The Ciphers of Muirwood (Covenant of Muirwood #2)(93)
“True, but mine was undeserved,” Collier answered, his voice hardening. “He will not keep his word.”
Maia nodded to him and then turned back to her father. “A king who will not keep his word is no king at all. By our deeds are we known, but by our words are we trusted.” She released Collier’s hand and walked up to her father. His eyes widened and his nostrils quivered with anticipation.
“A hostage then?” he said, his voice trembling with suppressed anger.
Maia shook her head. “No, Father. I will not banish you as you did me. You are still my father.” She swallowed, believing what she did was right, but not knowing what would happen as an outcome. She stilled her breath and listened for the intervening voice of the Medium to whisper to her if she were making a mistake. Nothing came. She paused a moment longer, just to be sure. There was nothing in response.
“I grant you freedom, immediately and voluntarily, if you covenant before all assembled here that you will never violate the rights of the abbeys again and will return all that you have plundered from them thus far. You will maintain the roads and protect the grounds. This you will do before the High Seer of Pry-Ree and all of these witnesses. I want your sworn oath.”
“You will release me if I do?” her father asked skeptically.
“I promise,” she answered.
He nodded curtly. “Then I do swear it.”
“I release you voluntarily and with no conditions or expectations for myself. You may deal with me as you and the Privy Council deem just and honorable. You have offered me great rewards, but I do not need money or lands or servants to be happy. You may banish me from the realm if you desire. I only request that you honor my marriage to the King of Dahomey as legitimate and grant me leave to depart from and return to Comoros as befits my station as his wife and queen.” She stared into her father’s astonished face without looking away.
“Done,” her father said curtly. “What else do you want?”
“Your leave to remain at Muirwood to celebrate Whitsunday. I would also ask that Jayn Sexton be allowed to stay for Whitsunday, if she wishes, for she studied here and has friends among us.” Maia bowed to her father. “Release them,” she ordered to the Evnissyen who guarded the prisoners. The hunters sheathed their weapons, and a murmur of relief passed over the crowd.
Her father’s eyes burned into hers. “That was . . . generous of you, Maia. I will not forget it.” His jaw tensed, and he gave her a hard look. “Will you . . . kiss your father?”
She stared at him, taken aback by the outrageous request, but then she realized he was testing her. He knew she was a hetaera, though he could not say so because of the binding sigil.
Maia shook her head no.
A small smirk came over his lips. Chancellor Crabwell was already at his elbow, his eyes dangerous and furtive. The king turned to his chancellor. “Get to Comoros,” he whispered. Then he turned to Maia. “I will also stay and celebrate Whitsunday with my daughter.”
Collier and Maia walked hand in hand through the rows of purple mint near the abbey laundry. His hand felt so natural in hers now, and she felt herself clinging to him, savoring these moments they spent together. It amazed her how quickly the day had changed from panic and despair to hope. The abbey was thick with people. Healers tended the wounded. The commotion and disorder had been repaired. There were many final preparations still to be made for the festival, and visitors wandered the grounds, leaving little opportunity for privacy. Maia was exhausted from the long vigil and all the subsequent events and found herself walking sleepily, breathing in the calming scents of the purple flowers, listening to the drone of bees, and enjoying the pressure of Collier’s shoulder against hers.
“You should know this, I think,” Collier said, turning to her. “My spy in your father’s court. Simon Fox, I believe you have met him. He is posing as a Dahomeyjan wine merchant. He has been here at Muirwood, but I sent him to spy on Crabwell. I do not trust you returning to Comoros until we learn something of Brannon’s plans.”
“You do not trust him to keep his word,” Maia acknowledged with some pain.
“As much as I trust Jon Tayt not to snore,” Collier quipped with a chuckle. “I have no doubt whatsoever that your father will not uphold his oath. What I do not know is how he will choose to punish you for shaming him in front of everyone. It was a humiliating defeat, Maia, you must realize that.”
“But I did not shame him or defeat him,” Maia said, shaking her head. “It was the Medium that saved us, not I.”
“We are clearly in agreement on that,” Collier said, his voice softening. “I have been wrong all these years. I think I even knew I was wrong, deep inside. But I could never admit it. What I have witnessed here at Muirwood, I cannot deny.”
Maia nudged him happily. “Which evidence finally persuaded you?”
He laughed. “When your grandmother ransomed me, it should have; I will grant you that. I am still reeling from that kindness, honestly. The generosity and goodness of that woman . . .” He shook his head. “I am astonished there are people like her in the world. When a husband takes a wife”—he squeezed her hand affectionately—“he gains not only her great beauty, poise, and desirable qualities, he also inherits relations who may not be so . . . worthy. I never knew much about your mother’s Family, for your father was quite conspicuous with his double-dealing and treachery. It was a burden I was willing to bear long ago, back when I was planning to dethrone him.” He shook his head wistfully. “He clings to power too tightly. It will slip through his fingers, as today proved. What I had not accounted for were your mother’s relations. Sabine is worth a thousand kings. I will treasure earning the High Seer’s good opinion of me.” He looked down at her and smiled tenderly. “You have changed me, Maia. I still feel the knife edge of ambition, but I feel . . . how can I describe it? I feel I am meant to be a sword used by the Medium. Does that make sense?”