The Ciphers of Muirwood (Covenant of Muirwood #2)(34)
Suzenne’s face went white as her chemise. “Oh, no,” she breathed, her face twisting with grief. She covered her mouth to stifle a sob.
The Aldermaston turned to Maia, his face a composed mask. His voice dropped even further. “There is also news from Hautland that the King of Dahomey was captured and is being held for ransom. One hundred and fifty thousand marks. It is said the amount would more than deplete Dahomey’s treasury. It exceeds the ransom requested when his father was captured in Paeiz.”
Maia’s heart sank. One hundred and fifty thousand marks. It was her fault that he had gone to Naess in the first place; his ship had taken her there. She remembered the look of desperation on his face as he had pleaded with her not to double-cross him.
“Maia, do not betray me. Forget my other promises. I should have asked for this one first. I was too afraid to ask. The hetaera always betray those they love. Do not love me then. I could not bear it if you betrayed me . . .”
This settled it. Collier would never forgive her.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Kishion’s Threat
It was anticipated that on the day of the execution there would be snow, but it was a mild winter’s morning, all blue sky and icy air—the kind of day where children would be flinging clumps of slushy ice at each other under normal conditions. Instead, they had assembled on the green to watch men die.
It was cold enough that Lady Deorwynn’s nose stung, but she had layered herself in thick velvets and a heavy mantle to ward off the chill. The mantle had cost five hundred marks and was exquisitely designed, with gold stitching woven throughout, a costly fur lining around the fringe, and tiny glittering gemstones that flashed when the light struck them just so. She wore silver fox-fur gloves, and though the jewels around her throat, ears, and wrists were unseen, she felt them. Their presence reassured her.
Murer stood next to her, dressed in a flattering gown that showed off her trim figure. That gown had nearly cost two thousand marks. Instead of a large cape and hood that would have hidden her immaculate dress, she wore a fox-fur shawl that she had let down around her shoulders, revealing the twisting curls of her elegant hair. The effect was somewhat ruined by her constant fidgeting.
“Be still, Murer,” Lady Deorwynn chided.
“I do not understand why we even need be here,” Murer said sullenly. “I pray I shall not faint.”
“That is the very reason. You must show strength and courage. These men are traitors to your lord father.”
“My lord stepfather,” Murer whined under her breath.
“Be silent!” Lady Deorwynn sidled up closer to her daughter, her voice dropping low and dangerous. “Some words are not to be toyed with, Murer. You must get that into your head. Our Family has never been as vulnerable as it is right now. Crabwell is undermining me with the king. The earls are starting to show their teeth. I must show them who has sharper teeth!”
“But it is so cold. I thought this shawl would do.”
“You should have thought of that before coming out in the snow like that. By the Blood, Daughter, you can be such a fool.”
She watched Murer’s cheeks flush, and not from the chill, and the girl’s eyes burned with anger and resentment. Lady Deorwynn hated to reprimand her girls in public, but truly she wondered if neither of them had inherited her wits. By the time she was Murer’s age, she had already accomplished some grand schemes.
“Where is Father?” Murer asked after a while, searching the assembled nobles. “Oh, there he is. With Jayn.”
Her tone grated on Lady Deorwynn’s already fragile nerves. She cast a surreptitious glance and her blood began to seethe. She blinked, trying to keep her expression neutral, but her thoughts were black with rage. On the day of his enemies’ execution, the king was flirting with one of his wife’s ladies-in-waiting. She gritted her teeth, trying to stop herself from storming over and banishing the interloper to the darkest nights of Naess. She knew her husband had a wandering eye. He was a man; he could not help himself. She had hired Jayn Sexton after dismissing the last girl who had attracted him, hoping a woman as young as his daughter would be less of a temptation.
It was Jayn’s own shy coyness that probably appealed to him—in a world where there were so many courtiers seeking his notice, she had achieved it by not seeking it at all. There was a studied innocence in her youthful expression, but she was a girl with secrets. Lady Deorwynn had recognized that too late. Well, she would ferret them out.
“Who do you think Father will choose to be my husband?” Murer asked, disrupting her chafing thoughts. “Now that all the Price boys will be put down, that is. I had my heart set on Gates, but he will die. I had hoped to persuade Father to let me entreat for his life. He would have been so grateful.”
“You are truly a fool,” Lady Deorwynn said testily. “As I have told you before, you will not marry one of the nobles of Comoros. You are a princess, Murer.”
“But cannot a princess pardon someone who is at fault? Why could I not pardon Gates?”
“A princess does not have that power. Are you really so na?ve? No, I see by your smirk you are toying with me. You get pleasure from vexing me.”
“Not at all, Mother,” Murer said, leaning over to kiss her cheek. “So who is my husband to be?”