The Void of Muirwood (Covenant of Muirwood Book 3)(84)

Murer hit him with a blast of fear and desire, and the hand instantly dropped. He backed away, looking at her with astonished amazement. “Your . . . Your Majesty!” he whispered in shock. “I . . . I beg your pardon! I thought you were another camp follower!”

“He will wish to see me, I think,” Murer said with a seductive purr, in flawless Dahomeyjan. Maia could feel the heat radiating from her bones. Tongues of fire licked at her insides—fire that consumed and would never fail to burn.

“Yes, yes at once!” the guard said, holding open the tent flap. It was dark within, but Maia could just make out the familiar scene. She had been there herself, after all.

Yes, child, murmured Ereshkigal. All men submit to me. And you will watch it. This is my revenge on you as well.

“Maia!”

Firm hands grabbed her, and the vision shattered. She was back at her camp, crouched at the door of her pavilion. She had swooned, and Jon Tayt had caught her. The force of the hetaera’s thoughts thudded against her mind.

“Help me,” Maia whimpered, and Jon Tayt led her dazed into the tent. Suzenne was waiting in there, and her eyes grew huge with concern. But it was impossible for Maia to process what was going on around her. She felt the tears squeeze through her lashes as she trembled and shook. No, not Collier, no . . . please! Her heart burned and ached, and she wanted to scream out in rage and desperation.

“What is it?” Suzenne asked, rushing to her side. “She looks awful. What happened?”

Maia covered her face and started to weep.





Quickness is the essence of war. Strike where you are least expected. Overwhelm with terror and force. The resistance will shatter, and your enemies will flee. It is easier to destroy a man who is running away. It has been many years since the full force of the Naestors has been used. The kingdoms we have long enslaved will remember this Void for years to come. They will remember it, and they will fear us. I write these words from the Privy Council chambers in Comoros. We have destroyed the northern army. We are forcing Caspur’s army to retreat. From our station in Comoros, we will lead the assault into the hinterlands and destroy the young queen at Muirwood.


—Corriveaux Tenir, Victus of Dahomey





CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT




Defenders





It was midnight. Suzenne sat with Maia, a tome spread on the table before them, and she read from it softly, using the words to drive away the terrors of the night. Maia shuddered helplessly, feeling her enemies prowling around her, seeking to stave their way into her mind and crush her. The soothing words from the tome provided just enough sparks of light to keep the darkness at bay.

“You should sleep,” Jon Tayt said, offering her a cup of valerianum tea. Even though it was midnight, the camp was still noisy with crackling and snapping fires and the soft coughing and murmuring of the populace around them. The scent of smoke lingered in the air.

“I will,” Maia said, patting his hand. Her heart was heavy with the knowledge of what Murer was doing in Dahomey. With Suzenne’s help, she had been able to keep the evil from intruding on her thoughts again, which at least meant she would not have to witness the horrible scene herself. “You must get some sleep as well. I will need you tomorrow. You must teach people to cover our trail, to make it difficult to find us.”

Jon Tayt scratched the back of his neck. “We’re leaving marks a blind man could follow,” he said with disgust. “I will do my best.”

The chair the hunter sat on creaked as he rose and then shuffled from the tent.

Suzenne paused from reading the tome, her eyes red and shadowed. Their fingers entwined, and Maia squeezed firmly. “Thank you,” she whispered. “You helped me get through the worst of it. At least I hope that was the worst of it.” She stared down at the gleaming aurichalcum page and traced one finger across the engravings. “I cannot help but think that the men and women who carved these tomes must have faced the same impossible situations and heartaches we do. And these very words helped them endure it.”

Suzenne nodded and stroked Maia’s arm. “To endure suffering patiently. It is no easy thing.”

Staring into her friend’s sad eyes, Maia said, “Do you fear the worst about Dodd?”

“That he is dead?”

“No . . . that he betrayed you.”

Suzenne’s lips tightened into a small frown. “I do not believe he is dead. I think I would know that, somehow. But do I think he succumbed? At first I could not bear the thought. But . . . I see now that it is possible. A kystrel is so powerful. You know that for yourself. The maston test warns us to beware them. If he did, I am sure he feels . . . racked with shame and guilt. He may be afraid to come to me. To face me with that stain.” She sighed and looked down. “But I love him, Maia, and I fear what it will do to my heart to learn the truth. It is a difficult burden. Each day I have not heard from him is a dagger in my breast. I long to see him again. To forgive him if he is contrite. I hope he is not wounded, languishing somewhere all alone.”

Maia squeezed harder, trying to communicate comfort through her touch. She had to believe the same about Collier. When she had approached his tent those many months ago, he had been expecting her to be a hetaera and to use her kystrel against him. He had seemed to relish the notion, in fact. But his shaming of Murer and Muirwood came at a cost. The girl would be revenged on him. The notion made Maia sick inside. The fact Murer was only now traveling to Dahomey told her something else—her stepsister was not a full hetaera . . . yet.