The Void of Muirwood (Covenant of Muirwood Book 3)(3)
Corriveaux did not hesitate to walk up and put his dagger on the stone plinth positioned beneath a light Leering by the entrance to the room. Standing at the edge of it, he could see a shadow move on his left. He did not flinch.
“One of you has betrayed me,” the dark voice growled.
Corriveaux felt a spasm of startled surprise. He dared not utter a word, but the hairs on his neck bristled with fear and dread. Could it truly be him?
A heavy step sounded, followed by a dragging noise. Corriveaux knew the Hand had a stump for one leg. His movement was ponderous due to his girth. A gnarled, meaty fist closed on the dagger hilt on the plinth.
Corriveaux wanted to protest his innocence, but he knew it would be foolish. If the Hand believed it was him, he would die regardless of his innocence. He stood calmly, steeling himself, trying to keep a ball of sweat from dripping down his cheek, through sheer force of will.
“What news from Assinica?” the man rasped, bringing the dagger out of the shaft of light. He coughed wetly.
“They have fled,” Corriveaux said tautly, keeping his eyes trained on the light. He wanted to flinch and flee, but he knew it would mean instant death.
“Yes,” the Hand said in his guttural tone. “I expected this when you let the High Seer slip away.”
“I—” Corriveaux checked himself just in time. He blinked, trying to keep his thoughts collected.
A wheezing laugh followed his self-correction. “There are only three men who know enough to betray us,” the Hand whispered. “You. Walraven. And Gastone. All three of you are uncommonly clever and motivated. All three patiently bide your time for my death. I know that. But the traitor must meet his fate, and soon, if we are to succeed.”
Corriveaux could almost feel the Hand’s hot breath on his neck as the other man came around behind him. The stump-like appendage thudded once more and fell silent.
“It is you I have chosen, Corriveaux. You are young. You are ambitious. You are impatient.” A low chuckle sounded. “You know what happens next.”
There was a grunt and then a gasp.
Corriveaux whirled, watching in horror as the Hand pulled the bloody dagger out of his own stomach. The hulk of a man shuddered and dropped to one knee, his meaty fist clutching the front of Corriveaux’s tunic. He dropped the dagger to the stone floor, and it clattered away.
Corriveaux stared at the Hand in shock as blood began pattering on the floor.
“You will lead us,” the Hand hissed, his voice full of pain. “I will counsel you from the dark pools now. Your rivals must . . . be destroyed. Do not trust them. One of them . . . is the traitor.”
His puffy face and jowls quivered. His eyes were fierce with determination.
“Bring back the hetaera,” he said. “Destroy the world. Or the mastons will defeat us.” And then he collapsed.
CHAPTER TWO
The King’s Threat
It was a beautiful spring day outside Pent Tower—sunlit, a little hazy with miry smoke, and trilling with birdsong. Maia sat by the window, watching as the knights marched in cadence below on the greenyard, their uniforms fastidiously clean and dangling with badges and ribbons and frills. From her view at the window, she could see the chancellor’s tower and its solitary window, and her memory suddenly bloomed with the sound of skittering mice and rats, a pair of wooden clogs, and Chancellor Walraven’s weary smile.
“I spent many hours in that tower,” Maia said, gesturing toward it with conflicting emotions. “Never in this one, though.”
Her friend Suzenne was pacing the room, her arms wrapped around herself for warmth, for though it was sunny, it was cold. Her face was drawn with anxiety and worry. When she heard Maia’s voice, she came over to the window and stood behind her.
“Which tower?” Suzenne asked.
“The one with the pennant fluttering. A bird just landed on it, did you see?”
“Is that the chancellor’s tower?”
Maia nodded pensively. “I did not know about the Ciphers then. I thought that I was the only woman in the entire kingdom who had been taught to read, that because I was a princess, I was above the taboos of the Dochte Mandar.” She sighed as she thought on all she had learned about kystrels and hetaera. She had been groomed by Walraven and the Victus to become one, to wreak havoc on the mastons and destroy them. Though Walraven had eventually joined the maston cause at great personal risk, he had not halted the Victus’s plot. They had hoped to use Maia as the vessel for Ereshkigal, Queen of the Unborn. Had she agreed, they would have made her their empress, the ruler and commander of all the kingdoms. They had promised her jewels and gowns, power unsurpassed since the days of the Earl of Dieyre. And she had somehow managed to deny them and survive. Until now.
Maybe my purpose has been fulfilled, Maia mused. She had left the dark island of Naess with her grandmother, the High Seer of the mastons, and sailed to Muirwood Abbey. There she had studied the tomes, learned about the maston order, and become one herself. Then she had successfully reopened the Apse Veil, joining the worlds together so that the dead could finally rest in Idumea, and the mastons in Assinica could escape slaughter. She wondered if she had completed her purpose and the Medium would now shepherd her on to her next life. Maia was troubled by the thought. She did not feel ready to depart.