The Ciphers of Muirwood (Covenant of Muirwood #2)(91)

“Maia! Maia, help me!”

Jon Tayt whirled as Murer rushed up to them, her skirts filthy with dirt, as if she had rolled around and been kicked like a ball. Her tresses were disheveled, some of the pins sticking out awkwardly, and tears ran down her face, trailing makeup and dust. She looked completely unhinged and terrified as she clutched at Maia as if she were her only protection.

“Please! Save me! Someone tried to kill me. Please! I have done nothing! Help me!” She blubbered incoherently, and Maia’s heart softened in pity.

“No one will harm you,” Maia said soothingly, drawing the girl away from the fighting. “Where is your mother?”

“Over there,” bawled Murer, pointing to the maypole. She sobbed bitterly, pressing the back of her hand to her smeared lips. “My Family is done for,” she moaned. “How did that woman know such things about Mother? Was it the Medium that told her?”

“They were true?” Maia asked.

Murer nodded miserably, sniveling. “I warned her about taking lovers. I told her it was foolish, but she was angered by Father’s dalliances. She wanted him to feel the cut.” She broke down sobbing again.

A knight approached them quickly.

“He will kill us!” Murer shrieked in panic. Maia turned and saw the man was a knight of Winterrowd, one of Colvin’s men.

“No,” Maia said soothingly.

The knight bowed to her. “The fight is nearly done. Some of it is spreading to the streets, but we will have it contained swiftly. Lord Colvin asked me to watch over you as well.”

“I have a protector,” Maia said, nodding to Jon Tayt. “But can you take this girl to the maypole, please? She is frightened.”

“Maia, no! Wait!” Murer begged, gripping Maia’s arm. She stared at her imploringly. “You will have everything. I will have nothing. You have already taken the man I love from me. I suppose it is only justice. Please . . . remember me in pity. It was my mother who hated you. I never did. Please do not hate me!”

Maia stared at the girl, her heart brimming with compassion. “I do not hate you, Murer.”

“It is wrong to beg for mercy when I showed you none,” Murer said with a sniffle. She wiped her dripping nose. “I am sorry,” she sobbed.

Maia nodded to the knight to take her away and the man obeyed, looking at the weeping Murer as if he had been ordered to fulfill some distasteful but necessary duty.

Jon Tayt frowned at Maia.

“You think I should have been more harsh with her?” Maia asked. The fighting around them had died down, and the prisoners were being escorted to the maypole. The clang of weapons could still be heard in the distance, and there were screams of fright as well.

Jon Tayt pursed his lips. “Ach, I have never seen you be harsh to any creature,” he said with a chuckle. “You have my love and my loyalty, Lady Maia,” he said, tears gathering in his eyes. “Though I suppose that means I must serve the Mark after all. A fiendish trap he laid to snare me. Ah well, that is a fine kettle of fish.” He sheathed his axes in his belt and wiped his nose.

“I miss Argus too,” Maia said, putting her hand on his meaty shoulder.

“You had to mention the hound,” he chuckled, a tear trickling from his lashes.

“Remember? You once told me a man should only cry if he has lost his mother or his hound.”

He roared with laughter. “Yes, I did say that! Those are the only good reasons to weep, by Cheshu. The death of your mother or the death of your hound. Everything else is a trifle to be endured.”

She hugged him fiercely, feeling the tears fall on her own cheeks. There was a time when weeping had brought her shame. Her father had complimented her as a little child for her lack of tears, so she had thought it was her duty to forbear them. Now she saw that tears were a balm. They were a gift. As she had learned in the tome of Ovidius, tears at times have the weight of speech.

Pulling back, Maia saw Captain Carew writhing in pain near the maypole, gripping his bloodied leg.

“There is a time for war,” Maia said to Jon Tayt. “And a time for healing.”

With the hunter at her side, she went and began binding Carew’s wounds.



Maia’s father had been captured trying to escape Muirwood on horseback. A wall of Evnissyen led by a man named Jouvent had blocked his escape, and as soon as he turned, he found Collier riding hard on his heels. He was brought back to the green on horseback in time to see the rest of his host subdued.

Maia washed her stained hands on a soaked rag as Collier helped her father dismount and brought him to Lia and Colvin at the center of the green.

She handed the rag to one of the nearby villagers and approached to see what would happen. Her father’s gaudy hat had been lost during the commotion, and his hair looked salty. He wrung his hands in consternation, as if he could not understand the turn of events that had left him a prisoner in his own kingdom.

“What are you going to do?” he demanded of Lia, his voice betraying a slight quiver of fear. His gaze shifted to Sabine, his lips twisting with suppressed emotion. “You have your victory, Sabine. Will you kill me? Will you murder an anointed king?”

His tone of voice made Maia flinch. He looked frantic, his eyes darting through the crowd for some sign of support. His knights were all disarmed. His Privy Council sported bumps on their heads and bruised, swollen jaws.