“Please, Maia, you are so lazy. I told you to tend the fire, yet you do nothing but sit there and stare at it. Is it stubbornness, I wonder? You think I will fetch a servant instead? Really, child. So lazy.”
Maia clenched her teeth and reached for a poker hanging from a nearby peg. She stabbed the chalk-gray coals, mixing them around before stirring up the winking embers. Half hidden in the soot, the Leering glowered at her from the stone wall deep inside the hearth. It was a small one with a wicked grin full of torture; it seemed to be smiling because it enjoyed her pain. It was a hideous Leering.
She stared into its eyes as she set a log from the pile beside the fire into the nest of coals. Bending close, she started to blow on the embers, creating puffs of ash. The sounds of sizzles and crackles popped in her ears and the log started to smoke. As she worked, her loathing of Lady Deorwynn seethed inside of her, a force so strong she dared label it hatred. The woman had usurped her mother’s place in her father’s heart . . . leaving no room for any others. While her daughters were pampered and spoiled as princesses of the realm, Maia’s position continued to worsen.
The Leering’s eyes started to glow.
Maia stared at the eyes in amazement. Twin pinpricks of red-hot heat stared at her from the soot. The Leering was responding to her emotions. Though Maia had learned long ago to act calm when she was feeling anything but, she knew that the Leering had somehow sensed her buried feelings, that it had awoken because of them.
She stared at the half smile, half grimace on the Leering’s mouth and leaned back from the hearth.
Burn.
The thought flittered through her mind. Had it even come from her? Fire roared from the hearth instantly, sending out billowing white tongues of flame. She scuttled back in fear and also a gust of excitement. The entire mouth of the hearth was ablaze.
“For certes, Maia, I told you to revive the fire, not burn down the castle! How many logs did you feed into it?” Lady Deorwynn’s voice was outraged. Maia stood, staring with wonder at her creation, startled by the immensity of the flames. She had caused that. She had used a Leering with no more effort than it would take to blow a feather.
Maia rubbed her arms, ignoring the plain coarse wool. It was not quite a peasant’s dress, but it was certainly nothing like the gowns she had worn all her life. Servants were never to outshine their betters.
As if summoned by her thoughts, the door burst open, and Lady Deorwynn’s daughters rushed inside. Murer and Jolecia—the banes of Maia’s heart. Murer’s gown was the finer of the two, of course, decorated with elegant colors slashing through the sleeves and trim and a fancy pattern, and she was literally dripping with necklaces and jewels. Her hair was blond, like her mother’s, only curlier, and pinned up with gems and the like. She had a beautiful smile that was full of teasing, and a razor tongue that could leave someone’s feelings in shreds. Her sister, Jolecia, had straight hair, also blond, and she mimicked everything her sister did, though with less success, and was constantly jealous and petulant as a result.
“Mother!” Murer said with relish, “The Earl of Forshee just arrived! I am so grateful my new papa decided to visit Billerbeck for Whitsunday. The Earl of Forshee! He has several sons, and they are quite striking.”
The flames from the hearth had died down. Lady Deorwynn sat on a cushioned seat and picked up her needlework. “They may be handsome, but they despise my Family. They will not suit you, dearest.”
Murer approached her mother quickly. “But what if one of them fell in love with me? Might that not tame their Family’s hostility against us?”
“There are five brothers,” Jolecia said. “We can each have one.”
Lady Deorwynn clucked her tongue. “No, do not be simple. The Forshees have been loyal to Papa’s enemy.”
Maia bit her tongue. That was the word Lady Deorwynn used to describe Maia’s mother. With the fire now in full bloom, she went back to the porcelain cups and began serving the girls’ favorite drink, apple cider.
“I should not be ashamed to love a Forshee,” Murer said. “They are handsome, Mother. But I think you have someone else in mind for me?”
“Do you have a match for me as well?” Jolecia said, a slight whine in her voice.
Lady Deorwynn worked at the stitches studiously.
“Mother?” Murer pressed after a little silence, her voice eager.
“Why should you confine your aspirations to an earl, my daughter, when there are members of the Family abroad who are kings?” She said it in almost a playful way, but Maia could hear the deep ambition behind the words, like an echo in a well. “The King of Dahomey has two sons who are legitimate. The eldest is nearly your age, Murer.”