Maia understood. They thought she was a girl who sold herself for money.
“No,” Maia said firmly, her eyes blazing with anger and loathing. Her mouth firmed into a frown and she shook her head and stormed away.
“Doch! Bick nuffen, doch!”
She heard them following her, so she marched faster, her eyes scanning the wharf for a sign. There were only men around her, and she realized, belatedly, that she was violating another tradition in Hautland.
The men continued to follow her. She glanced back once and discovered the group had grown from four to six. Onlookers continued to gaze at her with open contempt and murmur to one another. There were different expectations of women in this kingdom and she was clearly violating them on every level. She hugged herself as she walked, trying to ignore her pursuers in the hopes they would relent.
So many ships. Most were facing upriver and moored to the wharf, but some of them were being turned about by long poles and ropes, their bulks facing outward as they prepared to set sail. The amount of traffic and congestion was baffling, but there was a certain order and rhythm to it. Commands were barked and then promptly obeyed. Men worked in unison, in small crews. Again, there were no women anywhere.
“Bick nuffen!” Someone grabbed her arm from behind. She spun around and raised her hand, but the man caught her wrist and squeezed hard. It hurt, but she ignored the pain. A group of men had gathered around her and she could feel them crowding her away from the wharf and toward the wall. It was like an unstoppable tide. There were so many bodies pressing around her that when a hand reached down to squeeze her rump she did not know whose it was.
The man holding her wrist leered at her. “Cozzen, bick nuffen. Cozzen sprout.”
She spit in his face.
That shocked them. He released her in surprise to wipe the spittle from his cheek, and a look of murder filled his eyes. “Cozzen freegin!” he shouted at her and backhanded her sharply across the face. Her head rocked back, but she had been struck before and harder. She did not lose her balance or cry out in pain. Instead, she stared at him defiantly.
Again, she surprised them with her brazen resistance. Several more backed away nervously, leaving an open space around her.
“No,” she said, dreading what was to come. The kystrel’s power began to rise inside her. The dark part of her burned to life with the anger she felt. She could quench their lust and their anger and leave them lying in the gutter. She should not. She knew she should not.
“Ick dirk?” the man said contemptuously, gazing down at her blade. Then he drew a sword from his belt.
Someone fell down next to the man who threatened Maia. A bloom of blood stained the fallen man’s shoulder and he howled with pain. Then there was another cry of pain. The wall of men surrounding Maia parted, backing out of the way of a man wielding a bloodied sword.
“Mein bick nuffen,” the man said with a deadly voice. A voice she recognized. A voice that cut through the conflicting noise in her head.
It was Feint Collier.
That was all Collier said before slicing the wrist of the man who held the sword, smashing his nose with an elbow, and kneeing him hard in the groin. As the man crumpled to the cobblestones, Collier went after the next one.
Maia heard the sound of blades clearing sheathes all around her.
In all the kingdoms, the Aldermastons are empowered to teach mastons their oaths. But there must always be one Aldermaston who has the Gift of Seering. This Aldermaston, male or female, is chosen as the High Seer. When the High Seer dies or is slain, the Aldermastons from all the abbeys assemble and the Medium chooses, through a secret Leering, who the new High Seer will be. To serve as the High Seer is a heavy burden, great-granddaughter. It is a heavy burden indeed. It will be your burden, and it will be heaviest on you in the land of the darkest night.
—Lia Demont, Aldermaston of Muirwood Abbey
CHAPTER THIRTY
Queen of Dahomey