The Banished of Muirwood (Covenant of Muirwood, #1)(83)

“And I say that you will!” Lady Shilton marched into the tiny attic room and seized hold of Maia’s arm. Her fingers dug deeply into the skin, her nails biting hard. Maia winced and struggled to pull away.

“Please, Lady Shilton!” Maia begged. “Not like this.”

“The problem with you is that you were spoiled too much as a child. You are obstinate, headstrong, and defiant. You defy your lord father and he is the King of Comoros!” Her voice rose shrilly. “You defy my daughter when she has done nothing but—”

“She does nothing without the intent of humiliating and torturing me,” Maia said angrily, fighting against the grip on her arm. “I have not seen my mother in over six years, madame. Have you even gone a day without seeing your daughter?”

It earned her a slap, a stinging one, but the pain was nothing compared to that of her ravaging insides.

“Let me go,” Maia moaned, jerking her arm, but Lady Shilton was strong enough to muscle her up from the bed.

“I say you will come and you will come! You will obey me, you rude, thoughtless child! Why should I endure this? You are proud and vindictive. Now come! If I must drag you screeching all the way down the steps, by Idumea’s hand, I will!”

Maia slumped to the floor, feeling nausea sweep over her. She hung her head, tears pricking her eyes, but she would not let them fall. She bottled up her hate and her rage, comforted by the knowledge that she could use the power of the kystrel to flay Lady Shilton’s emotions like a fishmonger with a blade. But she dared not. Owing to the violence of her emotions, she would not be able to maintain control if she attempted such a thing. And she knew what the cost of revealing herself might be.

“Please,” Maia begged, gripping Lady Shilton’s sleeve. “Please just let me rest.”

“Why must you be so obstinate?” Lady Shilton shouted.

Maia succumbed to her mortification. Despite the pain gnawing in her middle, she rose from the floor. She was nearly as tall as Lady Shilton now, though much more fragile and frail since she had been forbidden to exercise and was still not allowed to walk the grounds. The window of her room had been nailed shut since her last escape, though the crooked piece of broken glass had not been mended.

“Because I have but one gown,” Maia said, defeated and ashamed. With Lady Shilton still clinging to her arm, Maia turned her body and showed the back of her skirt, which was black and stained with blood from her flux. “It came on during the night. I was going to wash it after the servants were abed. Please, Lady Shilton.” She stared hard into her eyes. “Do not make me come downstairs.”

Lady Shilton seemed to see her for the first time. The quivering rage in her lip slowly stilled. The exasperation and violence in her eyes cooled. She was a wicked woman, hurtful and cruel, but she was still a mother deep in her heart. A grandmother too.

“So . . . so often you feign illness,” Lady Shilton muttered, the heat gone from her voice.

“I know,” Maia said softly. “Would you not if you wore rags and lived up here?”

“It is no more than you deserve,” Lady Shilton said, her voice betraying her with a hint of compassion. “You are a bastard.”

Maia stood up as straight as she could. “I am a princess.”

A feeling swept into the room. It was powerful, so powerful that it made Maia’s voice tremble as she uttered the words. It was a truth spoken. Not the defiant tantrum of a disavowed daughter. It was pure, soul-searing truth.

Lady Shilton quailed in front of the young woman in the tattered bloody dress and released her grip. She took an involuntary step backward. A curious feeling coursed through Maia’s veins then. It was a form of power. The truth was a form of power. Was it the Medium? It felt like it.

Maia smoothed her skirts. She had grown a little since being given the servant’s gown, and now the hem did not even reach her ankles. Many of the seams had split and torn and she had been forced to beg for thread and needles to stitch them herself. The split at her elbow had not been fixed yet and Lady Shilton’s tugging at her arm had ripped it even more. The fabric was threadbare in places. Maia felt self-conscious, but she stood erect and proud, a king’s daughter in her heart, though no longer in title.

“I . . . I will not . . . make you come down,” Lady Shilton said, retreating toward the door. “Your flux came on last night?”

Maia nodded and rubbed her temples, which throbbed painfully with her pulse. “I am not hungry. Truly.”

Lady Shilton slipped out the door and shut it behind her. Maia sat on the edge of the bed, weariness sapping her, but she had won something. It was a small victory, but she treasured those the most. Exhausted, she lay back down on the bed and stared at the hole in the window, watching the gray sky and hearing the wind whistle across the eaves.

Maia awoke to the sound of someone mounting the attic steps. She turned her neck and was surprised when Lady Shilton entered again, more solemnly than she had earlier in the day. She was carrying several things—a tray with a washing basin and a half loaf of dark bread, dripping with melted butter. It made Maia’s mouth water just to look at it. Beneath the tray was a bundle of gray-green cloth.

“I have some rags as well,” Lady Shilton said. “I thought you might want to wash.” Maia noticed the small kettle on the tray as Lady Shilton set it down. “The water is still warm.”