“He ruled over a kingdom of bones,” Maia said with disgust. “I saw them south of here. He ruled an ossuary.”
Collier’s look darkened. “At least he ruled something,” he said softly. The chair creaked again as he rose. He started to pace. Then he turned to her. “Let me see your shoulder.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head.
“If you wish, we can be man and wife first,” he teased. “Despite your stubbornness and ill humor, I do wish to honor the plight troth. Let me be blunt, lass. I am imprisoning you until you relent.”
She screwed up her courage. “Until the Dochte Mandar find me.”
“I will move you from one manor to another. From one hideaway to the next. You are too precious for me to let you slip from my fingers again. Perhaps you go to Naess to destroy the seat of the Dochte Mandar yourself. Maybe you will kiss the High Seer and kill her with your lips.” He narrowed his eyes. “I am not sure I even believe the legend, myself. For you, I would almost risk it. But just in case the mastons have been telling the truth all along, I do not think I will.” He took a deliberate step toward her. “I would not stand in the way of your journey, if you are intent on making it, but you are to be mine.” His eyes narrowed with satisfaction. “I will make your father suffer for his ill treatment of you, Maia.”
There was a part of her that desired to relent. To throw down her pride, succumb to her shame, and abandon her duty. But to do so would mean marrying a man who believed her a hetaera—a man who was willing to destroy the world so long as he could rule it. And though she knew her father intended for her never to marry, she longed for it. Her heart’s wish was to be a maston, married by irrevocare sigil to another maston. She believed in the bond, though her father did not.
Still, her father was the one who had brought the kingdom to this precipice, and if he had truly sent her to the lost abbey with the hope that she would become a hetaera. . . . What a twisted dilemma she faced. But could she depose her own father? Could she commit treason? If only she knew her father’s true mind, his true intentions for her. She hardly knew her own heart.
“I do not wish my father harm,” she finally said.
“Done.”
She looked at him curiously.
“This is a marriage negotiation. Name your terms, Maia. A political match. Here are my terms. I will not love you. I will not consummate this marriage. I will vow it on the Medium or whatever oath you would have me take. Now name yours.”
“Release me,” she said, holding up her bonds.
“Done.” He drew the dirk again and slit the bonds. The ropes fell away, and she felt a jolt of relief. She rubbed her sore wrists, staring at Collier as she would a mountain lion.
“Your terms are too easy, my lady. I do not ask for a dowry in coins or land. Comoros itself will be sufficient. But though I will claim it on your behalf, you will be queen in your own right.”
“I am not going to marry you,” Maia said, shaking her head. “You will release me and help me on my quest.”
He stared at her for a moment, then shook his head. “No, I will only help you with your quest after we marry.” He held up the kystrel again, dangling it dangerously close to her.
“It is my understanding of the hetaera lore,” he said slyly, “that if a man wears her kystrel, he shares her power. They are bound together. Like . . . wedding bands, you might say. What would happen if I wore yours, I wonder? Would my eyes glow silver? Would your tattoo transfer to my flesh? It would give you more power, would it not?”
Maia’s mouth went dry. That was written in the tomes of the Dochte Mandar, a warning to any man who wore a kystrel, that the hetaera who had forged it must already be dead.
“Ah, by the look on your face, I see I have struck near the mark! What would happen to us both, Maia? We would be inseparable. Would I do your bidding, or would you do mine? Whose will is stronger?”
“Do not,” Maia warned as he lifted it higher.
“You are so subtle,” he said, flashing her a handsome grin. “You bid me to do the very opposite of that which you wish me to do. Oh, how I am enjoying this game! I almost put it on right away to force you, but it is so much more pleasurable to dance around the threat. Marry me willingly, and I will give it back to you. If you do not, I will wear it and infest you with my thoughts and ambitions . . . or perhaps it will be the other way around. Our minds will begin to entwine, will they not? This is delicious!” He stepped closer to her, his piercing blue eyes cutting into hers. “I do not fear you, Maia, but I may be rash and this may be foolish. Willingly marry me. That would be my preference.”