The Void of Muirwood (Covenant of Muirwood Book 3)(103)

“Convenient,” he said with a snort. “It always does what you wish it to do. I brought you here, Maia. If others come, then I will take care of them.”

She felt the urgency grow more intense. “Please! You must let me go! The Medium is warning me to depart this instant.”

He looked incredulous. “And where would you go? No ship is waiting for you. You want to cross the mountains again into Dahomey? I murdered their king.”

She put her free hand on his wrist. “I know you believe you are doing right, but you must trust me,” she said, then cast her eyes around the ruins, the moss-covered rocks and trees. There was a haunting beauty to the place, a feeling of ancient splendor ruined. In her mind’s eye, she could see the ruins as Muirwood. No, she could not let that happen to her abbey. Not after all the sacrifices that had been made to rebuild it.

“You are a na?ve young woman,” the kishion snorted angrily, pulling his arm free of her grasp. He stood and began pacing in the garden, his expression turning angrier by the minute. “You want to forgive those who betray you. Pardon those who persecuted you.” His scowl became menacing. “I watched you from the window, Maia. At Lady Shilton’s manor. I saw how they treated you.” His jaw began to quiver with suppressed rage. “Your father was so easily manipulated by Deorwynn. She is the one who summoned me. It was her connections with the Victus who arranged it. But she was too greedy; she wanted her own child to rule as empress. I poisoned you . . . but not to kill you. I could not . . . I did not want to hurt you.” His face twitched with suffering. “I . . . care for you. I have never . . . cared for anyone.”

She could almost see the thoughts swirling around his mind. Their journey together from Comoros to the lost abbey had changed him. She had gone from being another assignment to someone he cared for personally. She had never treated him as others did. The more experiences they had shared together, the more her kind ways had broken down his defenses. Maia could sense all of this—his confusion, his gratitude, his possessiveness. He wanted to re-create that perfect trust they had once shared. He had brought her back to this place for exactly that reason. But she realized that he would only find death here—if he did not release her, the Medium would destroy him.

Her heart grieved for him, panged for his loneliness and abandonment. He had saved her life multiple times. Even though he had killed those she loved, he had done it to help her, to push her on top of a throne he felt she deserved in a world hungry for power.

“But you have hurt me,” Maia said, rising. She clenched a fist and tapped her heart. “After what you have done, I can never trust you again. You cannot be with me! This fancy you have is a dream from which you must wake!”

“You would rather see your friends tortured to death?” he scoffed.

“I would rather die saving my people,” she answered. “Please . . . you must let me go. You must choose it, before it is too late.”

He gave her a firm and angry scowl and shook his head. “You will feel differently later. I will not give you up so easily.” He gestured to her wounded arm and said gruffly, “Let me treat those cuts. It will not take long.”

She knelt again, her heart wringing with worry and compassion. She felt the Medium’s disapproval. It brooded above her like a storm cloud. She knelt and watched the sun sink into the sky as he tended her. His head bent close to the wounds, his movements efficient and skilled. The wounds gave a dull ache and itched terribly. She let him heal her, for there was nothing else she could do. He would not willingly let her go. He never would.

As she stared at the crown of his head, bent over her, the idea whispered in her mind. She could kiss him. She had no weapons. She would not use her kystrel again. But her lips were a weapon. With one kiss, she could incapacitate him with sickness.

No, she pleaded in her heart, staring up at the sky. Please do not make me!

A kiss of betrayal. A kiss that would end his life.

As if he heard her thoughts, his head suddenly jerked up. His face was so near, his look wary and concerned. How easy it would be to dip forward and do it. It almost seemed as if he longed for it. As if he might kiss her himself—to rid his heart of misery.

Please! Not like this. I do not want to kill him.

Then she heard the noise. He heard it as well. It was the sound of a twig snapping, or a small branch crackling. Someone was coming toward them from down the hill. Maia turned to look at the woods as the kishion rose into a crouch, his healing hands wrapped around two knives.

“Someone is here,” the kishion whispered. He gestured toward one of the fruit trees. “Hide.”

Maia slipped away, keeping low, and quickly stole between the laden branches of an apple tree.

The kishion vaulted over the short wall and landed in a crouch behind a shaggy oak tree.

There was a whistle of metal, and a throwing axe embedded in the tree bark near the kishion’s head. Maia had heard that sound before.

Jon Tayt lumbered into view. His face was sweating, his beard full of brambles, and he was dressed in his hunting leathers and bracers. The look in his eyes was frightening.

He pulled another throwing axe from his belt hook.

The two men stared at each other warily.

“I suppose we must get this over with,” Jon Tayt growled.

The kishion said nothing. Maia stared at the hunter, her heart overflowing with joy and hope. In her mind, Maia thought, Jon Tayt Evnissyen . . . I Gift you with speed. I Gift you with cunning. I Gift you with strength . . .