The Ciphers of Muirwood (Covenant of Muirwood #2)(23)
My most dear lord, king, and husband,
The hour of my death now draws near. The tender love I owe you now forces me, as my illness also compels, to commend myself to you and to remind you of the maston oaths that you made in peril of your immortal soul, which you should regard in higher esteem than the honors of this second life. You have brought many calamities upon yourself, my dear husband. For my part, I pardon you everything. I will not accuse you when the Apse Veil is opened at last and we stand in judgment before the Medium. Remember our daughter, the symbol of our love. I entreat you most earnestly to restore her to favor and not to punish her for loving me most faithfully. I entreat you also, lord husband, on behalf of my maids, they being but three in number. They served me faithfully. They are wretcheds all. Lastly, I make this vow. That my eyes desire you above all things.
Yours in truth and honor,
Catrin
Tears gathered on her lashes as she read the words one last time, amazed at what a person’s heart could endure. Her mother had been a banished queen in Muirwood for the final part of her life, but despite Maia’s father’s inexorable cruelty to her, she had loved him to her last breath. There was something strong that bound two hearts together. Love was a power indeed.
She felt her heart begin to burn with the Medium, spreading feelings of warmth and love and sympathy throughout her body. The words her mother had written had been scribed with a human hand—a hand of flesh and bone and blood—yet they seemed to be wreathed in flames. The woman’s body was now resting in an ossuary, a hull. But there was part of her that existed independently. Maia felt it, almost like a ghostly hand that rested on her shoulder. The feelings spasmed in her heart, stronger and more urgent.
Mother, are you here? Maia thought.
There was a scuffle on the steps, and the feeling vanished as if it had never been. Maia quickly dried her eyes as Suzenne ascended into the cloisters, her face drawn and pinched with concern.
“I saw your note,” Suzenne said. “How long have you been here? I did not hear you leave.” She glanced around the cloisters, looking for signs of disruption.
Maia tried to smile, but her mouth would not cooperate. “I could not sleep, Suzenne. I did not want to wake you.”
The Leerings were already lit, and Suzenne rubbed her arms as she walked around the tables, approaching Maia cautiously. There was a small disapproving frown on her face.
“What is it?” Maia asked, summoning her patience.
“You should have woken me,” Suzenne said, standing next to her table. “We are not allowed to be alone in the cloisters.” She seemed like a queen in state herself, her hair brushed and perfect, her gown washed and pressed. There was always a hint of haughtiness to her, though she tried to conceal it—or so Maia thought.
“I did not know that. I was restless since my grandmother is leaving this morning. We stayed up late talking and I came here to avoid waking you.” Maia had also spent a good portion of the night trying to write a letter to her husband to explain herself, her regrets, and the true reason she had abandoned him. But finding the right words had been particularly painful and difficult, and she knew getting a letter to him in a dungeon would be all but impossible, not to mention life threatening, since women were not allowed to read and write. Still, she needed to do this thing—both for him, even if he never got to read it, and for herself. She would work on it again later.
“You have not slept at all?” Suzenne asked, surprised.
Maia shook her head. “I wanted to be alone. And I do not have much time to prepare for the maston test. I learned that my father is coming to Muirwood for Whitsunday.”
Suzenne gasped. “Truly?”
“Yes, truly. The entire court will be descending in a few months.”
“How do you . . . feel about that?” Suzenne asked.
It was a good question, but one Maia was unwilling—perhaps even unable—to answer truthfully. How did she feel about her father? He had done so many ill deeds . . . and a part of her still had to wonder if he had purposefully sent her to Dahomey to become a hetaera. Was it possible to hate and love someone at the same time? Her feelings were a jumbled mess.
“My father does not know I am here,” she said, twisting a strand of her hair. “He will not be pleased when he finds out.”
An uncomfortable silence descended between them.
“I would think so,” Suzenne said, forcing the words out. She looked flustered.
“I am sorry if I worried you,” Maia said, hoping to steer them into safer waters. “I did not know about the rules. I will tell the Aldermaston what I did and see if he will grant an exception for me.”
“I would not . . . mind coming with you,” Suzenne said, gazing down at the floor. “Coming earlier to the cloisters, that is. I would enjoy learning from you. I appreciate the Dahomeyjan you practice with me at night. What is that tome you were copying?”
Maia sighed. “It was my mother’s.”
“Oh.” She fell silent again. Her expression was pained. “Maia . . . I heard the Earl of Forshee was here. Do you know if that is true? Was there any word about . . . the prisoners in the tower?” She glanced up at Maia, her emotions clearly at war with her curiosity.
“It is true,” Maia said. “And yes, there is news. Why do you ask?”
The look of torture on Suzenne’s face was exquisite. Maia could tell she wanted to ask about Dodd’s Family, only she did not know how to do so without revealing herself. Maia did not relieve her of her discomfort by volunteering the information. She felt that she owed as much to Dodd.