The Void of Muirwood (Covenant of Muirwood Book 3)(93)

“I am done,” she said, coming around the screen. She clutched the other gown to her chest, not certain what to do with it. It felt oddly familiar to be wearing the servant’s gown again. He looked away from the slit in the curtain to stare at her, his expression betraying just a hint of emotion. There was a longing in his gaze that made her experience a queer feeling of pity.

“Eat,” he said, gesturing to the tray on the table—there was bread, Muirwood apples, and two cups. She was ravenous, having missed her dinner, and felt her stomach growl unbidden at the mere sight of the food. She tore into a hunk of bread and it tasted delightful and plain, a commoner’s food. She quickly devoured it, then took a gulp from one of the glasses and tasted cider. It was sweet and slightly pungent and she put it down quickly, the flavor coursing over her tongue.

He nibbled on a fistful of roasted nuts from his pocket as he watched her eat, his glance returning to the window at regular intervals.

“The King of Dahomey is coming for me,” Maia said. “I love him. Please . . . you must let me go.”

“What will he think when he finds us in a room together?” the kishion asked, giving her another sardonic look.

Maia swallowed, now even more parched, but the sudden fear that he had tampered with her drink kept her from taking another sip. She wiped the sticky juice from her lips.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked.

He gave her a sidelong look. “I am doing this for your good, Maia. The Victus will murder you and destroy your kingdom. Every last man, woman, and child. If I believed there were any possible way that you could succeed, then I would gladly step back. But I know you too well. You are too compassionate. You are too forgiving. The Victus will destroy you, and I cannot abide that! I cannot bear to lose you. So we are going on a little journey, you and I. We are going back to the lost abbey.”

She stared at him, thunderstruck. A stab of pain hit her abdomen, and she gripped the edge of a chair, feeling the needles begin to work.

The discomfort was . . . familiar.

“What have . . . you done?” she gasped as another wave of pain struck her bowels. She doubled over, feeling the waves of nausea and pain slash at her insides.

“You recognize the feeling?” he said with a smirk. “It is not the first time I have poisoned you with this particular drug.”

Her knees became unsteady. She felt pressure in her ears as the twists of agony spread and deepened. Her stomach heaved and everything she had eaten spilled back onto the floor as she fell to her hands and knees. Through the pain, through the ringing of her ears, she remembered this feeling. She had last felt this way in Lady Shilton’s attic, where she had been locked away for so long. Reliving the tortures of her past banishment made her tremble and shake, and her stomach clenched again, this time more violently.

Light from behind the curtains stabbed her eyes painfully as the kishion drew them open. The world was spinning in place.

“The poison will not kill you,” the kishion said with amusement. “It only makes you wish you were dead. It will stop you from escaping while I fetch the men who will bring us to our destination. I will not be gone long. And I have another drug that will render you unconscious for the voyage. You will be easier to handle trundled up in a box.”

He smirked at her as she lay on the floor near the puddle of vomit. Her body could not move and she convulsed uncontrollably. Twisting the handle of the back door, he opened it and stepped out into the yard beyond.

Find me, Collier, she begged in her mind.

Find me.





She did not know how long she convulsed and squirmed on the floor. Even though her stomach still clenched and roiled, she finally managed to drag herself up by gripping the chair’s legs. Her movements were slow and painful and—even though her stomach was empty—she slumped back down to retch several more times. Then she started again, moving herself inch by careful inch, trying to reach the window. The bright morning light stung her eyes.

She got one hand on the bed, one on the chair, and began to laboriously lift herself. There was a sudden shadow at the window, but before she could see who it was, it was gone.

Before she could process what she had seen, the door burst open and Collier appeared, sword in hand. Sweat streaked his face. His disguise was dusty and sweat stained, but he had never looked more beautiful to her. His teeth clenched with rage and fury as he stared into the room, searching for his enemy. Maia tried to speak, but her tongue was swollen in her mouth. She had never felt so thirsty.

She reached out her hand, feeling her legs strengthen at the sight of him. A smile of relief spread across her face. They had to hurry. They had to flee back to Muirwood. But together they could do it.

A shape loomed behind Collier. Before she could even utter a word of warning, his face twisted with agony. He jerked his sword arm back, attempting to strike the kishion’s jaw with his elbow, but instead he crumpled to the floor. The sight of the knife buried in his back, blood blooming on the fabric around it, made Maia gape in horror. Without so much as glancing at her, the kishion shut the door and drew another dagger as he approached the fallen man.

Collier twitched with the spasms of pain. He tried to drag himself away on his arms, his sword having tumbled to the ground when he collapsed.

“No!” Maia shrieked, amazed at the strength of her voice. Even though she was dizzy and weak, she managed to hobble and claw her way to Collier’s side. She knew all too well how damaging a knife to the back could be—she had heard of men who were crippled this way, who died from damage to their internal organs.