The Void of Muirwood (Covenant of Muirwood Book 3)(92)

But no, she did not sense the Myriad Ones. Even with the pale moon’s arc in the sky, she did not feel herself to be in danger. There were thousands of glittering stars above, and she stared at them in wonder, amazed by their beauty. Occasionally, a shooting star would sizzle across the horizon, gone before she could blink.

She calmed her emotions and listened for whispers of insight, for the Medium’s guidance. Jumping off the horse would be foolish. Not only would she likely break her leg, it would not be difficult for the kishion to halt and find her. She clung to him so tightly her fingers and arms hurt, but she endured the pain as she tried to sort through what was happening, why, and what she should do next.

Time seemed to race as fast as their steed, and soon the sky was brightening. They ascended a long hill, and the horse was struggling, weary and spent from the arduous ride that had lasted through the night. The animal would be in no condition to continue the race much farther. She began to hear birds calling to one another, greeting the day ahead, and small camps of travelers were stirring ashes and coaxing coals back to life for breakfast.

Pink turned to orange, and suddenly the dawn was there, radiant and dazzling. The Bearden Muir was far away now, and the lush woods and groves were glorious in the bright morning light. The beautiful sight gave Maia some small happiness—this land of hers was gorgeous—and she cherished it, despite—or perhaps because of—the danger she was in. Her cheek had been pressed against the kishion’s muscled back, and she lifted up and turned back, holding tight to keep herself steady. The road behind them stretched down for miles, a clear and easy view.

It was then she caught sight of the lone horseman riding toward them at a full gallop. He was far in the distance, but she saw a small speck of dark hair, and could make out the man’s approximate size and build. He rode as if on fire. The sound of the hooves had only just started to reach them, and the kishion quickly glanced back, his eyes narrowing with anger.

It was Collier. Maia was certain of it. Where was Jon Tayt? Where were her guardsmen? And she realized with a private smile that none of them had been able to keep up with Collier. Only he had managed to close a distance of hours. Her heart thrilled in excitement.

Just then, they crested the hill, and Maia saw Bridgestow appear before them, waving the banners of Comoros. Once more, she was the little girl whose father had sent her away at his chancellor’s behest to begin her tutoring as the future queen. There was a garrison there. There were soldiers who would obey her commands. But how could she escape the kishion?

“Pray he does not catch us before we reach our destination,” the kishion said in a threatening tone.

“Where are we going?”

“There is an inn on the outskirts of town. I have a room for us.”

A feeling of revulsion and wariness seeped inside her at his words.





CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE




Queen of Dahomey





The inn was called the Battleaxes and was in the village of Wraxell, just south of Bridgestow. It was a large, stone building with a steep, multileveled roof. Part of the outer walls were made of brick and stone—the rest, timbers and plaster. There were easily five or six chimneys, and the inn was divided into several wings, reminding her of the Gables, the place where she and Collier had first danced.

Many wagons and carts were parked in the field near the inn, and there was a good deal of commotion as the teams prepared for the trek to Muirwood.

After the stableboy took their nearly collapsed horse to the paddock for tending, they were led to their room—a generous space with a tub, a broad bed, and several large chests that were stacked haphazardly through the chamber. The room had a door facing the back side of the structure, with easy access to the road and the yard.

The kishion stared out the window at the yard and then headed over to one of the chests and opened it. He drew out a servant’s gown that Maia immediately recognized. She had just seen a similar gown on Maeg . . . it was the uniform given to the servants of Lady Shilton’s household.

“What is this about?” she demanded, not bothering to conceal her anger.

“Change into this,” he said, handing her the gown and motioning to the changing screen. “There is food on the table. We will eat before we go. Now change, quickly!”

Having ignored her question, he returned to his spot at the window, parting the curtain slightly to gaze outside. He went to the table, where the innkeeper had set out some repast for them, and grabbed a dark baked roll and nearly growled as he devoured it. When he noticed she had not moved yet, he turned back to the window.

“If you need help changing, I am glad to oblige you.”

She clutched the gown to her bosom and hurried behind the changing screen. Her heart still thudded in her chest, but she quickly obeyed, hurrying to undo the lacings by herself. The room had a brazier, and it was not cold, but she found herself shivering as she pulled off the gown and dressed in the hated costume of Lady Shilton’s household. She did up the lacings, determined not to ask him for anything ever again.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked over the screen.

“Where the Medium bids me,” he answered mockingly.

She clenched her jaw in frustration. “Answer me truly. You dragged me from Muirwood to Bridgestow. Why?”

“Because this is where the ships are,” he said flatly. He growled something under his breath. “Have you finished yet? I feel a pressing urgency to go.”