The Banished of Muirwood(62)
Maia nodded. “Let me prove my innocence.” A horrible, guilty feeling swelled inside her breast, though she little understood it. The Medium will guide you, she assured herself. It had led her to the north road. It had led her to this man’s tent. She had to trust it. She had to trust the path she was on.
Maia began to unfasten the lacings on her bodice, loosening them enough to expose her shoulders. It mortified her, for the first few strings exposed the curving tattoos that had climbed up her chest—a mark she normally went to great lengths to hide. Her fingers shook and she struggled to compose herself, for she was blushing furiously, embarrassed for his guarded eyes to stare at her so fixedly.
“The kystrel leaves a taint on the skin, as I said,” she explained as she worked loose the weave. “Even the Dochte Mandar have it. It is a consequence of using the magic.”
“I know,” he said, his eyes still studying her.
Maia felt her breath quickening. He was staring at her hungrily now. Her mouth was suddenly dry, and she knew she should hurry and finish the deed so she could cover herself again. Clumsily, she undid a few more lacings, just enough—and then pulled the fabric away from her shoulder.
His eyes widened.
The feeling in the pavilion changed palpably. It was a dark feeling. She felt something stir inside her blood, radiating like a furnace of power. Maia felt a whisper through the shadows.
She jerked the fabric back up, covering her bare shoulder. Inexpressible horror jolted through her. She had seen it as clearly as he had.
The brand on her shoulder.
The two serpents.
Why do children fear the night? Just as dark is the absence of light, and despair is the absence of hope, so these symbols exist between day and night. I have seen in my life that the manifestations of the Medium are strongest when the souls of mankind are awake, their thoughts aroused and vigilant. When darkness comes, so come the Unborn. A friend from my early days at Muirwood liked to quote The Hodoeporicon, “Retire to thy bed early, that ye may not be weary; arise early, that your bodies and minds may be invigorated.”
—Lia Demont, Aldermaston of Muirwood Abbey
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Privy Council
As the voices began to rise, sizzling with heat, Maia looked up from the parchment map, her ears instinctively drawn to her father’s words. She loved being in her father’s solar, for here she had access to maps, globes, quills, ink, and even little books, which she was forbidden to peruse outside his presence. That Lady Deorwynn was arguing with the king in front of several members of his Privy Council, seated at a nearby table, surprised her. She was normally more circumspect. And the uncomfortable looks on their faces showed they wished they were anywhere else at the moment. The chancellor’s mouth was actually gaping open with shock.
“I do not want her at court any longer,” Lady Deorwynn said scathingly. “My daughters should not have to befriend and comfort someone who has been banished. You may as well isolate us all in Pent Tower!”
“If my lady would like me to accommodate that request,” her father said, his voice hot enough to sear, “it can be arranged!”
“Send Marciana away!”
“And where would you have me send my daughter?”
Maia’s stomach roiled with disquiet at the argument, which sent tendrils of nausea through her. Her ulcers had only grown worse after trouble had broken out across the kingdom, and the physicians could do nothing for her.
“Kenningford,” Lady Deorwynn snapped. “I can think of a dozen other suitable places. Send her away from court, my lord. I beg you. She is given far too many privileges for one of her station.”
Maia noticed the Earl of Forshee scowling, but it was hard for her to tear her eyes from the main players in the argument.
“Privileges?” her father snorted. “You amuse me. I learned that you forbade the servants from lighting her brazier in the mornings. She was suffering from chills.”
“Why should a servant trudge all the way to the tower for her?” Lady Deorwynn countered. “A little hard work would warm her up!”
“I will not send her away, madame. I am deaf to the idea.”
Maia glanced at Lady Deorwynn’s daughters. They were quietly sewing in the far corner of the room, their postures perfect, and their expressions indifferent to the storm raging around them. But Maia knew they were listening to every word, and she had no doubt the words would be used as barbs to torment her later.
Lady Deorwynn knelt by the high-back chair, her hands touching the king’s jeweled surcoat. “I beg you! I cannot tolerate her. The looks she gives me. They would curdle milk, I tell you. She is insolent, lazy, and stubborn.”