The Banished of Muirwood (Covenant of Muirwood, #1)(50)

“Your terms are too easy, my lady. I do not ask for a dowry in coins or land. Comoros itself will be sufficient. But though I will claim it on your behalf, you will be queen in your own right.”

“I am not going to marry you,” Maia said, shaking her head. “You will release me and help me on my quest.”

He stared at her for a moment, then shook his head. “No, I will only help you with your quest after we marry.” He held up the kystrel again, dangling it dangerously close to her.

“It is my understanding of the hetaera lore,” he said slyly, “that if a man wears her kystrel, he shares her power. They are bound together. Like . . . wedding bands, you might say. What would happen if I wore yours, I wonder? Would my eyes glow silver? Would your tattoo transfer to my flesh? It would give you more power, would it not?”

Maia’s mouth went dry. That was written in the tomes of the Dochte Mandar, a warning to any man who wore a kystrel, that the hetaera who had forged it must already be dead.

“Ah, by the look on your face, I see I have struck near the mark! What would happen to us both, Maia? We would be inseparable. Would I do your bidding, or would you do mine? Whose will is stronger?”

“Do not,” Maia warned as he lifted it higher.

“You are so subtle,” he said, flashing her a handsome grin. “You bid me to do the very opposite of that which you wish me to do. Oh, how I am enjoying this game! I almost put it on right away to force you, but it is so much more pleasurable to dance around the threat. Marry me willingly, and I will give it back to you. If you do not, I will wear it and infest you with my thoughts and ambitions . . . or perhaps it will be the other way around. Our minds will begin to entwine, will they not? This is delicious!” He stepped closer to her, his piercing blue eyes cutting into hers. “I do not fear you, Maia, but I may be rash and this may be foolish. Willingly marry me. That would be my preference.”

A voice came from beyond the tent flap. “My lord?”

He scowled with displeasure. “What is it?” he barked.

“The gallows are ready. The hunter’s dog is whining. Should we spear it, or do you wish to keep it in your kennels?”

He cocked his head at Maia. “Do you wish to keep Argus or not? It is your choice. I have plenty of dogs. Another wedding gift?”

“Do not hang those men,” Maia said desperately. Her stomach clenched with dread. In her surprise and panic, she had forgotten the threat to her companions.

“Hanging, beheading . . . makes little difference to me. The kishion deserves to dangle from a noose. Jon Tayt rejected my proposal and defied my invitation. He would not serve me for any amount of coin, which makes him useless to me. I will execute them both.”

Maia grabbed his wrist. “Do not harm them!”

His eyebrow crinkled with surprise. “They must die, Maia. I do not believe you are squeamish. This is another trick. You are so very good at deception. I applaud you, truly.”

She dug her fingers into his wrist. “They are my loyal servants. They obeyed me. If anyone is to be murdered tonight, it should be me.”

“That would defeat the purpose of my alliance,” he said, clucking his tongue. “Though plenty have been murdered since you entered my realm. The village on the top of the mountain. The guards on the north road. I deliberately told you to take the south road, did I not? And yet you rushed into the teeth of my men in an act of defiance.”

“You know we were attacked by the Dochte Mandar in the village,” Maia said, feeling more desperate with each moment. “Corriveaux and the Dahomeyjan soldiers are to blame for that. Not I.”

“And the watch on the north road? Hmmm?”

Maia’s face turned hot. “Your captain ordered his men to kill my protectors and bring me to his tent!”

Collier’s eyebrows lifted. “Truly?”

She wanted to pound on his chest with her fists. “Everything I have told you this evening is the truth!”

“Then show me your shoulder and prove it.”

“I am a king’s daughter,” she murmured.

“I am a king’s son,” he replied.

She knew that if she showed him her shoulder, he would discover she was not a hetaera.

An idea came to her. She wished she had the kystrel to advise her, but she did not.

She looked into Collier’s eyes. They were so blue she could drown in them. She saw the little scar on his cheek and wondered how he had gotten it.

“You are so interesting,” he murmured softly, reaching out and brushing aside some of her hair. “Why do you resist what is clearly in both our interests? You are not like I thought you would be.”

“My lord?” reminded the voice from outside.

He paused, hand still touching her hair. He raised his eyebrows questioningly.

Her voice broke, almost unwillingly. “Release them. Set them free. Promise to let them go and not to harm them or injure them in any way. Pardon their treason in writing and with your seal.” She swallowed. “Then I will marry you.”

He stared at her, his eyes glimmering with delight. “Done.”





CHAPTER SEVENTEEN




Headsman’s Noose

She walked alongside Collier through the smoke-filled camp. He had changed from his rider’s tunic to an elegant doublet, black velvet and trimmed with gold sigils of the Dahomeyjan lily. He wore ceremonial chains around his neck and a signet ring on the little finger of his right hand. The same sword was belted to his waist, but his countenance and stride completely transformed him from his former persona. He had the bearing of a ruler as he walked through the camp with firm deliberation, stopping in front of an enormous tree with two long ropes dangling from it. Two stools stood by it, and kneeling before them were the kishion and Jon Tayt. Maia’s heart raced.