“Excuse me?” Corriveaux said, his eyebrows knotting in confusion. “You mean you wish to delay the coronation? It was my understanding that the titles would be vested immediately upon your arrival in Naess. Word must go out before the storms of the season begin and communication ends with the other kingdoms.”
Maia had no idea what he was talking about. She had no context for his words, but she realized that the being inside of her had been fully participating in the discussion just moments before.
He put his hand on her shoulder, her left shoulder, to help brace her. As soon as his palm pressed the mark, fire seared from the brand and her mind began to blacken again.
She shook off his touch and halted, her head swimming. “I need to sit down,” she said with rising panic in her voice.
“Of course,” Corriveaux offered. “Your suite is this way. I had hoped for people to see you in the audience chamber. It will get tongues wagging if we delay the coronation, of course. Do you need some refreshment? I can have wine or cider brought . . . ?”
Maia shook her head forcefully. “The suite. Please.” The sides of her vision were fraying, sloughing off like ashes from a smoking log. She pressed her mouth, her stomach suddenly nauseous, and followed Corriveaux as he escorted her down another branch of the hallway.
The walls were all made of dark-stained wood. The edges had been carved and polished into strange rune-like patterns that she had never seen before. The door handles were forged of polished silver, each one meticulously crafted by master metalsmiths, the edges supple and curved and designed with the symbols of serpents. They walked for a brief while longer and Maia struggled to control her thoughts, to keep her mind her own.
Leave me be! she ordered in her mind.
We are bound together, daughter. We share one flesh. I have great need of you.
“Here we are,” Corriveaux said unctuously. He fit a key into the door and twisted the lock. Then he motioned for the escort to remain where they were in the hall.
She glanced at him, at his polished boots, his trim black vest with a golden collar embedded with an absolutely massive sapphire. A frilly white ruff was at his throat, and his beard had been neatly cropped and trimmed. He gestured for Maia to enter.
“After you, Empress Marciana.”
She looked at him sternly, her eyes flashing, her heart pounding in her chest, and then walked into the room. What was she going to do? It felt as if she were on a runaway boat with no oars. She could only clutch the edges and endure the ride through the rapids.
The room was easily twice her height and there was a magnificent dome in the center, supported by enormous wooden stays. There were three hearths, and Corriveaux used his kystrel to light the Leerings inside each of them. The elegant polished table in the center of the room had huge squat legs carved like pillars. It could easily sit sixteen, and was surrounded by gilded chairs. Near the windows was a huge canopied bed—monstrous in size, and covered with heavy veils and trappings—as well as chests, pedestals topped with fruit and flowers, hooks and pegs, and enormous rugs and blankets.
The sky was dark outside the windows, the black ebony of night. This was when the powers of her inner demon were the strongest. She remembered in despair that the kingdom of Naess was known for its few sunrises and shortened days. It was so far north, the sun seemed to hide most of the year. Winters were cold and frostbitten, the moon and stars the only light.
This was a perfect land for the Myriad Ones. She felt them all around her, their panting, their nuzzling, their obedience to her as their mistress and ruler. Her heart shuddered at the feelings that began flooding through her. Retribution. Revenge. Murder. The sensations were so powerful, she felt as if there were nothing left of her but a gentle spark—a spark that could be snuffed out in an instant.
“Your look has . . . altered,” Corriveaux said, tapping his lip.
He gestured to a large stuffed chair, but Maia knew that if she sat down, lay down, or even stopped moving, she would lose her mind again. There were icy waters beneath her and she was moving on fragile ice.
She did not know how long she would be able to keep her mind, so she had to move quickly. “Where is the High Seer?” Maia asked, trying to summon an imperious tone.
Corriveaux’s mouth twitched. “You wish to kill her already? I am not surprised. It will cause a backlash from the mastons, of course. But I know we can keep it quiet for the entire winter at least. You wish her brought . . . here? I thought you may perhaps wish to use the dungeon.”
“Bring her to me,” Maia said, trying to breathe.
“Very well,” Corriveaux said. He walked to the door, opened it, and gave the order.
Maia could feel a thrill of victory churning in her chest. She squeezed her hands, trying to tame her feelings.