The Banished of Muirwood (Covenant of Muirwood, #1)(63)

Jon Tayt had warned that because they were entering the mountains so late in the day, it would be hard to cross the Fear Liath’s lair before dark. Maia did not feel she had a choice. She could not linger in the valley to wait out the night, not when falling asleep could be disastrous. She could feel the awareness of the Myriad One inside her. Now that she knew it was there, her own thoughts so intermingled with its that she was not sure which were truly her own.

They had left the horses down on the valley floor, for the ground was too treacherous and steep for them to make the climb. Mules would have been better companions for such a journey. Maia had wrapped herself in both of her gowns and Collier’s cloak, and even with her rucksack against her back, she still felt the mountain’s chill. Her legs throbbed with the punishing climb, but she was determined to make it through the pass in time.

Not only did she have a Myriad One trapped inside her head, but she also had to deal with Feint Collier. It took some concentration and focus to block out the thoughts of where he was and who he was with, but after a persistent effort, he fell silent.

As she walked, she pondered why she had not told him the truth about her predicament. In those first moments after awakening, she had been too disoriented, confused, and frightened to think straight. But why not tell him now? He believed she was a hetaera. The mark on her shoulder could not be explained away. Yet she had not willingly accepted any hetaera vows, and she could not remember how it had even happened. She might not be able to control what she did when she lost consciousness or when the being inside her took control, but she could at least explain the situation to Collier. Certainly he could choose not to believe her, but was that truly a reason to remain silent? She struggled with indecision.

The mountains rose steeply, and she paused to drink from her flask of water. Jon Tayt did not look winded at all, and he stopped to wait for her, hooking his thumb in his broad belt. Argus sniffed at the dirt and stone of the trail thoroughly. She looked back and saw the kishion, his eyes fixed on her, as they always were. She wondered again what, specifically, her father had hired him to do. Would he be honest if she asked him?

She fixed the flask to her pack again and nodded for the hunter to continue. The path was narrow and rugged, meandering through broken rocks and sparse vegetation. There were no trees at this height, and the rock fragments were so sharp they could slice through skin. She smelled mule’s ear on the wind, just the essence of it, but she could not find any of the plant with her eyes.

As they continued their journey, she began to tease out the root of the reason she had not told Collier the truth. She did not trust the King of Dahomey. He was her husband, legally, but he had used artifice to win her. He did not have a history of being a trustworthy man, and if she were going to bare her soul to someone and confess her shame and her troubles, there needed to be some degree of mutual trust. Perhaps she would tell him, but not until he had proved himself a faithful confidant. But then, why would she want a husband who had deliberately sought to marry a hetaera?

The sun began to set before they had even crossed the top of the pass. Their boots crunched in snow and ice, against which they stood out in stark contrast—an easy target. Her nose was cold and pink, and she felt the air growing thinner, making each step a trial of energy. There was no denying that her physical strength was ebbing.

“How much farther?” she asked Jon Tayt after catching up with him.

He glanced down at her, his eyes dark. “I warned you before we started that we were fools to cross the mountain so late in the day.” She saw the nervousness in his eyes. The normal jovial smile was gone.

“I can keep going,” she said. “We are not discovered yet.”

“We have no choice but to keep going, Lady Maia. If that thing catches us in the mountains, we are all dead unless you can banish it.”

“Have we crossed into Mon yet? Or are we still in Dahomey?”

“Dahomey,” he replied. He wiped his dripping nose on the edge of his gloved hand. “These mountains are vast, running north to south. Mon is still a way to the east, over a few more ranges. Cruix farther north. We will join a mountain trail that runs along the ridges. It is the one we were warned not to take. All the lower passes will be guarded on Dahomey’s side of the mountain.”

He focused on the ground ahead and fell silent. Maia struggled to match his relentless pace, but she managed it.

“Why are we seeking an Aldermaston?” he asked her softly. “Why this one?”

She did not like his question.

“I have my reasons, Jon Tayt.”

“I know. You said you wished to be taken to the land of the Naestors. Now we are going to an abbey.”

“Trust me that I have said all I can say,” she replied.

He sighed and then asked her no more questions.




The moon was silver in the sky, fringed with hoarfrost and gleaming like a cold jewel. The temperature had fallen rapidly, and each breath brought a fog of mist from their mouths as they huffed their way down the far slope of the pass. They had crossed it at midnight, knee-deep in snow. Her feet ached with cold, her toes feeling more like stones than flesh. She hugged herself and plunged on. The stars twinkled in the sky—mysterious and fraught with meaning.

“Ach,” Jon Tayt swore, coming to a halt and holding out his arm to keep her from stumbling.

“What is it?” the kishion asked.