“You doubt my words?” Corriveaux said. “You were sent to the lost abbey to become a hetaera. Not, as you may suppose, so that your father could divorce your mother. All has been part of our design. The Victus have fashioned you. You do not even begin to comprehend our subtlety, but then, we were trained by the best minds. Our ancestors could not read. They could not scribe until they were taught by your husband’s ancestor, the last Earl of Dieyre. What treasures of wisdom we learned from the tomes. You were made by Walraven, like a carving from a master sculptor. And he is here to appreciate and marvel at his creation.”
Maia stared at him. “What are you saying? He is dead!”
Corriveaux smirked. “There is a certain venom from a certain serpent in Dahomey, you see. A poison, if you will, which will render its victim lifeless for three days.” He spread his hands wide. “No one has opened his ossuary in your cursed kingdom. They would consider it sacrilege. Enter please, my friend Walraven. I think more than enough time has passed since you last saw your protégée.”
As his voice boomed out beside her, one of the wooden panels on the wall opened silently, revealing a secret door and tunnel.
Her childhood mentor stood before her. His wild silver hair was as unkempt as it had ever been, and he wore a royal dress similar to Corriveaux’s, including the scabbard and ruby-pommeled sword. His face was stern and serious, his eyes flat and free of compassion.
“Ah,” Walraven said, his voice croaking with age. “Thank you, my friend,” he said, addressing Corriveaux. “I told you she was destined to be a queen. Queen of the Unborn. Is she not magnificent?”
He bowed slowly to Maia, his wrinkled face full of crags. “Your humble servant.”
One of the hard lessons I have learned in my life is to seek the will of the Medium amidst my suffering. If I did not get what I wanted, I suffered; if I got what I did not want, I suffered; even when I got exactly what I wanted, I still suffered because you cannot hold on to anything in the physical world forever. Time is like water. Please understand this, great-granddaughter, and teach it to your posterity. Your mind is your predicament. It wants to be free of change. Free of pain, free of the obligations of life and death. But change is law and no amount of pretending will alter that reality. The Medium always brings change.
—Lia Demont, Aldermaston of Muirwood Abbey
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Ereshkigal
With the words your humble servant, Walraven might as well have stabbed Maia in the ribs with a dagger. She stared at him, shock stricken, incredulous, but she recognized his face, the tone of his voice. It was a voice she had longed to hear. She had treasured those words he had scribbled on a piece of paper for her. Memorized them. That he would cast himself down so that she might rise up someday had been the crutch that carried her through many difficult days.
But he had raised her up for this? To become queen of the hetaera? Her stomach shriveled with disappointment and anguish, and a shroud of weariness fell on her.
“You have been prepared for this very moment,” Corriveaux said archly, gripping the ornate chair and stroking the polished wood. “You will reign supreme across all the kingdoms. The finest gowns. The most dazzling jewels. You will have lovers, wine, and coin in abundance. The world is yours for the plucking, my dear.” He walked toward her. “You will be the most beautiful woman of them all. Every fashion you wear, every tress of your hair will be envied. They will bow to you and simper for a glance, a look of approval, a compliment offered freely. And the men . . . they will worship you.”
Maia stared into Walraven’s eyes as Corriveaux spoke, her look accusing and full of daggers. “You did this to me,” she whispered. “You turned my parents away from each other. You . . . you spoiled their lives to create mine.” Her jaw trembled as a burning fury erupted inside her heart.
“I did,” Walraven said, stepping closer. His eyes were deep and piercing. A light flush came to his cheeks. “For this moment, I did it. So that you could claim your destiny. So that you could become.”
Maia stared down at the floor, at the rich carpets. The enormity of what these men were offering her rose like the dawn sun. She could have carriages and pets, servants and gowns, jewels and treats. At her word, men or women would be sent to the gallows. With her kiss on his knuckles, a man would die. The freedom they offered her was more vast than oceans and continents. She would rule them all. The thought of so much power and influence made her dizzy.
Her heart crumpled in pain and despair. She was weary of running. Her endurance was spent. Instead of a cage, her prison would be made of silk, gold, and damask. Instead of an iron collar, a golden tiara. She felt the blackness swelling inside her. Perhaps it was time to accept the future these men had built for her. Now, at least, she would have unlimited powers of revenge. All she needed to do was claim them.
For this moment. You were born for this moment.