“The king wishes to see her?” one of the soldiers asked curiously.
“Aye,” the captain said with a trace of smugness. “He’s with Feint Collier right now. Collier has seen her before, and the king wants him to identify her. She is as described.” He looked her up and down, his eyes narrowing. “Wine-colored dress. Dark hair. A beauty. The eyes are not glowing, though.” He smiled shrewdly. “I think we have the girl. If you will, lass, follow me to the king’s pavilion.”
A band of ten soldiers walked with her, flanking her from behind. Maia’s eyes were pinned to the chain dangling from the captain’s hand. Her muscles were bunched and sore, and her head still throbbed. She looked back and watched as Jon Tayt and the kishion were led a different way with Argus. It pained her to see them marched to their deaths. She grieved for them, but she was determined to plead with the king for their lives. Not that he would listen to her.
Myriad Ones were everywhere in the king’s camp. They hung over it like the smoke from the dozens of cooking fires. The men were bedding down for the night—some of the fires had spits roasting meat across them, and she could both hear the clank of cups and smell the wine within them. Everything and everyone was filthy, and she wrinkled her nose at the stench. Some of the soldiers leered at her as she passed them, others butted each other and pointed at her. She drew the eyes of everyone in the camp. Her stomach quailed with fear, but she put on a brave face. Somehow, she had to get the kystrel back. With it, she knew she could scatter the army and send them running. Without it, she was powerless.
In the center of the camp was a cluster of huge pavilions. Some were still being assembled, but the main one—the king’s—was already erect with a pennant fluttering from a pole at the center. Guards were stationed at the entrance, and she could see the lanterns illuminating the interior. The air was muggy and hot and she felt a bead of sweat trickle down her cheek. She mustered her courage, preparing to face the man she had been promised to marry as an infant.
The captain showed the kystrel to the guards stationed outside the tent. She looked away, unable to bear the sight of it in his hand, and saw several horses tethered nearby—one of them Feint Collier’s cream-colored stallion. She dreaded seeing him again under these circumstances, but maybe he could help her escape? The thought of being near him again so soon after their dance made her stomach flutter. Jon Tayt had said Collier could not be trusted, but she secretly hoped the hunter was mistaken. She would have to be careful of what she said in front of the king. She did not want to incriminate Collier if she could avoid it.
The guards parted the curtain and the captain walked in first, ducking beneath the heavy folds of fabric before turning and ushering her between the poles supporting the entryway. To Maia’s surprise, there was a Leering with a lantern hanging from its jaws on each side. She could sense their power as she passed them. Once she was inside the tent, the feeling of the Myriad Ones faded.
The ground was carpeted with bearskins. A small brazier filled with sizzling coals sat at the center of the room. The top of the pavilion was open, allowing the smoke to escape outside. The fabric of the pavilion was pale, decorated with purple trim and a design of strange flowers and runes.
There were several people inside the pavilion, but the first person she noticed was Feint Collier. He did not look like a man about to be decapitated for treason. He stood beside a man to whom he bore a pronounced familial resemblance—they were almost of a height, though the king was shorter, and they were both handsome with dark hair and broad shoulders. The main difference was that the king looked slightly younger, wore a colorful doublet, and glittered with jewels, from the earring in his right lobe to the rings glittering on his fingers and the jeweled saber at his side. Even his belt was studded with gems.
Maia dropped to one knee and bowed her head in respect. Her stomach churned with conflicting emotions. She knew the protocols of the Dahomeyjan court and wondered how long she would be able to preserve her secret without telling an outright lie to the king.
“My lord,” the captain said, “I bring your captive as you commanded. The killers who accompanied her have been confined and await your orders. We found a tree of suitable height.”
“Thank you, Captain.”
Maia was startled at how much the king’s voice resembled Collier’s. Even in this they were alike.
“As you asked, we stripped her of this before bringing her to your lordship.”