Fate
Maia was so startled, so amazed, so frightened by Collier’s words that she could only stare at him, dumbfounded. She closed her eyes, trying to untangle the conflicting thoughts, convulsing feelings, and tremors of dread that threatened to mute her permanently. She had been to the lost abbey. That much was true. She had ventured into the area that contained a dark pool, a place the Dochte Mandar had used to commune with the dead. She had beheld the Leering of which he spoke, had felt its raw power. But she had not touched it. She had been too afraid.
But she could also appreciate that to this man, her sudden presence in his kingdom could be misinterpreted in a thousand different ways. She wore a kystrel around her neck. Surely that would persuade him of his own accuracy, if nothing else did!
Though Collier was wrong about her, his accusation sent thoughts dashing around in her mind, colliding and sparking and crumbling to dust. Why had her father sent her to the cursed shores of Dahomey? What were his true motives? She could only guess, but had not Chancellor Walraven said that one of the ways to dissolve a marriage by irrevocare sigil was if the wife was found to be a hetaera? She had read about the hetaera in the tomes of the Dochte Mandar. She knew the legends of their deadly kiss. Had her father sent her to become one?
That thought sent a searing shard of wrath through her soul.
She opened her eyes and stared at the Mark of Dahomey. He still dangled her kystrel in front of her, as if she were some fish that would succumb to a hook if only the correct bait were presented.
“You misunderstand a great many things, Your Majesty.”
“Please. Call me Collier, and I will call you Maia. Our pet names for each other.”
She clenched her jaw, feeling the swell of fury rise up inside her. She squeezed her fingers into fists, wishing she were strong enough to shred the ropes that bound her wrists.
“I am not a hetaera,” she said tightly. “You have misunderstood me entirely, and in so doing, you have deceived yourself most of all.”
He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Anger is an excellent way to conceal a lie. It is so easy to feign outrage.”
“I am not dissembling,” Maia said, stepping forward. “I am not what you think, but I can understand why it must look that way to you. You also already know that the Dochte Mandar are hunting me and seek to murder me, but—”
He waved his hand. “I will not let them harm you,” he interrupted. “Of course they seek your death. Let me shield you from them. They fear you because they know you are more powerful. More powerful than them. And more powerful than the mastons.”
She shook her head. “I am not what you think I am.” The thought was repulsive.
“Well, there is a very simple test to prove your innocence,” Collier said languidly. “Open your bodice.”
Maia flushed with shame and rage. “I bear the kystrel’s taint.”
“Of course you do. Let me see your shoulders. Long ago the hetaera would cover the marks on their bosoms with paints or tattoos, but nothing could cover the brand. It was always the left shoulder, I believe, though I do not know if it makes a difference. How about we start there?” He smiled mischievously.
Maia felt heat and awkwardness battle inside of her. She was not a hetaera! But she was also not about to disrobe in front of this man to satisfy his vulgar curiosities.
“No,” Maia said, shaking her head.
He sighed and then sat on a camp chair, the kystrel still dangling from his fingers. He rubbed his eyes. “I should have seized you in Roc-Adamour,” he grumbled. “I nearly did, but I enjoyed the hunt too much. And dancing the Volta with you . . . I meant what I said. It is a memory I will cherish forever. The look on your face!” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “This is not about treachery and murder, Maia. I wish to speak plainly, for I see you as my equal.”
“Your equal?” Maia interrupted, holding up her wrists and showing him her bonds.
He waved her implication aside. “In rank and station,” he said. “We were plight trothed when we were infants! Did you not, for many years, consider yourself to be training for the day when you would be Queen of Dahomey? You speak the language remarkably well. You are a little shy about our customs, but truly you are a charming girl. You are beautiful, which I had not fully appreciated until we met. You are caught in a spider’s web, spun up in silk, and your blood is being sipped by creatures in your father’s court. I have known this, Lady Maia. My spies are well paid. I desire to invade your father’s kingdom, but not just to accumulate power. I have pitied you many years.”
“So now I am the wretched and not you?” she replied evenly. “My father did not send me here for the purpose you suggest.”