The Banished of Muirwood (Covenant of Muirwood, #1)(47)
“You are mad,” Maia gasped in wonderment.
“Hardly. Cunning, wise, treacherous, and—to many a lady—charming. Let me put it this way,” he continued, sitting on the edge of the small sturdy table. “I seek to fulfill the plight troth of our infanthood, solemnizing our union under the auspices of the Dochte Mandar—for I am not a maston and neither are you!” He grinned with triumph. “As my wife, you will provide me with the lawful grounds to invade your kingdom and claim it on your behalf, deposing your feckless, ruthless, and quite possibly insane father, giving us the thrones of Comoros and Dahomey. My ambitions, naturally, do not end there, as with our combined strength, we will topple the other kingdoms and then invade the homeland of the Naestors.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully and winked. “We can accomplish all this by Whitsunday. What do you think?”
Maia stared at him. She blinked, trying to rally her wits. Was he serious? Was he toying with her? She was still reeling from all the double-dealing and deceit.
“You are too quiet,” he murmured, shaking his head. “That surprises me. Perhaps you prefer a little more nuance in your trickery. I, myself, tend to take few things in a serious vein. But I am quite serious, Lady Marciana, about all that I have suggested.” He approached and she backed away. “My tone may be jovial, but I speak in earnest. If you are squeamish about murdering your father, we can confine him to Pent Tower for the rest of his old age. He has confined you for quite long enough.” She saw a certain heat radiating in his eyes, an anger that belied his teasing. “You are the rightful heir of Comoros. What he has done to you . . .” His voice trailed off and she could see him mastering himself.
“What he has done, he has done,” Maia said, trying to find some strength in her voice. “I am here because he bid me to save my people. When the Dochte Mandar were expelled from the realm, it unleashed a threat.”
“Of course it did,” Collier said arrogantly. “The Myriad Ones have always been among us, in my kingdom most of all. This is where they have glutted themselves to excess,” he said in an offhanded way. He went to the table where her kystrel rested and took a goblet of wine, drinking a swallow from it. “Men are too weak to resist their baser instincts. They must be ruled, and I intend to be the one who rules them, as my ancestor Dieyre once did.”
Maia stared at him and shook her head. “He ruled over their demise.”
He frowned and shook his head at her. “He failed because he could not claim that which he desired most. The love of a certain woman.” He tipped his cup toward her. “A woman named Marciana. Is this not rich in irony? I wish to be your husband. I wish you to rule by my side. But do not expect love from me, and do not expect me to fall victim to you. I will never consummate our marriage vows with a kiss. I have read the tomes, and I know what you are. I told you I was not a maston, but I faced the maston test. I failed it, though I learned much in the process. I know why your father sent you to the lost abbey, and it has nothing to do with vanquishing the Myriad Ones or any such nonsense.” He set the goblet down on the table and lifted the kystrel, dangling it by its chain.
“You want this back,” he murmured softly, his voice like bubbling cheese.
Maia stared at it, aching at the sight of it so close. Her wrists chafed at their bonds.
“I can feel your thoughts writhing for it. As I said, I seek an alliance with you—one that will start with our immediate marriage. This very evening under this very moon. I have been candid regarding my intentions. With your help, I can seize and conquer all the kingdoms, which we will rule together.” He swung the medallion back and forth, teasing her. “The lost abbey is where the hetaera’s Leering was taken when Dochte Abbey fell. The Leering is carved like a serpent. A serpent in a circle. Its mark is branded on your shoulder. Come, Maia,” he insisted, his voice husky and soft. “No deceptions between us. I will give this back to you. I know you must have already used it against me, for I dream of you at night. You can use me and twist me as you will as long as you give me the power I seek. I will give you your freedom. Marry me—tonight—and it is yours.”
I have been to the hetaera’s lair and faced their test. It was the Medium’s will that I leave a curse on their Leering, a curse bound by irrevocare sigil. A curse to last for all time. I faced the Queen of the Unborn, Ereshkigal, who sought to turn me into her slave. She threatened me and my posterity with revenge. The Leering was too powerful to destroy, but it was moved from Dochte Abbey, hidden away by the Dochte Mandar. You must understand that it still holds great power, and its brand—two entwining serpents—can still be burned into a shoulder. It is usually the left shoulder. That is how you can tell a woman is a hetaera. In my day the hetaera seduced kings and sheriffs and secretly plotted to have all the mastons murdered. My own mother was killed by a hetaera. In your day, many mastons are weaker in the Medium than the Dochte Mandar who use kystrels to amplify their power. But a hetaera would be even stronger—she would have the power to destroy their civilization. I must warn you that the curse I placed on that Leering is still in force. A hetaera’s kiss will bring a plague. The Naestors fear this above all else, and they will murder any girl who wears a kystrel or has the mark on her shoulder. Eventually, they will kill any girl who even learns how to read.
—Lia Demont, Aldermaston of Muirwood Abbey