CHAPTER NINETEEN
Vow
Yes.”
It was Maia’s own voice, her own mouth that said it. The sensation was like coming awake from a vivid dream, one that blurred like fog and syrup. Somehow she had fallen asleep in the king’s tent. Her memories were muddled and thick, and though in her mind’s eye she was staring at her father and answering his question, she realized ponderously that her memory was distorted. Her father had never asked her if she wished to go to Muirwood. He had never given her that option. The image of her father crumbled away, and she discovered another man standing before her, wearing the black cassock of the Dochte Mandar. He faced her direction, but his gaze shifted to someone next to her.
“Most illustrious prince,” the man said, his voice formal and speaking Dahomeyjan, “is it your will to fulfill the treaty of marriage concluded by your late father and the King of Comoros? And, as the Dochte Mandar has sanctioned this marriage, do you take Princess Marciana, who is here present, for your lawful wife?”
“Yes, I will,” said Collier.
The threads from her dream still billowed about her mind. She realized in the back of her mind that in front of her sat a wooden altar piece—a small one set near the brazier in the king’s tent. A stone Leering rested atop it, the face chipped and chiseled and blunted by hammer strokes, but still visible. Power emanated from it, and she realized she was kneeling in front of the altar, her arms resting on it. Collier’s arms were next to hers. Slowly, so slowly it felt as if she were turning a huge boulder by herself, she twisted her neck and saw Collier’s profile, his deep blue eyes gazing intently at the Dochte Mandar.
“You have declared your consent before me. May the Medium strengthen your consent and fill you both with pleasing Gifts. What we have joined hither, men must not divide.”
“Until death us depart,” Collier said, bowing his head.
“Even so,” said the Dochte Mandar amiably. “It is the tradition amongst the Dochte Mandar for the husband to kiss his wife after the vow, Your Majesty.”
Collier smirked. “Thank you for the recommendation, Trevor. Not at the present however.” He rose to his feet and then gripped Maia’s hand to pull her up. Her knees were shaking, and she steadied herself on the edge of the wooden altar.
“My lord brother, thank you for being witness. Thank you as well, Earl of Lachaulx. Are those birds? Is it dawn already?”
Maia’s mind whirled like a child’s top, and she felt as if she would kneel and retch. The tent spun faster and faster.
“Your wife is pale, brother.”
“Here, my lady, let me help you to a chair.” Collier took her arm and led her to his camp chair, the one she had seen him in before. What had happened to the night? It felt as if she had dozed for but a moment or two, not slept away the entire evening. Why could she not remember? It was like a great wind had kicked up a storm of dry leaves in her mind, veiling all her memories. She had hoped to forestall the marriage by pledging to marry him later, once her quest was complete.
“My liege, I will take my leave of you. Some of the men are rousing and preparing to ride.”
“Thank you, my lord earl. I will join you later. I would appreciate a moment alone with my wife.”
A few guffaws of laughter sounded, and Maia’s heart jolted with a spasm of dread. She cast her eyes around the pavilion as the other men departed from the tent flap in front. It spoke of her disorientation that she had not noticed them until they were leaving. The place looked different in the pale dawn—starker and less magical. The brazier only had a few licks of coals left inside, and the nearby tray of food had been reduced to crumbs.
Why could she not remember? In her last recollection, she was sitting with him on a bearskin rug. He had insisted on seeing . . . what? Her shoulder. He wanted to see her shoulder, to see if she had the hetaera’s brand. The pieces of memory clashed in her mind.
An image flashed in her memory. The brand of the double serpent.
She remembered.
Horror exploded in her heart. What, by Idumea’s hand, had she just done? She bore the mark of the hetaera on her shoulder. How had she not seen it before? It was obvious, yet she had no memory of how it had gotten there. Desperate for answers, she replayed her trip step by step. Nothing stood out, except . . .
Since leaving the lost abbey, her dreams had been particularly vivid. She had thought it was the Medium’s will for her to relive parts of her past when she fell asleep at night, that the memories were being sent to assist her in some way. Suddenly it seemed as if the answer were altogether different. For days now, she had not been her true self at night.