The Void of Muirwood (Covenant of Muirwood Book 3) (41 page)

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

T
he 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.”

“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.

“You should have waited longer,” the kishion sneered down at his fallen victim. “You rode ahead of your help. I thought you would do something foolish like that. I counted on it.”

Maia’s eyes filled with tears as she witnessed the suffering of the man she loved. Her heart groaned and she seemed to be drowning inside a black lake, sinking ever deeper. Panic and despair slashed all her hopes.

“No, no!” she begged. “Do not kill him! Please! I will do anything! I will go anywhere, but do not kill him! Do not touch him!”

The kishion shook his head. “Oh, but he
must
die, Maia. I won’t have you
pining
over him. Your life here is over. You are not the queen anymore. You are banished from Comoros forever. And I am banished with you.”

She stared into the kishion’s face with a pleading look, her injured body filled with helpless rage and misery. Kneeling by Collier’s side, she clasped his face in her hands. “I am yours! I have always been yours! I am faithful to you. Please! Please survive!” she sobbed, shaking her head, tortured by the sight of the mingled pain and love in his eyes.