Cruix Abbey has fallen. The Naestors have assembled a fleet of ships, an armada in one of the ports of Hautland, a city that will be built in the image of what Dochte Abbey was in my day, a city on an island. What you must understand, great-granddaughter, is that the fleet has not been assembled to wage war on the kingdoms. The Naestors have learned about the land the Cruciger orb led us to—the land of Assinica. They have been spying on it and preparing to invade and destroy the mastons who were left behind. You see, not all the mastons returned to the seven kingdoms. A host remained behind to perpetuate the abbeys and sire the new kingdom we built to create a land of refuge, peace, and safety. By the time you read this in my tome, the mastons of Assinica will have forgotten the ways of war. They are peaceful and harmless and they will be enslaved and butchered by the Naestors if they are given their way. Ereshkigal will have her revenge. When your forefathers returned to Pry-Ree, Comoros, and Dahomey, they were to rebuild the abbeys and fulfill the Covenant of Muirwood. In order to fulfill it, the rites of the Apse Veil must be restored in Muirwood, and from there, to all the other abbeys. Because there have been no fully functioning abbeys in your realm for several generations, none of my progeny are strong enough in the Medium to cross the Apse Veil. Your generation will not have the ability. But look to your granddaughter. Look to save her when she comes to kill you.
—Lia Demont, Aldermaston of Muirwood Abbey
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Kishion
The bed was soft, the brazier shimmered with heat, and Maia felt strong enough to sit. The shift beneath the servant’s gown was soaked with sweat and her hair felt sticky against her scalp. She looked down at the gray-green sleeve and examined the fabric of the cuff, her eyes coming in and out of focus. Her memories were jumbled. It felt like a dream. Was it one?
It was the noise of boot steps marching up the stairs to the attic that had started the dream. This is a memory. This is not real. Maia felt foggy, disoriented. She moved off the bed and went to the door, listening. It sounded like multiple men were approaching and their heavy footfalls shook the walls. Fear twisted in her stomach and she wrung her hands as she watched the door. There was a firm rap and then it opened. She wanted to wake up. She had to wake up. Something was happening. Something she could not control. She felt like a withered leaf blown into a stream, carried along by the current.
A grizzled soldier wearing the tunic of the king’s guard stood in the doorway, his jaw lined with a salty beard. “Beg your pardon, my lady. I am Rawlt. I was sent this morn by river from the palace with orders to escort you there.”
Maia blinked at him, aware of how disheveled she looked. “I do not recognize you,” she said warily. Wake up!
Rawlt shrugged. “I showed Lady Shilton the orders bearing the king’s seal. Come with me.”
She rubbed her arm. “What should I bring with me?” She heard her voice repeating the words she had said long ago. This was like being stuck in a play, on a stage full of actors.
“Just your person, my lady. I have a boat ready for us. Come along.”
“Can I brush my hair, at least? It is early.”
He frowned at her, but she ignored him and hurried to comb the tangles out of her hair. The motion brought sparks of another memory. A young man, combing her hair with such gentleness. She felt his hands smoothing through her tresses. Who was he? She did not know, but she felt an urgent need to protect him. The dread and worry that seeped around the edges of her consciousness like sticky honey was baffling. Why did she have a memory of a man touching her hair, anyway? It was her ladies-in-waiting who combed her hair. No, she had no ladies-in-waiting anymore. She was a bastard. She was banished from court.
“Are you done?” Rawlt said impatiently, then coughed into his hand.
Maia realized she had frozen. Was that part of her memory? What was real and what not? She began combing through her hair again, trying to tease out the tangles. The sky was still black outside. It was very early.
The dream carried her along, though she never lost the awareness that it was a dream. In the past, the dreams had subsumed her completely, but now part of her knew something was amiss. A nagging feeling told her she was in danger in the waking world, that someone she cared about would be hurt if she did not awaken, yet she could not shake herself from the fog.
She finished combing through her hair and then followed the soldier and his retinue down the steps. At the bottom, Lady Shilton stood waiting, wearing a nightrobe and holding a candelabra. There was a gaunt, worried look on her face. As Maia entered the hall, Lady Shilton nodded to the soldier.