The Banished of Muirwood (Covenant of Muirwood, #1)(28)

“Oh, but you must,” Lady Deorwynn said, setting down the needlework. “Why do you think Papa chose Billerbeck to celebrate Whitsunday? Why make such a long journey for the occasion?”

Maia used to know her father’s thinking. In the past, she would have been able to answer the question accurately. Now she did not understand her father.

“I do not know,” Maia said softly. “Likely it is the farthest abbey from Muirwood.”

Lady Deorwynn rose, her eyes flashing with anger. “You have a wicked tongue.”

Maia stared at her coldly, saying nothing.

“You must learn humility, child. That is the way of the Medium, is it not? So proud in your heart still. Well, only through suffering do we learn, as the Aldermastons and the Dochte Mandar teach us. You have much to learn.” It sounded like a threat.

“If she does not wish to attend the maypole dance, Mother, we should not force her,” Murer said. “Whether she dances or not, there will be shame enough.”

“Papa wishes her to be seen by the Forshees,” Lady Deorwynn explained patiently. “To show them that she is well, that she is treated with kindness and compassion. She is not a prisoner in Pent Tower, as the rumors say. So you see, Maia, even if you are unwell, you must attend. No one will dance with you anyway. You are a thing to be pitied.”

“I will attend if Father wishes it,” Maia said dispassionately. She never called him Papa.

Her heart ached, but she did not let it show on her face. As the sisters began talking about gowns and garlands, she silently left the solar. She pressed one hand to her abdomen, trying to push down the pain and ill humor. Since her banishment, her strength had flagged and she had been sick quite often. She suffered from ulcers in her stomach, according to the healers, which they treated with herbs and tinctures. Nothing worked. She had even sent for the Aldermaston of Claredon for a Gift of healing. Any maston could call upon the Medium for a Gifting to aid another person. The Aldermaston had tried unsuccessfully. Sadly, he had explained it was the Medium’s will that she suffer from her ailments.

Maia passed through the common room, which was crowded with servants preparing for the Whitsunday feast that would be held prior to the festival. She was grateful for the commotion, for it would help prevent others from noticing her. Even though Maia could no longer wear elegant gowns, even though she was forced to wear the gowns of the servants, she still earned sympathetic glances from visitors. From their pained looks, she knew that while they silently disagreed with her father’s decision to banish his wife, they would not speak up for her if it meant defying him.

This was her first Whitsunday since coming of age. For many years, she had imagined what it would be like. This was the one day when there were no longer any divisions by rank. Even the lowliest were permitted to attend the feast. Boys and girls were allowed to dance around the maypole together, holding hands as they spun around the tall pole festooned with flowers and ribbons. A princess could dance with a lowly shepherd boy. When a girl and boy turned fourteen, they were finally allowed to participate. It was a custom that had been passed down through the centuries. As Whitsunday approached, the girls would fret constantly about who would ask them to dance. The boys, on the other hand, would steel their courage and ask for dances they would otherwise never dare request. There was powerful symbolism in the ritual, she realized, and she had attended the festivals throughout her childhood. At her request, her father had taught her the dance when she was six. She had even seen her parents dance around the maypole together, and the memories were like clutching knives to her bosom. The pain in her stomach worsened, as it always did when she thought about the time before, and she knew she had to quiet her mind.

But how could she not remember? She had not seen her mother in years. This Whitsunday, her mother was in Muirwood Abbey, moored in some swamp-infested land full of gnats and bogs that no one cared enough to visit because it was still being erected. It was the most ancient abbey of the realm, yet other abbeys had been completed sooner. Why was that? Perhaps because the destruction had been more severe. It was said that only the Aldermaston’s kitchen had survived intact.

Maia imagined her mother in that kitchen. Alone. Grief stricken. Ailing. Maia had heard that her mother’s health was in jeopardy. Her father had sent the finest healers to treat her, for he did not want the suspicion of murder to tarnish his reputation further. What pained her more than anything about this Whitsunday was that she had begged Father to send her to Muirwood for the occasion. She had asked him to send half of his army, if necessary, to ensure she returned. Her father had laughed in her face and said that he could not trust half his army because they might be sympathetic enough to her mother’s plight to rise up in rebellion against him.

“Lady Maia!”

She whirled at the sound of the voice. She was just about to leave the common room for the stairwell when she spied Chancellor Walraven waving to her.

She brightened and approached him.

“I was going to the library,” he said. “Would you care to join me?”

“I would. I thought I might not see you until the festival this evening. How long have you been in Billerbeck Hundred?”

“A fortnight already,” Walraven said, smiling at her. He led the way up the stairs to the upper floor of another part of the castle and entered the library. The floor rushes smelled of mint. Everything had been freshly changed in anticipation of the king’s arrival.