The Void of Muirwood (Covenant of Muirwood Book 3)(44)

“Are you getting tired yet?” Dodd asked the boy with a chuckle. “It looks like you would use a little rest.”

“You mock me,” Hove snarled. “If you were a man, you would fight me truly and end this!”

Dodd smirked but said nothing. The provocation clearly had not moved him.

Even though Dodd was winning, Maia still felt a growing sense of foreboding. She glanced at Suzenne, whose lips were pursed, her eyes riveted on her husband.

Hove stabbed at Dodd’s foot suddenly and then rushed forward to tackle him. Dodd planted himself firmly, legs bent in a low stance, and bore the brunt of the collision without giving ground. Hove heaved against him, trying—and failing—to throw Dodd down. Catching Hove’s foot with his own ankle, Dodd levered his adversary backward and slammed him into the ground.

Though Hove bucked and tried to get up, clawing desperately at Dodd’s shirt collar, Dodd easily shrugged off the blow and encircled the young man’s neck in a chokehold. Maia’s heart tremored with worry as she watched the boy’s legs thrashing.

“Enough! Dodd, enough!” she shouted as she finally pushed away from the tables and rushed off the dais to reach the center of the room. Gooseflesh crawled down her arms as she watched Hove’s eyes roll back in his head. He went limp and blood trickled from a cut on his forehead.

Dodd released his grip and rose, fetching his fallen axe. The hall erupted with cheers, and people surged to their feet, stamping their heels against the ground and thumping the tables.

Kneeling beside the unconscious young knight, Maia searched his sweaty face and saw the smudges of bruises already forming on his cheek.

“Fetch a healer,” she called, waving Suzenne over to join them.

“I did not kill him,” Dodd whispered with concern. “You knew I would not, Maia. He will be fine.”

“It is not that,” Maia said, hovering over the fallen knight. She felt the pressure around her heart releasing, the danger passing. Noise echoed throughout the hall, so she could not have heard anything. But she sensed it . . . a presence in the hall. Looking up, she slid some hair behind her ear and looked to the wooden struts and rafters supporting the roof of the hall. She saw him there in the shadows—the kishion—and his crossbow was aimed right at her.

For a moment, her heart spasmed with fear. He slowly lowered the crossbow and looked down at her, frowning with disgust at her efforts to save the very knight who had threatened her authority. She realized then why the Medium had been warning her. The kishion had planned to kill Hove regardless of the outcome. He would always eliminate anyone who threatened her. It was a loyalty she did not want.

“Dodd,” she breathed, trying to find the words, though they were slurred. “Dodd, he is here!”

The kishion slung the crossbow around his shoulder and then gracefully strode down the wide beam toward one of the upper windows in the hall. No one else had seen him. All eyes had been fixed on the struggle down below.

“Who?” Dodd asked. Maia shook with fear and dread as she watched the kishion slip away.

“Nothing,” she whispered. She knew he would be gone without a trace before she could even summon her guards. And most of her guards, she realized angrily, were probably drunk.

“Take him to Pent Tower,” she said, wiping some of the blood from the young knight’s temple. “I will send Richard Syon to speak to him. I think he can help the young man understand his misconceptions about the Medium. Thank you, Dodd.” She rose and took his hand. “You are my new champion.”

She raised his hand in the air, and the hall thundered once more with cheers and applause.





CHAPTER FIFTEEN




Rebellion





As soon as she crossed the Apse Veil the next morning after spending the coronation night in Muirwood, Maia was greeted by the Aldermaston of Claredon, who awaited her on the other side with Richard Syon. Claredon’s Aldermaston was a portly man named Dower whose crest of snowy hair ringed a gleaming bald head. A warmhearted man, he always had a smile and a kind word for her. Richard looked as if he had not slept at all the night of her coronation. The undersides of his eyes were puffy and shadowed, but he stood at attention, waiting for her to finish greeting Aldermaston Dower.

“Good morning, my dear friend,” Maia said to Richard, taking his arm and leading him briskly away. When they emerged from the abbey, she realized what a beautiful day it was in Comoros, with a sunlit sky as bright and clear as any she had seen. A few birds bickered and chased each other from the steeple. He guided her toward the outer walls of the abbey, the one that connected with the street rather than the gate that separated the abbey from the palace grounds. She looked at him curiously, wondering at his choice.

He said nothing, only gestured as the porter wrenched on the bars of the gate and pulled it open. The street was crowded, as ever it was, but when they entered the flow of traffic she immediately noticed that the streets had been meticulously swept during the night. There were no broken flasks of wine, no debris to clog the gutters.

Maia stopped in place and stared down at the clean streets. The people in the street were noticing too, she realized. Some stopped to stare at a clean window, looks of mild surprise on their faces. She also saw a good many smiles on passersby. Maia was not dressed as a queen and earned only a few pointed stares, mostly from men who were blatantly admiring her. Without a crown or a scepter, she was unlikely to be recognized and could maintain a disguise not unlike Collier’s.