished of Muirwood (Covenant of Muirwood, #1)(101)

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR




Ereshkigal

With the words your humble servant, Walraven might as well have stabbed Maia in the ribs with a dagger. She stared at him, shock stricken, incredulous, but she recognized his face, the tone of his voice. It was a voice she had longed to hear. She had treasured those words he had scribbled on a piece of paper for her. Memorized them. That he would cast himself down so that she might rise up someday had been the crutch that carried her through many difficult days.

But he had raised her up for this? To become queen of the hetaera? Her stomach shriveled with disappointment and anguish, and a shroud of weariness fell on her.

“You have been prepared for this very moment,” Corriveaux said archly, gripping the ornate chair and stroking the polished wood. “You will reign supreme across all the kingdoms. The finest gowns. The most dazzling jewels. You will have lovers, wine, and coin in abundance. The world is yours for the plucking, my dear.” He walked toward her. “You will be the most beautiful woman of them all. Every fashion you wear, every tress of your hair will be envied. They will bow to you and simper for a glance, a look of approval, a compliment offered freely. And the men . . . they will worship you.”

Maia stared into Walraven’s eyes as Corriveaux spoke, her look accusing and full of daggers. “You did this to me,” she whispered. “You turned my parents away from each other. You . . . you spoiled their lives to create mine.” Her jaw trembled as a burning fury erupted inside her heart.

“I did,” Walraven said, stepping closer. His eyes were deep and piercing. A light flush came to his cheeks. “For this moment, I did it. So that you could claim your destiny. So that you could become.”

Maia stared down at the floor, at the rich carpets. The enormity of what these men were offering her rose like the dawn sun. She could have carriages and pets, servants and gowns, jewels and treats. At her word, men or women would be sent to the gallows. With her kiss on his knuckles, a man would die. The freedom they offered her was more vast than oceans and continents. She would rule them all. The thought of so much power and influence made her dizzy.

Her heart crumpled in pain and despair. She was weary of running. Her endurance was spent. Instead of a cage, her prison would be made of silk, gold, and damask. Instead of an iron collar, a golden tiara. She felt the blackness swelling inside her. Perhaps it was time to accept the future these men had built for her. Now, at least, she would have unlimited powers of revenge. All she needed to do was claim them.

For this moment. You were born for this moment.

Maia stared at Corriveaux, her vision blurring with blackness. It was like standing in the waves of the sea and getting dragged out by the surf. The sands at her feet were shifting away, urging her out into deeper waters. Wave after wave of the hetaera’s blackest thoughts pounded against her—hatred, revenge, hatred, revenge. It was vast and relentless. She realized she would live her life in dreams, while her body was used to commit atrocities. Better to bury her face in a pillow and never breathe again.

“If I will not?” Maia asked weakly, her voice coming out in a gasp.

Corriveaux chuckled coldly. “I think you will, my dear. We have invested so much in preparing you. The Victus are patient. So very patient. It would amaze you how patient we can be.” His voice was thick with meaning.

“But if I refuse?” Maia said, growing stronger, clenching her hands into fists.

“In the past, the Dochte Mandar would use poison to force a hetaera to accept her calling. Serpent venom. You will die to be reborn. There are rare cases when the poison does not work, of course. You seem naturally resistant to poison.” There was something in his voice she did not comprehend. “You would rather be a hostage than empress? You and your husband both? We could extort quite a ransom from your kingdoms. And if you think you are the only girl we have been preparing for this privilege, you are mistaken.” He took a step toward her, his face greedy and delighted. “But why make this so difficult? Claim your birthright.”

She backed away from him, her mind panicking. He was going to touch her shoulder. She could sense his intent. He was going to invoke the spirit inside of her. Images crashed inside her mind, like a thousand dishes shattering.

She would not submit, no matter how gilded the prison. She would never submit. She was the daughter of mastons. This was not her destiny.

“Do not touch me,” Maia said, holding her ground. She stopped retreating and stared at Corriveaux with defiance.

His face was livid with rage at being disobeyed. “You will submit, Lady Maia. I assure you. You will.”

She felt his will crushing against hers, filling her with terror and weakness and despair. His eyes glowed silver.

The feelings were not real, she told herself. They were as false as the dreams that had haunted her these past weeks. She gritted her teeth and pushed against them. He was very strong, but she did not summon her own magic. She did not invoke the kystrel’s power to defend herself. To do so in this moment would be to summon her. Iron bands wrapped around her thoughts, clenching against her, imprisoning her. She fell to her knees, her skirts rustling, and she bowed her head. Darkness swarmed her vision. She wanted to speak, to defy him, but her tongue was swollen in her mouth. She felt death whisper in her ear that if she did not submit, her soul would be wrenched from her body. Pain ignited across her skin; anger raged inside her.