I found you.
She could sense his triumph as his thoughts clamped down on hers with the strength of iron bars. Maia wrestled against the compulsion to surrender. She pressed against him, shoving with all her strength. Another mind joined Corriveaux’s, latching around her like shackles. Then another mind. There were three of them, three Dochte Mandar.
I have her. Kill her protectors, quickly!
No! Maia shrieked in response, her will bulging against the prison they had created. Her shoulder burned, as if she were supporting a heavy weight over her head. The power drove her to her knees.
“They see us!” Jon Tayt shouted. Soldiers charged at them from the burning mass of trees, heading toward the brook with bared swords.
Maia grunted with exhaustion, and suddenly another shaft of lightning touched ground right in front of the advancing men, scattering them. A few had charred faces as they fell limp to the ground.
You will obey me! Corriveaux’s thoughts screamed at her. Yield to me!
I will not, Maia replied, her mind turning black with the strain of resisting him. She felt the veins on her face begin to pop and blood dribbled down her cheeks. The power flattened her until she was facedown on the ground. She could not hold them off. She could not disrupt their combined wills.
We have her! We have her! Corriveaux’s thoughts blasted at her.
An axe whirled and struck an oncoming soldier. Argus howled.
Then a hand struck the back of Maia’s neck and she slumped into the dirt and forest debris. Her ears rang with a tinny sound, a high squealing noise that cut through the commotion.
No! No! Corriveaux’s thoughts were desperate as her unconsciousness released her from his grip. She was grateful for that at least.
Strong hands picked her up. Then she could remember nothing.
CHAPTER FIVE
Lady Deorwynn
Maia fidgeted with excitement, unable to keep from smoothing the front of her gown as she watched Pent Tower loom ever closer. The carriage wheels clacked and clattered on the rounded cobblestones, and though its progress was slowed by all the activity in the street, a mounted escort bearing the tunics of Comoros helped move things along. It had been almost four years since she had seen the castle, had been home, and her heart churned with excitement. She had mastered the language of the Pry-rians during her stay in Bridgestow and was looking forward to demonstrating her knowledge to her father. She was nearly thirteen and had grown physically as well as mentally during her long absence from her father’s court. She understood the workings of a Privy Council. She valued the advice of wise leaders and had listened diligently to their tutoring. Some of her decisions had been controversial, but her father had never countermanded her. She secretly hoped he would be proud of her accomplishments.
The time away from her mother had been difficult. Because women were not permitted to write, Maia had only received verbal messages from her mother or notes dictated to scribes and then read to her, whereas she had received various writs, commands, and notes from her father. Though, by necessity, she pretended she could not read them when others were around, she had kept several of the documents in her chests. When she was alone, she delighted in reading them and tracing the ink scribbles with her finger.
The sun crowned the keep as the carriage rumbled across the vast drawbridge, and she nearly leaped from her seat when it finally came to a halt. In the courtyard, amidst the dismounting knight-mastons who had escorted her, she saw the black cassock and wild hair of Chancellor Walraven, but he was also wearing a fur cloak that was brown and speckled with jewels, as well as the ceremonial stole of his office. He smiled as she waved through the opening of the carriage. A footman from the wall of onlookers briskly carried over a pedestal to help her descend.
“Prevaylee, pria hospia, cheru Marciana,” the chancellor greeted her, bowing fully at the waist.
“Prevaylee, Chancellor,” Maia replied with a deep curtsy. “If you believe I have forgotten my mother tongue, you need not fear it.”
The chancellor beamed at her with pride. “You are old enough to dance around the maypole. Look at you!” She felt her cheeks grow warm at the sight of the affection in his eyes. “You are nearly a woman grown. The reports I have from your sojourn in Pry-Ree do you credit and justice. Your lord father is proud of you, child. You must believe that. He sent me to greet you in person and escort you to him in his solar.”