The Banished of Muirwood (Covenant of Muirwood, #1)(54)

His eyes widened.

The feeling in the pavilion changed palpably. It was a dark feeling. She felt something stir inside her blood, radiating like a furnace of power. Maia felt a whisper through the shadows.

She jerked the fabric back up, covering her bare shoulder. Inexpressible horror jolted through her. She had seen it as clearly as he had.

The brand on her shoulder.

The two serpents.





Why do children fear the night? Just as dark is the absence of light, and despair is the absence of hope, so these symbols exist between day and night. I have seen in my life that the manifestations of the Medium are strongest when the souls of mankind are awake, their thoughts aroused and vigilant. When darkness comes, so come the Unborn. A friend from my early days at Muirwood liked to quote The Hodoeporicon, “Retire to thy bed early, that ye may not be weary; arise early, that your bodies and minds may be invigorated.”


—Lia Demont, Aldermaston of Muirwood Abbey





CHAPTER EIGHTEEN




Privy Council

As the voices began to rise, sizzling with heat, Maia looked up from the parchment map, her ears instinctively drawn to her father’s words. She loved being in her father’s solar, for here she had access to maps, globes, quills, ink, and even little books, which she was forbidden to peruse outside his presence. That Lady Deorwynn was arguing with the king in front of several members of his Privy Council, seated at a nearby table, surprised her. She was normally more circumspect. And the uncomfortable looks on their faces showed they wished they were anywhere else at the moment. The chancellor’s mouth was actually gaping open with shock.

“I do not want her at court any longer,” Lady Deorwynn said scathingly. “My daughters should not have to befriend and comfort someone who has been banished. You may as well isolate us all in Pent Tower!”

“If my lady would like me to accommodate that request,” her father said, his voice hot enough to sear, “it can be arranged!”

“Send Marciana away!”

“And where would you have me send my daughter?”

Maia’s stomach roiled with disquiet at the argument, which sent tendrils of nausea through her. Her ulcers had only grown worse after trouble had broken out across the kingdom, and the physicians could do nothing for her.

“Kenningford,” Lady Deorwynn snapped. “I can think of a dozen other suitable places. Send her away from court, my lord. I beg you. She is given far too many privileges for one of her station.”

Maia noticed the Earl of Forshee scowling, but it was hard for her to tear her eyes from the main players in the argument.

“Privileges?” her father snorted. “You amuse me. I learned that you forbade the servants from lighting her brazier in the mornings. She was suffering from chills.”

“Why should a servant trudge all the way to the tower for her?” Lady Deorwynn countered. “A little hard work would warm her up!”

“I will not send her away, madame. I am deaf to the idea.”

Maia glanced at Lady Deorwynn’s daughters. They were quietly sewing in the far corner of the room, their postures perfect, and their expressions indifferent to the storm raging around them. But Maia knew they were listening to every word, and she had no doubt the words would be used as barbs to torment her later.

Lady Deorwynn knelt by the high-back chair, her hands touching the king’s jeweled surcoat. “I beg you! I cannot tolerate her. The looks she gives me. They would curdle milk, I tell you. She is insolent, lazy, and stubborn.”

“Say no more.”

“I must! You shame me by allowing her to stay at court. I am mocked because of her presence. The sneers and quips are intolerable! I beg you, my lord. Send her away!”

Maia swallowed, setting down the map she had been studying of the various kingdoms. She had been tracing the borders of Dahomey with her finger when the argument became loud enough for all to hear. She had only visited Pry-Ree, and though she knew it was unlikely to happen, she longed to see all the realms. She took any chance she could to speak with ambassadors from the other kingdoms, to learn little bits about their ways and manners. Being sent to a distant manor house far from her father and mother, where she would be isolated from everything that interested her and everyone who cared for her, would be a terrible fate. She had long wished to join her mother’s exile at Muirwood, but that was impossible. Her father’s heart was flint.

He stared down at Lady Deorwynn coldly. “Mayhap if you treated Maia more civilly, there would be less gossip and fewer sneers! She is my daughter, and I will not exile her from court. She has been obedient to my orders, patiently suffering her disinheritance and your mistreatment of her. By the Blood, woman, if you treated her with a bit of compassion, there would be none of this rancor in my house!”

Lady Deorwynn came to her feet with startled fury. Her eyes blazed with rage; her jaw quivered with emotion. “How dare you!” she said through clenched teeth.

“How dare I? She is my daughter, not yours. If you treated her with a morsel of dignity . . . but I see that is beyond you. You care only for your own flesh and blood.”

Lady Deorwynn trembled with rage. “I treat her,” she said venomously, “with all the dignity she deserves considering her rank, which you, my lord, gave to her. What shall I hear next, that you plan to marry her to the Prince of Hautland? A banished daughter? You mock me, my lord, you mock me!”