The Banished of Muirwood (Covenant of Muirwood, #1)(46)
The guards parted the curtain and the captain walked in first, ducking beneath the heavy folds of fabric before turning and ushering her between the poles supporting the entryway. To Maia’s surprise, there was a Leering with a lantern hanging from its jaws on each side. She could sense their power as she passed them. Once she was inside the tent, the feeling of the Myriad Ones faded.
The ground was carpeted with bearskins. A small brazier filled with sizzling coals sat at the center of the room. The top of the pavilion was open, allowing the smoke to escape outside. The fabric of the pavilion was pale, decorated with purple trim and a design of strange flowers and runes.
There were several people inside the pavilion, but the first person she noticed was Feint Collier. He did not look like a man about to be decapitated for treason. He stood beside a man to whom he bore a pronounced familial resemblance—they were almost of a height, though the king was shorter, and they were both handsome with dark hair and broad shoulders. The main difference was that the king looked slightly younger, wore a colorful doublet, and glittered with jewels, from the earring in his right lobe to the rings glittering on his fingers and the jeweled saber at his side. Even his belt was studded with gems.
Maia dropped to one knee and bowed her head in respect. Her stomach churned with conflicting emotions. She knew the protocols of the Dahomeyjan court and wondered how long she would be able to preserve her secret without telling an outright lie to the king.
“My lord,” the captain said, “I bring your captive as you commanded. The killers who accompanied her have been confined and await your orders. We found a tree of suitable height.”
“Thank you, Captain.”
Maia was startled at how much the king’s voice resembled Collier’s. Even in this they were alike.
“As you asked, we stripped her of this before bringing her to your lordship.”
She heard the sound of the kystrel chain unraveling. Glancing up, she could see it dangling from the captain’s gloved fingers. If her arms were not bound, her wrists wreathed in ropes, she would have leaped for it. The woven strands of the kystrel sang to her, called to her. It was her magic. It was also her only hope of escape.
The king walked forward, looking at the kystrel as if it were a dangerous serpent. He gingerly took it from the captain, barely touching it with his own gloved hand, and then walked over to a small camp table and set it down by a jewelry box. It gleamed and Maia hungered for it. She kept her eyes downcast.
“Leave us,” the king ordered.
“My lord?” the captain asked warily, his goatee twitching with nervousness.
“She is bound with ropes, Captain, and my collier will run her through if she tries anything foolish. Depart.”
“As you wish, Your Majesty,” the captain said, and he did as ordered, leading his men out of the pavilion. The evening shadows had deepened, but there was sufficient light in the pavilion. The interior did not smell of the filth of the camp, and she noticed some incense sticks poking from the lip of the brazier. The two men stared at her as she waited on her throbbing knee.
“Well, Your Majesty,” the king said with a snort. “I shall leave the two of you alone to talk.”
Maia’s head jerked up with startled surprise. The king stroked his chin, winked at Feint Collier, and then walked to the opposite side of the pavilion, parted a secret fold, and disappeared.
Maia stared in disbelief.
Collier scratched the corner of his eye, looking a little abashed, and then walked over to help her to her feet.
“You?” Maia whispered, her breath tremulous. She was bewildered.
“I am whoever I want to be,” Collier replied. “It is one of the many privileges of being a king. For you, I am Feint Collier. To many, I am called the Mark of Dahomey, though I resent the nickname. People believe whatever they want to believe anyway.” He unsheathed a hunting dirk from his belt and walked behind her. She felt a prickle of apprehension and fear before the ropes binding her arms were severed and fell away. Her wrists were still secured together, but the gesture gave her a sliver of hope.
“Welcome to Dahomey, Princess Marciana,” he said, touching a lock of hair by her neck. “Or do you truly prefer Maia, as I have been informed?”
She shivered at the familiarity of his touch and whirled, backing away from him. “You deceived me.”
He smiled proudly. “Thank you.”
“You knew who I was all along?” Maia pressed.
“Your beauty is renowned, my lady. It took more than blisters, scabs, and dirt to conceal it. And be fair, I did try to tell you.”
“How so?” Maia asked, her mind racing.
“The flower I left in your saddlebag. A lily of Dahomey. The royal flower. I wanted you to know that I knew who you were, so I gave you a hint. You have been under close guard and I could not speak freely, lest the kishion slit your throat or mine.”
“He was sent to protect—”
“He is a hired killer.” He walked over to a small tray and grabbed a few salted nuts and began munching them. “Your father likely paid him to keep you from falling into my hands. How very rude of him to treat his future son-in-law that way.”
Maia stared at him in shock.
“Yes, I deceived you most shamefully,” Collier said with a mock bow. “Did you not enjoy it, though? I certainly did. I will always remember that dance in Briec. There was such a wicked innocence to it. You did not know who I was. I pretended not to know who you were.” The self-satisfied smile on his mouth made her want to slap him hard across the face. “Rarely am I so entertained.” He finished the nuts and brushed his hands together smoothly. “So, for the rest! Now that I have captured you, my lady, I am not going to hold you for ransom. No, nothing like that. I will not execute you, nor will I allow the Dochte Mandar to do so. I will set you free this very evening and you may go on your way to do whatever mischief you were sent here to accomplish. All I ask, my lady—and it really is a small request—is that we marry immediately.”