The Banished of Muirwood (Covenant of Muirwood, #1)(31)
“I am sorry,” she said through clenched teeth. “But I cannot control my dreams. None of us can. See? The magic is tamed now. Jon Tayt is soothing the horses. All will be well in a moment.”
The kishion shook his head. “They are getting worse, though.”
She struggled to keep her composure. She wanted to yell and scream at him, to unleash the childish emotions awakened by the dream. But she had to keep her feelings under control. She pressed her fingers against her mouth, as if that would stop her from blurting out anything she did not want to reveal.
All her life, she had bottled up her emotions. That was the way of the mastons, after all. And the Dochte Mandar too. She knew what became of a person who lost control of their wants, emotions, and desires—she needed only to look as far as her father. It was one fate she would not allow herself to suffer. So she could be poked, but she would not flinch. She could be teased, but she would not retaliate. Deep down, though, a well of anger and indignation had built up inside her, and it threatened to break loose. She dared not allow it.
Maia closed her eyes, burying her turbulent feelings. A shaky breath came from her, followed by another, calmer one. Chancellor Walraven’s warnings were still fresh in her mind. She knew the dangers of her own power. For if she could make rats and mice fling themselves from a tower window, she could also drive a man to kill himself. Such pure power needed to be safeguarded behind iron self-control.
“I will be all right, kishion,” she said more softly. She looked him in the eye, showing him her calm exterior.
“What if they continue to grow worse?” he asked her pointedly.
“Then wake me as Jon Tayt did,” she replied. “They are just bad dreams from my childhood.”
He snorted dismissively. “You are still a child.”
“I am eighteen,” she reminded him. “Some of my cousins were married when they were thirteen or fourteen. Most were plight trothed, as I was, as babes. I am not married, but I am not a child.”
“But are you an innocent?” he said with a strange look on his face. “I will wake you next time. Perhaps a pan of cold water will do.”
She shook her head and stifled a cough. He was about to rise and leave, but she caught his arm. He stopped and gave her a curious look.
“The nightmares are from the past,” she whispered. “I do not understand why I am being forced to relive my most painful memories at night, but the Medium must have a reason. I wish I could dream about the years before I was nine. Those are all pleasant memories.”
He nodded. “Before your father sent you away.”
“To be honest,” she said, looking around, “I do not even recall falling asleep last night. Where are we?”
“It was after sunset when we found these ruins,” the kishion said, standing.
She looked around and saw, through the haze of dawn, the skeletal remains of an abbey around her. Columns of broken stone sat crouchbacked and ominous nearby. The lawns were overgrown, and she thought she spied the charred stump of a maypole fastened in the midst of the green.
“You were practically asleep in the saddle,” he said, reaching down and grabbing her by the wrist to help her stand. “You just curled up on the turf and bedded down in your cloak. Jon Tayt and I feasted like kings. We saved you a plate, though it grew cold.”
She shook her head, smiling wistfully. “I do not remember. I was weary from the pace we set yesterday.” Her stomach growled, startling them both, and Maia laughed. “My appetite bears witness to the truth of your story.”
A faint smile tugged at his mouth. “I searched the grounds this morning for an orchard with fruit. Remember the one we found at the lost abbey? The garden?”
A mixture of memories flooded her mind. Her time with the kishion had always been fraught with tension. “The maston garden,” she said, brooking a smile. “The fruit was still fresh. Did you find any?”
He shook his head. “There were some barren trees. All wild, with nothing to eat.”
“The Leerings have all been stripped away,” Maia said, walking up to one of the towering stone buttresses. She could not sense a single one amidst the rubble as she ran her hand along the rough surface. “The Naestors harvested the Leerings. See the gashes up there? They were chiseled away.”
“Why would they do that?” he asked.
Maia stared up at the pocked surface. “They learned to control them after finding so many of these,” she said, patting the kystrel beneath her bodice. “But they lacked the maston lore to build their own Leerings or forge their own medallions. They tried. They carved faces into stones. They mimicked the designs perfectly.” She dropped her hand away and started walking toward Jon Tayt, who was beginning to saddle their mounts. She looked back at the kishion. “They could copy a Leering, but they lacked a maston’s authority to give it power.”
He walked with her toward the horses. “You are not a maston yourself, are you?”
She shook her head. “No. I was never permitted to learn. I know I would have passed. I can work a Leering without a kystrel, which most people cannot do, but I can only use the Medium’s stronger powers with it. Strength in the Medium comes from your Family, and all my ancestors were famous mastons. I would like to become one too . . . someday.”
Jon Tayt yanked hard on one of the girth straps. “Ach,” he said with a huff, catching her last words, “just slip away to Tintern Abbey in Pry-Ree and the Aldermaston will grant your request. If you were a maston, you would have no need to trifle with such jewelry.” He gave her a sidelong look. “Now that these beasts have calmed down a bit, there is a right way to saddle a horse and a wrong way. Collier knew the right way, but if you adjust the harness like so,” he grunted, moving the straps, “it makes it easier on the mount to carry you. We rode them hard yesterday. So we will give them a bit of a rest and walk them this morning, then ride hard later on.”