The Banished of Muirwood(64)
Chancellor Morton was frowning at her, not certain how to proceed after the embarrassment of the interruption.
“Say on, Morton,” her father commanded. “Ignore the trifling arguments between my lady and myself. I daresay if I eavesdropped in your household, I would find cobwebs in the corners of your manor house as well.”
“Few spiders, my lord. Mostly ants. We cannot seem to rid ourselves of the menaces. Would there were a Leering that would banish them.” He seemed to realize the blunder of his poor choice of words. “My apologies, we were discussing the sanctuary privileges of Muirwood Abbey.”
“Yes, we were, Chancellor Morton. You are a scholar of no small reputation, and you have said that I cannot compel a maston to leave the sanctuary by force.”
“Yes, that is what I was expressing. The charters of the abbey clearly—”
“The charters were granted by a king. Why, then, cannot they be revoked by one? Hmmm? I know the charters. I know the tradition. But I am King of Comoros. My word is law in this land.”
“To a point, Your Grace,” Morton said delicately. “Were you not anointed king at Muirwood as a child? Who put the anointing oil on you as king? Was it not an Aldermaston? If you were given your authority under the auspices of Muirwood, you cannot then revoke a privilege given by the very hand that ordained you.” He leaned forward, gesturing to emphasize the absurdity of the idea.
“What if I had been anointed king at Augustin Abbey?” her father said angrily. “Is it because the deed was done at Muirwood?”
“It could have even been Billerbeck,” Morton replied. “All the abbeys in Comoros pay homage to Muirwood and Muirwood pays homage to Tintern where the High Seer sits.”
“Pry-Ree,” the king said with a sneer in his voice. “We used to rule that kingdom . . . long ago. It sickens me that they are the least of the kingdoms, yet they have authority over their betters. That the High Seer can block my divorce based on maston custom.”
“You agreed to that custom when you chose to marry the queen—”
“She is not my queen!” her father thundered, pounding his fist on the table. “You must watch your tongue, Chancellor!” His eyes burned with fury, and Maia saw the chancellor’s expression tighten like a walnut shell. He took the brunt of it quietly. Her father’s anger continued to fester. “I am no more her husband than that iron poker by the fire is my wife. I would that she were dead.” Maia’s heart shriveled with blackness upon hearing the words. She sat as still as a mouse, not daring to remove her hand from his. His words were like shards of glass crunching under boots. “Yet it begins with a thought,” he said in low, strangled words. “I will have this divorce, Chancellor. You must find a way.”
His face paled. “My lord—” he paused, swallowing. “There is no legal way to compel it.”
“I am not faithful to our marriage vows,” her father snapped. “By all that is right and just, she should divorce me.” He slapped the table, less violently this time, and grumbled under his breath. “Find a way, Morton. Put all your thought into this. I would not have my authority undermined by an Aldermaston in a sniveling kingdom less than half the size of our own, full of giant trees and . . . and . . . spoiled grapes. Tintern has authority over Muirwood. I think not. Oh, I think not. It should be Muirwood that compels the others.”
“As Your Majesty knows, the Aldermastons of Tintern have always been those chosen as the High Seer since the return of the mastons. They are the strongest in the Medium.”
“I care not for the history lesson, tutor,” her father said with a sting. “I do not wish my realm to be governed by the whims of Tintern Abbey. I am a king-maston by law, yet I cannot command those who live in the abbeys, who are said to be outside of the king’s tax. Well, the cost of rebuilding abbeys chokes my income. How many people live under the shadow of an abbey to avoid paying taxes? Hmmm? Look at Augustin. To see its decadence and splendor, you would think the abbey had hardly been damaged before the Scourging. It was pride that felled our kingdoms. It was the love of treasure within the abbeys themselves.”
Maia shrank from her father at those words and hid her hands in her lap, trying not to tremble.
One of the other men from the table stood, planting his palms down on the table. “If Your Majesty seeks an example of pride, then look no farther than your own mirror.”
Maia stared at the grizzled man. He was older than her father, much older. His dark hair was well silvered and his angry, brooding look surprised her. She had rarely heard him speak since coming to court. He was the Earl of Forshee, an earldom that was as far from the throne of Comoros as one could get.