The look of rage on his face brought blind terror into her mind. He struck her across the mouth, a stinging slap that silenced her words and rocked her backward. “You will be silent!” he threatened her, his voice wavering with emotion. “You watch your tongue and guard your speech. I will not listen to such talk from my own flesh and blood. Be still!” He loomed over her, and Maia felt the stinging pain on her cheek and the flavor of blood in her mouth. Her knees trembled so hard she was afraid she would crumple onto the floor, but she held firm. She stared up at her father with loathing, her eyes dry.
His eyes were on fire with fury. One of his fingers jabbed at her nose. “Let me be very clear, Daughter. You are henceforth banished from my household. You are no longer my natural child. I have forsaken my maston oaths and no longer wear the chaen. I say it clearly so that there can be no misunderstanding between us. I do not believe in the benevolence of the Medium. It is real, I know that. But it is cruel and vicious too.” He spread his arms wide, as if daring her to contradict him. “But you will say nothing of this to anyone else. For the preservation of this kingdom, for the sake of the people, I will pretend as though I am faithful to the order. I will not persecute mastons or halt the rebuilding of the abbeys. I will fulfill my duty to complete them and reinstate the full rites. But I cannot remain bound to your mother, whom I hate with every bit of loathing and rancor you can possibly imagine. I cannot bear to even look at her, which is why I have sent her far away.”
Maia’s eyes widened with defiance. “Very well, then send me to my mother,” she demanded. “If I am to be banished, I would go to her. To Muirwood.”
Her father shook his head. “Oh no, I dare not let you go. Even if your eyes continue to accuse me. You are far too valuable a prize for my enemies. Those who pursue your mother’s interests will be disinherited, and their lands will be forfeited. But anyone seeking to abduct and control you will be guilty of treason. You will stay here in Comoros.” His look was grave and stony. “You are banished here, Maia. To Pent Tower.”
“May I see my mother first?” Maia whispered, her throat too tight to speak.
“In time. Perhaps. If you are faithful to me. Now trouble me no more, child, until I call for you. Chancellor—escort her to the tower prepared for her.”
This you must always remember. The hunter is patient. The prey is careless. These are wise words from the man who trained me to survive many hardships.
—Lia Demont, Aldermaston of Muirwood Abbey
CHAPTER SIX
The King’s Collier
As Maia regained consciousness, she was first aware of a strange new smell—a peculiar scent that clung to her clothes, her hair, even her skin. She struggled to open her eyes, and it was so dark she wondered for a moment if she had been blindfolded. Light stabbed her eyes from slits on her right and she twisted to try and determine the source. The boarhound, Argus, was resting against her back, its coarse fur a source of heat and warmth. The dog lifted its head when she moved and gave an exaggerated yawn, as if scolding her for sleeping so long.
“Awake. Finally.”
It was Jon Tayt’s voice, gruff in the shadows. She had not seen him there, but her eyes picked him out as they adjusted to the dimness. Her muscles were sluggish to respond when she struggled to move. She would not have felt any more spent had she swum upstream against a river. Still, she was aware enough to discern that she was in a small stone cave, and to hear the wind keening outside. There was no sign of the kishion, and that concerned her.
Maia sat up and grazed her head against the ceiling of the cave. As she did so, she realized she had been sleeping on a strange pallet. Instead of straw, the ground was covered in strange green leaves dusted with fuzz. It was the source of the peculiar smell.
“What is this?” Maia asked, bringing one of the crushed leaves to her nose. It reminded her of mint, but it was different somehow.
“I call it mule’s ear,” the hunter replied. “See the shape? It grows wild up here on this side of the mountain. Good for bedding down on.”
A low growl sounded in Argus’s throat.
“Bah, be quiet,” the hunter scolded. He sat against the rock wall of the cave, a throwing axe cradled in his lap. “Old dog.”
Maia reached down and stroked the hound’s neck, gently caressing its pelt. It looked back at her, its tongue lolling from its mouth.
“I do not want you spoiling my hound now, my lady,” he said, a wry smile in his voice. “I would cut off the hand of any man besides me who tried to tame him, but since you are not a man, I will leave your hand intact.” Jon Tayt’s boot edged out to nudge the dog’s flank. “He guarded you all night, even when you were thrashing. Bad dreams?”
Maia blinked, awash in the memories. This was the second vivid dream of her childhood she had experienced recently. It felt almost as if the Medium were trying to communicate something to her while she slept. Not only were the dreams vivid, but they were part of the series of events that had led to her quest. Her heart was on fire with the emotions of the past—feelings she struggled to bury. What was she supposed to learn from revisiting her old memories?