The Banished of Muirwood (Covenant of Muirwood, #1)(103)

Maia’s grandmother stood and shook her head. “That would compromise you further, dear friend. There is no need; I have made other arrangements.” She looked down at the prostrate Corriveaux. “He will sleep under the Medium’s weight for a while. You must pretend to have been overcome by it as well. Your friendship is still needed. So is your loyalty. Thank you for all you have done.”

Walraven looked concerned. “Lady Demont, how will you escape?”

She smiled and tugged open a pouch hanging from her simple girdle. She plunged her hand inside and withdrew a glimmering golden orb that was the most intricate thing Maia had ever seen. It had strange golden stays and a middle that whirred and spun.

“The Cruciger orb!” Maia gasped, recognizing what it was from the legends she had read.

“But the island . . . the armada,” Walraven said, shaking his head.

“My ship is waiting for us,” she said, touching his arm and patting it patiently. “We will take the Holk to Muirwood, as agreed. Maia will be safe there. You must give us time, Chancellor. You must stall the armada from striking Assinica. Maia is not yet ready to take the maston test. She needs time.” She looked down at the orb. Maia stared at the determination and emotion in her grandmother’s eyes.

“Find Jon Tayt Evnissyen,” Sabine said.

The spindles began to whirl.





CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE




Ransom

The gardens were dark, the Leerings tamed to provide shadows and concealment. Maia heard the rustle of her own skirts, felt the cool touch of the wind through her hair as they passed the Leerings, one by one, a maze of tortured faces depicting every emotion known. The Garden of Leerings. The thought flitted through her mind and then fled.

“Grandmother,” Maia said, suddenly clutching her companion’s arm. Her heart thudded in her chest. “There is someone else here, someone I cannot leave behind. The King of Dahomey . . . it was his ship that brought me here.” What would the Dochte Mandar do to him if Maia fled? She knew it instantly. He would be held hostage once again, kept prisoner until they had bled his kingdom of coin to punish him for Maia’s betrayal. The money Collier had gathered to fund his invasion would be stripped away. She pressed her temples, remembering his last words to her.

“We cannot go back,” Sabine said, her look clouding with sadness. “Maia, he is not a maston. You cannot marry him.”

Her heart shuddered with pain. The truth came bubbling from her lips. “I already have. We were”—she gulped, swallowed—“wed in Dahomey a fortnight ago. I was his prisoner.”

The look her grandmother gave her was full of pity. She could still see the strong resemblance to her mother, but now it was more obvious they were different people. Sabine had gray-blond hair that was crinkled slightly, whereas her mother’s was more straight. Their smiles were similar. She cupped Maia’s cheek. “You were not yourself, were you?”

Maia shook her head, ashamed. “I wanted to tell him. Grandmother, he wears my kystrel. I am such a fool. I have been deceived all the while.”

“Shush, child,” Sabine said. “The Myriad Ones are cunning. Their queen is known as Ereshkigal. You will learn all of this when you take your maston vows. You could not have known, Maia, because you were not permitted to study. Let us keep walking, the orb bids us onward.”

“I cannot leave him behind!” Maia pleaded into her ear. “He will think I betrayed him. He is just as deceived as I was.”

Maia’s grandmother gently squeezed Maia’s neck. “He had more choice in the matter than you did. The two of you were promised when you were both very little.” She released Maia from the hug and pulled back to stroke her cheek. “The Dahomeyjan are known for their craftiness and subtlety. It is no coincidence that the hetaera spawn from their kingdom.” She sighed sympathetically. “Let me consult the orb.”

Sabine cupped it in her hands, staring at it thoughtfully. “Is there a safe way to rescue King Gideon from the Victus?”

The spindle on the orb did not turn, but writing appeared on the lower half of the orb. It was Pry-rian script, elegant and slanting.

The king’s collier must be ransomed.

Maia stared at the writing, unveiled in golden aurichalcum. Her pulse quickened. The Medium knew his name.

Sabine stared at the words, then glanced at Maia.

“I understand it,” Maia said, touching her arm. Her heart trembled with sadness. Forgive me, Collier. Forgive me.

She did not hear any echo in her mind. His thoughts were silent, which made her feel sadness and guilt. The emotions wrestled mercilessly inside her.

“Come,” Sabine said. She hugged Maia again, and then the orb guided them into the thick gorse of the gardens and the hedge mazes beyond. They continued walking until a bark sounded and Argus came padding up, wagging his tail frantically.

“Oh, Argus,” Maia said, dropping to her knees and letting the boarhound lick her face. She nuzzled his fur, stifling her tears of joy and regret. Stomping through the grass after the dog came Jon Tayt, who looked at her with a wise, knowing smile.

“By Cheshu, you do look like a queen,” he said, coming up and mussing her hair. He turned to Sabine and bowed. “I brought her here as best I could, Aldermaston. Down, Argus, stop licking the lass’s face.” He shook his head, then gave a meaningful look to Sabine Demont. “Is my banishment over?”