Maia stared at Corriveaux, her vision blurring with blackness. It was like standing in the waves of the sea and getting dragged out by the surf. The sands at her feet were shifting away, urging her out into deeper waters. Wave after wave of the hetaera’s blackest thoughts pounded against her—hatred, revenge, hatred, revenge. It was vast and relentless. She realized she would live her life in dreams, while her body was used to commit atrocities. Better to bury her face in a pillow and never breathe again.
“If I will not?” Maia asked weakly, her voice coming out in a gasp.
Corriveaux chuckled coldly. “I think you will, my dear. We have invested so much in preparing you. The Victus are patient. So very patient. It would amaze you how patient we can be.” His voice was thick with meaning.
“But if I refuse?” Maia said, growing stronger, clenching her hands into fists.
“In the past, the Dochte Mandar would use poison to force a hetaera to accept her calling. Serpent venom. You will die to be reborn. There are rare cases when the poison does not work, of course. You seem naturally resistant to poison.” There was something in his voice she did not comprehend. “You would rather be a hostage than empress? You and your husband both? We could extort quite a ransom from your kingdoms. And if you think you are the only girl we have been preparing for this privilege, you are mistaken.” He took a step toward her, his face greedy and delighted. “But why make this so difficult? Claim your birthright.”
She backed away from him, her mind panicking. He was going to touch her shoulder. She could sense his intent. He was going to invoke the spirit inside of her. Images crashed inside her mind, like a thousand dishes shattering.
She would not submit, no matter how gilded the prison. She would never submit. She was the daughter of mastons. This was not her destiny.
“Do not touch me,” Maia said, holding her ground. She stopped retreating and stared at Corriveaux with defiance.
His face was livid with rage at being disobeyed. “You will submit, Lady Maia. I assure you. You will.”
She felt his will crushing against hers, filling her with terror and weakness and despair. His eyes glowed silver.
The feelings were not real, she told herself. They were as false as the dreams that had haunted her these past weeks. She gritted her teeth and pushed against them. He was very strong, but she did not summon her own magic. She did not invoke the kystrel’s power to defend herself. To do so in this moment would be to summon her. Iron bands wrapped around her thoughts, clenching against her, imprisoning her. She fell to her knees, her skirts rustling, and she bowed her head. Darkness swarmed her vision. She wanted to speak, to defy him, but her tongue was swollen in her mouth. She felt death whisper in her ear that if she did not submit, her soul would be wrenched from her body. Pain ignited across her skin; anger raged inside her.
I submit to the Medium’s will, she thought, unable to utter a single word. Use me as you will. If I must live in chains for the rest of my life, I will. If I must starve in a dungeon, I will. I will not willingly serve the Myriad Ones. I will only submit to the Medium.
It was as if a door opened inside her mind. Many times she had felt the power of the kystrel. This new feeling dwarfed it like a puddle would a lake. She felt the bands against her mind grow hot.
Walraven! Corriveaux thought, panicking. Join my thoughts! I cannot hold her!
Maia felt the rending of the bands, and she started to stand, feeling as if she had an enormous beam of wood across her shoulders weighing her down. Sweat stung her eyes as she pushed herself to her feet.
“No!” Corriveaux snarled. He grabbed her shoulder, the one with the hetaera’s brand. Her skin burned with fire and she felt as if furnace doors were closing around her soul. She was hot enough inside to melt metal, the power of the Medium fighting to save her.
Maia thrust the edge of her hand into Corriveaux’s throat and pried his hand off her shoulder with her other hand. He gurgled and bent double, choking at the blow. She stood taller, heaving against the doors closing on her mind, but they were too heavy.
You are mine, seethed a voice in her head. You wear my brand. You are my tabernacle.
I serve the Medium’s will. Not yours.
You will serve me!
Maia crumpled to her knees, straining against the weight. I will fight you, Maia vowed. You may as well destroy me. You cannot claim me. I never consented.
Did you not? the voice laughed. In the tunnels beneath the lost abbey, you vowed to give me your life! You made that covenant when you were asked what you offered in exchange for the knowledge of how to save your kingdom. I hold you to it.
Maia huddled inside herself, bent double with the struggle. Never willingly. You forced me. I am not your daughter. In Maia’s mind, she conjured the image of her own mother. Save me!
She cannot save you, foolish child. Even now, my servant ministers her death. Death by poison. Poison that was meant to kill you. She is too weak, too sick to survive as you do. He drips it on her lips whilst she sleeps.
Maia’s mind opened and she saw a small room, dark as night. There was a woman on a bed, whimpering in her sleep, her hair both dark and silver. A man stood over her, a small vial in his fingers. She recognized his scars, the coldness in his eyes. It was the kishion.