The Void of Muirwood (Covenant of Muirwood Book 3)(52)
Simon scratched the back of his head roughly. “This is a perilous hour. I came straight here. No one else knows. If the city finds out, there will be a panic and an exodus.”
“When they find out,” Maia corrected him. “This is not a secret we can keep.” She sighed in despair. “Should I have given him the command after all? I did not believe him capable of such treachery. He and Schuyler are rivals. Caspur stands more to gain if he supports me than his enemy. I am hurt, but I am also astonished. I truly did not believe him capable of such a betrayal.”
Richard stared solemnly at the floor for a moment and then lifted his gaze to her face. “I also did not expect him to betray the Crown. He threw in his lot with you when your father was murdered. Speaking of which, the interment of his body was supposed to happen tomorrow. I suppose that must be altered. Our options, it seems, are few.”
Simon folded his arms. “Fight, flee, or fail. There are truly only three choices. By fail, I mean capitulate . . . surrender. You do not have enough troops to fight. If you flee now, you will lose your throne forever. Taking back a lost throne is almost impossible. And if you surrender . . . I cannot imagine Schuyler will show you mercy. He was only too eager to behead you when you were your father’s prisoner.”
Maia started pacing. “There is only one choice,” she said, shaking her head firmly. “We must fight with whatever force we have available to us. The citizens must help . . . and to help, they must be told. We do not have time to waste. Richard, summon Justin and any available Privy Council members. We must share this news immediately. I will not be returning to Muirwood tonight.”
“But my lady,” Simon implored. “Are there no mastons we can summon to aid us?”
“We must and will summon every ally we can,” Maia said. “I will meet you in the council room. I had promised to inspect the kitchens this afternoon. I will do that now while you gather the council. I need a moment to think and prepare. Tell me as soon as everyone has been summoned.”
Richard nodded and rose quickly from his desk. Simon looked greensick with worry as he unbolted the door. Collier had left him to advise her, a task that had to seem futile at the moment. She could see that he was determining the possible outcomes, and all of them looked equally bleak.
“Courage, Simon,” Maia said, resting her hand on his shoulder. Though she addressed the words to him, she knew she was really telling herself.
Maia wrung her hands as she walked down the hall toward the castle kitchen. Dinner was underway, and she could smell the scents of baking bread and sizzling meat. Normally it would have made her mouth water, but her knowledge of the impending attack had buried her appetite. The kitchen worked day and night to feed so many, and Maia was concerned that young children were being worked too hard or treated with excessive harshness. She loved visiting Muirwood’s kitchen, but the castle kitchen lacked any kind of hominess. Here there were ten chimneys, dozens of tables, two larders, a pen holding animals to butcher, and cellars stuffed with sacks of vegetables and grains.
It would be difficult to explain the situation to the Privy Council. She wanted to trust that the Medium would lead them to victory—that Dodd’s three thousand men could come out ahead just as Garen Demont’s small force had done at the battle of Winterrowd. And truly she did trust that the Medium would protect them from Kord Schuyler, a man who denigrated others and scorned Aldermastons. But the struggle before them still terrified her, and she could not forget how many lives she carried in her hands.
The thoughts made her frown with anger, and she noticed several servants were gathered outside the kitchen, staring at her with concern. She turned the frown into an apologetic smile and continued toward the kitchen door. One of the servants bustled up to her, his look nervous.
“Your Majesty, we knew you were coming, but there is a problem in the kitchen. We need a few more moments before your visit.”
Maia did not slow her stride. “Unfortunately Solomon, I do not have time to delay. I must be at a Privy Council meeting shortly. I will not stay long.”
He seemed desperate to persuade her otherwise. “Well, it is just that there is a situation and I had hoped it to be resolved already, but it is not.”
Maia raised her eyebrows. “What do you mean?”
The servant looked flustered. He was tall and lanky and very proper. Her father had given special uniforms to the court servants denoting their place within the hierarchy. While Maia cared nothing for such matters, she was trying to learn the various protocols of the lower staff. Her hunch would be that this fellow ranked highly.
“Well, Your Majesty instructed us to feed any vagrant who entered the castle hungry. One arrived earlier this afternoon and . . . well, he has not only eaten a fair amount, but he has also rattled the cooks with his advice about how to cook properly.”
Maia’s eyes widened with surprise. “I wish to meet him at once,” she said, hardly daring to hope.
“Well, if you insist,” Solomon said bleakly, wringing his hands. The doors opened and as Maia entered, she heard Jon Tayt’s voice ring out with a laugh.
“The entire kingdom of Dahomey eats cheese this way, by Cheshu!” he roared. “Melted! Little metal skewers dipped into bowls. It burns your mouth at first, but if you add the right spices to the cheese . . . oooooh, I tell you there is no finer feast than this.”