The Void of Muirwood (Covenant of Muirwood Book 3)(33)

CHAPTER ELEVEN




Parting





Maia trudged through a dense forest, cold and shivering. There were little cuts from the branches across her skin as well as spider bites that itched mercilessly. A chill, rank mist clung to the treetops, sending feathery tendrils down. The crunch of boots against foliage and the short huff of labored breathing filled her ears. She was cold, weary, and weighed down with heavy sorrow, sorrow so thick she could hardly breathe through it.

Flicking her eyes up, she saw a figure before her, swathed in a tattered cloak. It filled her with dread. The march halted at the edge of a clearing. She heard someone else’s voice, a voice with a whine to it, but the words were garbled and impossible to understand. Staring ahead, Maia saw a field of bones and a Leering crowning the heap.

She started, remembering the place vividly. The hooded man turned and she saw the torn ear, the scars. The kishion looked at her knowingly, sharing her remembrance of the place.

Fear shook her to her core. She wanted to flee, to escape, but somehow it was impossible. The mist was raining down upon them. She could see the puffs of breath coming from the kishion’s mouth. I am asleep. This is a dream, she told herself. She wrestled against it, trying to rouse herself. Terror and sorrow battled for domination in her mind. If she were truly asleep, did the cogent quality of the dream mean she was once again being controlled by Ereshkigal? Before, the Myriad One had controlled her while she slept, controlled her while she revisited her most painful memories in her sleep. With anguish, she fought to surface from sleep.

Her eyes blinked open, her heart shuddering beneath her ribs. Cold sweat clung to her skin, and she shivered beneath a thick blanket.

A warm hand touched hers and she flinched, jerking away in fear until she distinguished her husband’s face in the dim light of a small Leering. A spasm of relief flooded her. She looked around, recognizing the room as her private chambers. She was on an elegant four-post bed draped with simple white veils. There were wardrobes and chests and a slightly crooked mirror in the corner. A deep bath was by the wall next to a water Leering. She filled her senses with every small detail, grounding herself in the reality of the place, the moment, and the nightmare slowly faded.

“Was it a dream . . . or something worse?” Collier asked her tenderly, his look serious and intense as he sat at the edge of the bed.

“Hold me,” she whispered, opening her arms and pulling him close. The terror and sadness of the dream still wrenched at her heart. She felt as if she had lost someone dear to her. Her memory raced to find a source. Was she grieving her mother’s death? Her father’s? So many conflicting, tangled emotions writhed inside her.

Collier held her close, wrapping his arms around her and softly stroking her hair. She felt the first sobs bubble up and tried to choke them down.

“Ssshhh,” he soothed, stroking her. “I am here.”

“But you are leaving,” she said with distress. “I want you to stay.”

He sighed. “Believe me, this is painful for me also, Maia. Your kingdom is so vulnerable right now. You are vulnerable. I want to be here for you. To help you take your first steps as the ruler of Comoros. But it is as I told you. You are the heir. It is yours to rule by right, not mine. Simon will help you. He will deliver my letters to you.”

“You will write to me?” she asked, pulling away and looking up at him hopefully.

“Every day,” he replied. He stared into her eyes, his face full of shadows. Stubble covered his chin and jaw. She realized he had not been sleeping; he had watched over her during the night.

“I could come to your realm through the Apse Veil?” she suggested. She was aware of the warmth coming from him. Aware she was wearing a thin chemise and he was still dressed in his clothes—his disguise as he prepared to cross the sea to Dahomey in one of Simon’s cargo ships.

He pulled her cheek against his chest and then started stroking her hair again. “I will be at war, not near the abbey. What were you dreaming about, my love?”

She scrunched her face at the memory. “It was awful.”

“Tell me,” he said soothingly.

She could hear his heartbeat beneath the padded shirt. It was soothing, repetitive. “I was in Dahomey.”

He grunted. “That does not sound terrible to me,” he joked.

“It was the cursed shores. Spider bites and ticks.”

“Ah, yes. That is not a place where I intend to build a palace for us. Go on.”

“There was a place there. A place full of bones, topped with a Leering. A graveyard, really. We found it while we were looking for the lost abbey. My heart was heavy . . . so heavy. It felt like I was drowning in sadness.” She shook her head a little, pressing her nose against his shirt. “It was terrible. The kishion was there.” She shuddered, grateful for the comfort of Collier’s presence.

“Him again. Was it a dream?” he asked her.

“I thought not at first,” she replied. “I was afraid that falling asleep in the castle had doomed me. To be truthful, I do not even remember falling asleep.”

She heard the chuckle in his breath. “It happened quite quickly, I assure you. You are exhausted, Maia. You changed into your chemise and were asleep within moments of lying down on the pillow. You tried to talk to me at first, but I could see it was pointless.”