The Banished of Muirwood (Covenant of Muirwood, #1)(30)

“I did it on my own,” Maia said, flushing with warmth at his praise.

“Well, that is certainly an accomplishment. I do not believe you will have any trouble passing the maston test, to be sure. Women are not allowed to read, of course, but as your ancestors discovered, one from the proper Family does not need to be able to read in order to pass the maston test or tame a Leering. So you desire it still?”

“Yes,” Maia said fiercely. “My mother is one. My father . . .” she swallowed. “What is the reference you mentioned? I will learn it eventually. You must tell me, Chancellor.”

He smoothed his hand over her scalp tenderly, as if he were an Aldermaston himself, about to bestow a Gifting on her.

“Well, I do not see the harm. The Medium responds to our strongest thoughts and emotions, so if you feel strongly about it, you will become a maston someday, lass. I do not doubt it, particularly given your talent. Even if you had to sneak away from Pent Tower and visit Claredon Abbey!” He glanced at the door and around the chamber, making sure they were alone. He dropped his voice lower. “As I said, there is knowledge in the Aldermastons’ tomes that is limited to those who have passed the maston test. That is the proper place to learn it. What I will tell you comes from the tomes of the Dochte Mandar. It is scribed in my own tome, in fact. As you know, the irrevocare sigil binds a man and woman together through the power of the Medium. The bond is so permanent that the marriage will last beyond the pale of death. A man—or a woman—may divorce his spouse on grounds of adultery. You already know this. There is another cause. A man may discover that his wife is a hetaera. That is grounds as well.”

The word sent a shiver through Maia, though she knew not why. “What is that, Chancellor?” She could not even say the word, for she feared it would burn her tongue.

Walraven shook his head. “That you must learn for yourself when you face the maston test. Hetaera are powerful with the Medium because they use kystrels. They brought the Scourge upon the world, which is why the Dochte Mandar have banned women from using the medallions. But I assure you, child. The argument is useless in this case. There have been no hetaera for ages.”





Emotions are the most ungovernable of human frailties. How I have learned this to be true! In the tome of Aldermaston Aquinar, he scribed a saying to give himself strength to manage his heart. He wrote, “Give me a waking heart, that no curious thought can withdraw me from the Medium. Let it be so strong that no unworthy affection can draw me backward, so stable that no tribulation can break it, and so free that no election by violence can make any challenge to it.” That is what I have always desired—a waking heart. One that can never be lulled into complacency.


—Lia Demont, Aldermaston of Muirwood Abbey





CHAPTER TEN




Nightmares

Lady Maia! Wake up! Wake up!”

She awoke to the sensation of hands gripping her shoulders, shaking her roughly, and a burning feeling against her chest. The emotions of the dream were so vivid that when her eyes flew open in sudden terror, she could not remember where she was, or even her age. The kystrel seared against her skin, and she felt the power of the Medium flood through her, urgent and panting and swelling like the tide.

It was Jon Tayt who had grabbed her shoulders, she realized. His face was pressed but a few inches from hers.

“Stop the magic!” he begged her.

She saw the kishion kneeling nearby, hand on his dagger hilt—looking for a moment as if he would slit her throat if she did not stop.

The power and fury of the Medium roared in her ears, irrepressible. She felt the vastness of the world at her fingertips, as if in that moment, she could encircle the entire land, all of the kingdoms, in her arms, as a lavender gathers a heap of laundry.

“Please!” Jon Tayt’s eyes were desperate. He had a look of awe as well as fear, and in the mirrors of his eyes, she could see that her own eyes were glowing silver.

For a moment, she could not relinquish the magic, though she tried. The wind howled, blasting her hair and cloak. This squall she had created was as powerful as a sea storm, and it hurled against them violently.

Enough, Maia thought with a twinge of fear, but a force of command. Be still.

The kystrel began to cool against her neck. With it, the winds died down. She stared at her surroundings, confused. Three horses were tethered to a fallen log, and they were all rearing and bucking, whinnying in terror.

Jon Tayt sighed with relief, releasing her shoulders, and then rushed to calm the mounts. Three horses. Three names—Revenge, Chacewater, and Preslee. Not horses from her stables when she was a child, but horses loaned to them by Feint Collier. She blinked rapidly, trying to dispel the turbulent emotions her dream had left with her.

“They are getting worse,” the kishion said in a low voice.

“What do you mean?” Maia asked him, drawing her cloak around her bodice. She knew this latest surge of magic would only have enlarged the tattoo. How much longer did she have before she could no longer conceal it?

“The nightmares.”

Rather than look at him, she fussed with the edge of her burgundy gown and flicked away bits of debris from the fabric.

“Tell me.”

She finally met his eyes. “I am not confessing my dreams to you, kishion.”

He brooded and shook his head. “My lady, this last one brought a storm down on us so severe it frightened away game in all directions. The horses nearly killed themselves trying to flee from you.”