“I can do that myself, if you give me a moment.”
“But how many moments have already been stolen from us?” he asked in a conspiring voice, putting his hand on her shoulder and nudging her to turn back toward the table. “I have often thought on that, Maia. Imagine if your father had not broken off our plight troth.” The teeth of the comb slid into her dark hair. He started low, at the tips, and gently began teasing the comb through some of the knots. He was very gentle and, she discovered, quite confident. She could tell he knew what he was doing as his fingers began separating and smoothing locks of hair. “We may have been wed two or three years ago. Formally, that is. When I consider those stolen years we might have known each other, I begrudge your father for stealing them from me.”
There was a little tug at her scalp when the comb encountered a thicker tangle, and he muttered an apology and worked it loose. Slowly, he began to move higher up her hair. Her cheeks were warm and she was grateful he was behind her and could not see her blush.
She said, “I believe your father promised you to someone else as well. We were quite young when the deal was abandoned . . . I was seven . . . eight years old? You were younger. And you are quite skilled with a comb. How is that?”
“I have older sisters, of course,” he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. “Older sisters teach you many important lessons about dealing with other women. I could tell you stories about them. However, you distract me from my confessions. My sisters both married well. As Family, we are all pawns in a game of power. What if the Dochte Mandar are the true religion after all, Maia?” He combed more vigorously now that the majority of tangles were gone. He smoothed his hand over her scalp and she felt tingles of heat in her stomach and the threat of a shiver. She tried to focus on his words and not his touch. “How familiar are you with the teachings? You were a favorite of one of them, if I recall. A chancellor?”
“Chancellor Walraven,” Maia answered. “But he never tried to persuade me of their teachings.”
“No, they tend not to be preachy. Unlike mastons,” he added with a barb in his voice. “The Dochte Mandar believe that souls are born and then reborn. Sometimes they point to the mastons’ words about this second life as an example of their philosophy. That one can die, depart, and then come back again in another life, hundreds of years later.”
“Yes, I have heard of that,” Maia said. “But it is not true.”
“How are we to know what is true and what not?” he said dismissively. “Have you not sometimes felt that you have been somewhere before? When I came to Rostick, it seemed . . . familiar to me. And sometimes when I travel to foreign lands and come upon an ancient Leering, it feels as if I should know it. Does that ever happen to you?”
Maia thought about it and said, “Yes, but I always supposed it to be the Medium. I have often . . . heard little whispers in my mind. Guiding me.”
“Hmmm,” he said, smoothing her hair with his hand. He seemed to be enjoying himself. “It may well be. As I told you before, I took the maston test, but I never took the oaths. I learned some of the teachings that are not shared outside the abbeys. It is all rather confusing. I tend to go with my heart and follow where it leads me.”
Maia looked over her shoulder at him. “Our hearts can be deceived, though. We should not make decisions solely based on feelings.”
“Of course not!” he agreed. “But feelings are a delicious spice. I am enjoying mine very much at the moment. There is a lot of pleasure to be had in looking at a beautiful woman. Maia, you are beautiful. Yet timid too . . . almost as if you are not aware of it or you pretend not to be. Modesty personified,” he said it playfully as he set the comb down on the table and placed his hands on her shoulders. “We cannot trust our feelings always, can we? I am more than half tempted to kiss you, which would be utterly foolish. While I may not believe in all the sorcerous ways of the Medium, my head does warn me that kissing you would be very dangerous. I am not sure it would kill me with some horrid disease. But you just might destroy my heart.”
He let go of her shoulders and his tone became more brisk. “Now for the jewels. Lift up your hair.”
Maia bit her lip, trying to understand the seasick feeling rising inside her. The boat was starting to rock a bit more. But any queasiness caused by that was eclipsed by the burning in her heart and the twisting of her stomach. Why was her mouth so dry?