The Void of Muirwood (Covenant of Muirwood Book 3)(95)

Maia trembled and shook, realizing that every moment carried her farther away from Comoros, from her people and the dangers they faced.

The door of the cabin groaned, and she flinched as the kishion stepped inside and bolted it behind him. His face was half-hidden in shadows. He looked at her warily, his face devoid of guilt or concern. He held a small bag in his hand.

Maia smoothed the hair from her face again, staring at him with loathing and bitterness. “So we are going to the lost abbey,” she said, her voice so small and delicate that it sounded strange to her own ears.

The kishion nodded. He approached the bed and opened the sack. He put down a heel of bread wet with honey. A piece of dried meat came out next. A small round cheese followed and then a Muirwood apple. The apple surprised her and stabbed her with pain, but she reached for it first, bringing it to her nose to breathe in the smell. A few tiny tears moistened her lashes, but it was not enough to fall. Not even the apple could comfort her. She set it down on her lap without taking a bite, then glanced up at him, frightened by the coldness she saw on his face. The detachment.

“You have robbed me, kishion,” she said in a tremulous voice. “You killed my parents. You murdered the man I truly loved. Even Argus . . . faithful Argus . . . you are a monster.”

His eyes narrowed, but she could see he had been expecting recrimination. “I am,” he said with a chuckle. “Men like me exist to do that which is too difficult for the tenderhearted. Your mother’s health was failing long before I arrived at Muirwood. I hastened her journey to her next life, where I am sure she will be rewarded for her patient suffering.” He said this last part with a hint of derision. “Your father was a murderer himself, though he lacked the manhood to ever wield the blade for a killing blow. He was a coward. I will never regret killing him. I only regret not killing him sooner.” His face twisted with anger. “The dog tried to attack me. I have never been fond of beasts. They make my work more difficult. And if you recall, Maia, your husband . . . your duplicitous husband, threatened to hang me when next we met. You recall the gallows in Dahomey he used to threaten me? But I was too cunning for him.”

“I should have let him!” Maia said with barely concealed anguish. “Why did I plead for your life? Why did I not allow the Fear Liath to drag you away?” She groaned. “You have repaid my kindness and mercy with blood!”

Her words stung him and he flinched. She could see the pain in his eyes, but his resolve did not waver. He was hard as flint, as immovable as a Leering.

Without shifting his gaze from hers, he reached toward his belt and drew one of his daggers. Then he grabbed her arms—not pausing when she cringed—and slit the bonds at her wrists, freeing her. He knelt by the edge of the bed, eyes level with hers. His scars had never looked so grotesque, and utter revulsion almost made her shrink away. He gripped one of her hands and pressed the dagger handle into her palm.

“You want revenge?” he sneered softly. “Then cut out my heart and eat it.” He dragged her wrist, blade first, toward his chest. Letting go, he quickly loosened his collar and exposed the skin and a thatch of hair. “Kill me, Maia. If you think it will make you feel any better.”

The blade was heavy in her hand. It was sharp and well made. She stared at it in her hand and sat up on the bed, the apple ready to tumble from her lap.

The kishion stared at her defiantly, exposing himself to a mortal wound. But she could see in his eyes that he did not believe she would do it. He knew she could not kill a defenseless man. She stared at the blade, trying to hear the Medium’s whisper through the haze of her grief and despair. She heard nothing.

Her hand grew heavy and her arm sank. The kishion snorted and took the blade, then slid it back into the sheath at his waist. He rose and scrubbed one hand through his untidy hair.

“That is why I am here. To do the things that you will not do.”

She gazed up at him. “Compassion is not weakness.”

“It is to the Naestors,” he said gruffly. “You do not understand the enemy. There is a practice in Naess called the Blood Eagle. It is an execution that makes a headsman’s axe seem tame. That is how they will destroy your leaders. Your chancellor, your Privy Council members. Your Aldermastons. They would have made you watch it, Maia.” He shook his head, his face twisted with revulsion. “I wanted to spare you the memories. They will destroy everyone. But they are afraid of the cursed shores. They fear the magic down there. Even the Leerings are cursed. So that is where I will hide you. I know that only a woman can pass the Leerings down in the lost abbey.” The look he gave her was plaintive. “Even if they find me, you can hide. You will be safe.”

She shook her head. “What is there is worse than death.”

His looked hardened. “I do not expect you to forgive me, Maia. I do not ask that of you. I will do what I must to keep you alive.” He gestured toward the food he had brought her. “You will need your strength to cross those lands. I have gathered supplies for the journey. It will not be long now.” He gave her a crooked smile. “It will be like it was before. You will see.” He left and shut the door behind him.





Maia’s legs ached from the long march through the woods. It had been so long since she had wandered this place, and yet the memories haunted her. There were bite marks on her skin, and the gnats and insects were a maddening nuisance. Before, they had wandered the cursed shores with caution and dread, not knowing what they would find or how far it would be. This time, they knew the journey; they knew where to find the waymarkers that would lead them to the abbey. Memories lurked everywhere. As Maia trudged through the brambles and mud, she could almost hear Captain Rawlt and his men cursing the climate and the snake-infested woods.