The Ciphers of Muirwood (Covenant of Muirwood #2)(35)
“Your lord father is considering Dahomey, to divert their attention from war.”
Murer furrowed her brow. “But the king is being held prisoner! If he pays the ransom, he will be penniless!”
“Yes, and all the more pliable as an ally if your father provides you with a generous marriage portion. Money persuades people, Murer. Surely you have not forgotten that lesson. Marks are seeds that produce prosperity.”
Which was why, she realized, she was at such odds with Crabwell. The chancellor’s aim was to seize all the wealth of the abbeys for the Crown. There was no telling how much coin was being wasted on the frivolous reconstruction of the abbeys. Each one cost a sizable ransom! But Lady Deorwynn knew that men were best kept in check when their wealth was connected to the success of their ruler. The men of Comoros would grow resentful if her husband accumulated the rewards for himself. Resentment turned into disloyalty, which turned into treason. Much better to buy the people’s good faith with ample land grants, manor houses, ranks, and privileges. Then, periodically, topple one of the nobles who fell out of favor and give his rewards to another. Surely that was the best way to keep men in check. Crabwell disagreed. As a greedy man himself, he wanted control of the finances in the king’s name.
Lady Deorwynn rubbed her swollen abdomen. Surely part of her worry was a result of the pregnancy. It had always been an awkward time for her. Her moods shifted mercurially. Her ankles were fat, her cheeks a little puffy. She was used to the sway she normally had over her husband, and seeing him fawn over a child infuriated her.
She watched as the king patted Jayn’s hand. A sharp spasm of jealousy shot through Lady Deorwynn. The Sexton Family was a rising one, a Family who sought greater prominence in the affairs of the realm. Did they really think they would prosper by dangling their daughter in front of her husband in such a manner? Did they not realize that so many favors and bequests came as a result of her influence on the king’s mind? There were so many powerful, headstrong men in this kingdom, but all of them were blind. A woman ruled them, and they did not even know it. Men needed to be ruled.
The gates of the tower creaked and groaned loudly, and a hush fell over the snow-strewn grounds. Murer ceased her fidgeting, and the king ceased his flirting. An ominous stillness filled the air, marred by the squeaky axles of the cart being used to transport the condemned.
Lady Deorwynn tried to suppress a look of triumph as the cart rumbled past the royal entourage. The crowd silently parted, making way for it to pass. There was the aged earl, his scowl evident even at a distance. He stood erect, proud, and defiant as a Price would. He had watched his son die with grim solemnity. Even after the execution, he had refused to sign the Act of Submission. This was the moment the realm needed to see. It would force the rest to submit. For if the Price Family fell . . . what chance did they have?
Some whispered that the Medium would save him, that it always preserved valued mastons. What rubbish and nonsense. History was replete with examples that proved the theory false. The Medium did not save mastons. It served only those who compelled it to serve. It delivered to them their most intense thoughts and desires. It had delivered the King of Comoros into her bed. It had made her the queen of the realm.
The only thing it had not delivered to her—yet—was her accursed stepdaughter, Maia. It was only a matter of time.
“It is so quiet,” Murer whispered.
Lady Deorwynn wanted to smack her. The cart reached the edge of the gallows, and the Price sons and father were escorted to the scaffold, where the headsman awaited them. They had watched their eldest son and brother murdered on that very spot. Nothing had saved him—not their prayers or their faith or his maston chaen.
Only the father was allowed to speak. He stood on the gallows, his arms hanging limp at his sides. He wore a thin shirt, despite the cold, and his breeches were scuffed and dirty from his long confinement. Lady Deorwynn could see the glint of the chaen peeking from his collar. Her mind wandered to his youngest boy, Dodleah, who was sniveling and hiding in Muirwood. She wondered how long it would take before he learned of the death of his Family. Once he did, she was certain he would be quick to leave his sanctuary and join them in an early grave.
Finally the old man was done. Lady Deorwynn was sick of his little speech, although she had listened to but little of it. She was anxious to be inside again where it was warm. The babe inside her squirmed anxiously, as if it too could feel the danger. Would it be another son? Or a daughter?
The father was brought to the block, his sons standing by gravely. Was one of them weeping? None of them flinched. The father knelt in front of the block. Lady Deorwynn wondered if someone would need to restrain him, but he faced his death with courage and dignity. He had blathered something about the Apse Veils, so perhaps he did not believe this to be the end.
Lady Deorwynn’s attention shifted to the executioner. He was hooded, of course. They all were. But there was something familiar about him. The one who had executed Tobias Price had had a beard, but this one had naught but a little stubble about the chin. He was sturdy and strong, and he held the axe comfortably, with confidence. The angle of his shoulders drew her eye. How she loved sturdy men. She admired the presence and power of a man who could steady a cart, lift something heavy, or duel with a blade. She had always been drawn to such men, though she had never indulged in the temptation to surround herself with them.
The headsman reminded her of someone. Yes, she knew it now. He reminded her of the kishion. The very thought of him sent shivers of fear down to the soles of her feet. When one murders for a living, it puts one beyond the sentimentalities of normal people. The kishion was not a man to be controlled, which terrified her.