The Banished of Muirwood (Covenant of Muirwood, #1)(13)
The time away from her mother had been difficult. Because women were not permitted to write, Maia had only received verbal messages from her mother or notes dictated to scribes and then read to her, whereas she had received various writs, commands, and notes from her father. Though, by necessity, she pretended she could not read them when others were around, she had kept several of the documents in her chests. When she was alone, she delighted in reading them and tracing the ink scribbles with her finger.
The sun crowned the keep as the carriage rumbled across the vast drawbridge, and she nearly leaped from her seat when it finally came to a halt. In the courtyard, amidst the dismounting knight-mastons who had escorted her, she saw the black cassock and wild hair of Chancellor Walraven, but he was also wearing a fur cloak that was brown and speckled with jewels, as well as the ceremonial stole of his office. He smiled as she waved through the opening of the carriage. A footman from the wall of onlookers briskly carried over a pedestal to help her descend.
“Prevaylee, pria hospia, cheru Marciana,” the chancellor greeted her, bowing fully at the waist.
“Prevaylee, Chancellor,” Maia replied with a deep curtsy. “If you believe I have forgotten my mother tongue, you need not fear it.”
The chancellor beamed at her with pride. “You are old enough to dance around the maypole. Look at you!” She felt her cheeks grow warm at the sight of the affection in his eyes. “You are nearly a woman grown. The reports I have from your sojourn in Pry-Ree do you credit and justice. Your lord father is proud of you, child. You must believe that. He sent me to greet you in person and escort you to him in his solar.”
“Thank you, Chancellor,” Maia replied. “I have missed seeing you.”
He smiled at the compliment and extended his arm. She smoothed her tailored gown again before taking it, and then started across the inner courtyard. As they passed, she noticed the groomsmen emerge from the shadows to take care of the mounts and unharness the carriage. She nodded to them and smiled, winning surprised looks from several of the men. She had learned in Pry-Ree that attending to even the lowliest of servants would win her great esteem and improve the diligence of the servants’ work by making them feel acknowledged.
After crossing the threshold of the keep with the chancellor, Maia’s eyes began to adjust to the dark. There were a few Leerings posted nearby to offer light, and she admired the ancient carved faces that, though pitted and worn, still showed smiling expressions. The sights and sounds of Comoros satisfied a deep hunger within her, and she longed to touch even the wooden doorposts and wainscoting. The palace was immaculately decorated, for her father was a fastidious man who tolerated nothing unkempt or slovenly. She swallowed her nerves.
“You have returned home during difficult times, Lady Maia,” the chancellor whispered to her. He was careful to pitch his voice low to prevent others from eavesdropping. “I am afraid you will soon learn of it, but let me prepare you as best I can.”
“What has happened?” Maia asked, her pulse starting to race. Nothing in the summons home that she’d received had alarmed her.
“Things happen by degrees, my lady. Such is the way of the world. Unpleasantness grows like mold on cheese. I fear that the extent of it will be startling to you. Relations between your parents have . . . deteriorated since you left for Bridgestow.”
“How so, Chancellor?”
“The castle is used to their arguments now, but it was quite shocking at first, especially when they turned on each other in the great hall. I persuaded them to refrain from arguing in public places, and they try to heed me. Child, their marriage is failing.”
Maia stopped in her tracks and stared up at the chancellor with wide eyes as sickness bloomed deep in her stomach. “What?” she whispered hoarsely.
The chancellor patted her arm and urged her to move on. Passersby had taken notice of her reaction, she realized, and the glances of sympathy she received told her they knew she was coming home to disaster.
“Come, Maia. Do not linger.”
Somehow she made her legs begin to move again. The swish of her skirts was distracting, even chafing, and she felt emotions bubbling up inside her like a kettle poised over too hot a fire.
“My parents were married by irrevocare sigil,” Maia whispered through half-clenched teeth.
“Yes, I am aware of the maston custom,” the chancellor said. “It makes this situation more painful, to be sure. Your parents have come to loathe each other. Your mother seeks to mend the rift, but your father will have none of it. He shames her publicly. His tongue is quite acid, I tell you. Steel your heart, child. You must prepare for this meeting. Do you still forswear weeping? Your father has often praised you for not weeping as other children do.”
Maia clenched her free hand into a fist, feeling the dark, terrible swirl of emotions settle in her gut. “I never cry in front of others, Chancellor. It is a sign of weakness. What will happen?”
“I have said more than I should. I wanted you to know before seeing your father. He is angry oftentimes. I know you love him. I know you will probably fear him. Stand firm, Maia. Steel your heart.”
“Thank you for warning me, Chancellor,” Maia replied, her throat thick. They mounted the steps to the solar together, moving side by side. She would have loved to run her hand over the cool stone edges of the walls; instead she clasped her stomach in an attempt to protect herself from the nausea that threatened to weaken her. Her throat was dry, but she mounted each step as if it did not take an uncommon strength of will. At the top, fragrant floor rushes awaited them, crunching under their boots with sweet scents as they trod over them toward the solar.