The Banished of Muirwood (Covenant of Muirwood, #1)(56)

His face paled. “My lord—” he paused, swallowing. “There is no legal way to compel it.”

“I am not faithful to our marriage vows,” her father snapped. “By all that is right and just, she should divorce me.” He slapped the table, less violently this time, and grumbled under his breath. “Find a way, Morton. Put all your thought into this. I would not have my authority undermined by an Aldermaston in a sniveling kingdom less than half the size of our own, full of giant trees and . . . and . . . spoiled grapes. Tintern has authority over Muirwood. I think not. Oh, I think not. It should be Muirwood that compels the others.”

“As Your Majesty knows, the Aldermastons of Tintern have always been those chosen as the High Seer since the return of the mastons. They are the strongest in the Medium.”

“I care not for the history lesson, tutor,” her father said with a sting. “I do not wish my realm to be governed by the whims of Tintern Abbey. I am a king-maston by law, yet I cannot command those who live in the abbeys, who are said to be outside of the king’s tax. Well, the cost of rebuilding abbeys chokes my income. How many people live under the shadow of an abbey to avoid paying taxes? Hmmm? Look at Augustin. To see its decadence and splendor, you would think the abbey had hardly been damaged before the Scourging. It was pride that felled our kingdoms. It was the love of treasure within the abbeys themselves.”

Maia shrank from her father at those words and hid her hands in her lap, trying not to tremble.

One of the other men from the table stood, planting his palms down on the table. “If Your Majesty seeks an example of pride, then look no farther than your own mirror.”

Maia stared at the grizzled man. He was older than her father, much older. His dark hair was well silvered and his angry, brooding look surprised her. She had rarely heard him speak since coming to court. He was the Earl of Forshee, an earldom that was as far from the throne of Comoros as one could get.

Maia saw the tendons on her father’s hand harden like cords.

“I wondered when you would first find your voice, Forshee,” her father said angrily.

He was a powerful lord of the realm and he had five sons. Two of whom were already married by irrevocare sigil, leaving three as valuable prizes. Maia knew Murer had been vigilantly pressuring her mother to marry one of them.

“I came to court at your command, Your Majesty,” Forshee said darkly. “I did not seek a seat on your Privy Council. I will accept nothing for my service to you. In return, I give you my most candid advice, and it is up to you whether to accept it or not. You speak like a spoiled child who does not get his way. You are not the highest law of this land, Your Grace. The Medium is. Do you even wear the chaen, my lord? I see you have stripped away the other vestiges of your beliefs. Your selfish thoughts will ruin this kingdom.”

Everyone was silent, staring at the ancient earl with shock and, Maia could see, a touch of relief. Someone was risking himself enough to speak up to her father. Maia knew the earl had a bold reputation for being fearless and strict. But always fair. He was a descendent of the Price Family, a cousin to hers.

“Well,” her father said icily. “You have said quite enough, have you not, my lord Forshee.”

“There is more,” he replied sternly, “but you are not man enough to hear it.”

“Do not hold back,” her father said, his eyes narrowing coldly. “By all means, vent your spleen if it helps.”

“As you wish. I fought alongside your lord father,” Forshee said with dignity. “I fought alongside him during the Dark Wars. He was a man of integrity. A man of prowess. A maston.” His voice fell lower. “He would be ashamed if he had lived to see you now.”

Maia’s throat constricted. She stared at the earl, then at her father, watching his neck muscles bulge. His shoulders jittered with repressed anger. “Is . . . that . . . all, Forshee?”

The earl nodded and seated himself at the table, looking at the king as if he were no more significant than a moth.

Her father pushed against the armrests of his chair and rose, bringing himself to his full height. Even his legs trembled with rage. “I had sought to make an alliance between our Families, Forshee. I know my stepdaughter Murer fancies one of your sons. But I cannot bear the thought of enduring your sanctimoniousness during holidays and such occasions. I brought you to my Privy Council because I value your wisdom, your excellence as a soldier and warrior, and the strength your Family brings to this realm. Your service has been undisputedly a value to the throne.” He clenched his fists and planted them on the table. “I know that you do not approve of me, Forshee. I could see it in your eyes before you said a word, and it disgusts me. You have five strapping lads. And you leave them five farthings apiece for your insolence and your treasonous tongue. I would not let any of the daughters of my realm marry into such proud and conceited stock as yours. Away from my sight! You displease me, my lord earl. And you will suffer for it.”

The Earl of Forshee rose again, his expression calm and untroubled. He dipped his head in salute and walked purposefully to the doors of the solar and left. Maia stared at her father, at the dangerous glint in his eyes.

He turned to Chancellor Morton. “Draw up orders to arrest Forshee before he leaves the castle. He will be bedding down in Pent Tower tonight.”

“My lord?” Morton said, aghast.