Argus seemed to sense something. He padded up to her and she lowered to caress his fur, getting a wet lick on her cheek for her efforts. It made her smile, and her throat closed with emotion. “Keep him safe,” she whispered to the boarhound.
Jon Tayt stood there, perplexed and obviously uncomfortable. “Well, Your Grace, thank you for not executing me, but I will not linger. Argus, come.”
The boarhound nuzzled Maia one last time and then trotted to catch up with Jon Tayt as he started to walk away. The hunter paused and turned, thought better of what he was about to say, and then disappeared into the smoke. The Myriad Ones mewled with frustration at having lost their kill for the evening.
Maia watched as the captain who had brought her to the tent arranged for the kishion’s banishment. His arms were still bound, his wrists tied behind his back, and she watched as he was helped onto a horse. His head hung low in defeat as someone took the reins for him, but she could see the defiance in his posture. He glanced back at her once, his eyes full of enmity. He then looked back and rode into the dark with the riders.
Maia felt a jolt of relief that she had managed to save both of her protectors, but she felt the loss of the kishion especially, since she was unlikely to see him again. They had been through so much together, and without him, she would have never survived this long. Better for him to be exiled than slain, but she would miss his companionship. Now she needed to buy some time and delay Collier’s plan. She hoped Jon Tayt was wise enough to realize that she had been telling him where to meet her again. The mountain pass guarded by the Fear Liath—the one they had planned to use for their escape. If she could get her kystrel back, she would leave for the pass immediately.
Maia and Collier returned to the pavilion, walking side by side. As they moved through the camp, she took note of details she had missed on her first whirlwind tour. The clank of pans and smell of sizzling meat filled the air. Fires crackled and the smoke shifted with the winds. She saw nobles dressed in finery mixing together, their garb more like their king’s. The common soldiers had stacked their breastplates and helmets near their fires, where the armor glimmered in the light. Stands of pikes stood at various positions throughout the camp.
Maia looked at the Leerings as she passed them, studying the design. They looked as if they had been taken from the ruins of an abbey, which cohered with what Collier had told her. The interior of the tent smelled soothing, and Maia suddenly realized she was starving. In their absence, trays of meat and vessels of melted cheese and broth had been arranged around one of the fur rugs.
“Are you hungry?” Collier asked her.
“Very,” she replied. With the haze over the camp, she could not make out the stars through the open roof.
He settled down on the rug and motioned for her to join him. It was by the brazier, so it was plenty warm. She knelt and smoothed the fabric of her skirt.
“What questions do you have for me?” he asked, skewering some meat and placing it in the broth. He did several, including some for her.
“You said you faced the maston test,” Maia said. “At what abbey? How old were you?”
“How old do you think I am now?” he asked, arching his eyebrows. “Do you remember?”
She nodded. “I was a little child when our parents arranged the marriage. You are two years younger than me,” she said. “I remember that.”
“I have always preferred the idea of marrying someone closer to my own age than a rich heiress who would only desire me for my youth and handsomeness.” He winked at her. “I took the maston test a year ago. I knew I would fail it and I wanted to be done with abbey life. My ancestor Dieyre was restless also. You know most of the history, do you not? Of my Family?”
She dipped bread into the bubbling cheese and savored it. “Dieyre sired a son through a wretched from Muirwood before the Scourging. That child was not a wretched, for the mother, a lavender named Reome, acknowledged the parentage. He was adopted into a Family, thus removing the taint of illegitimacy.”
Collier nodded. “Would you care for some wine or cider?”
“Water, if you please.”
“I will not poison you, Maia,” he said with a chuckle. “Or twist your thoughts with drink. As I said, I prefer a willing partner.”
“Water, please.”
He nodded and went to a table and poured some water from a pitcher into a fancy carved goblet. After delivering it to her, he served himself a glass of wine and sat back down on the rug.
“So when our ancestors returned from the distant shores to reclaim the lands, they learned that Dieyre had been the last man alive in the kingdoms. Most of my Family were strong in the Medium. My father was particularly devout as a maston. But I lost my faith, you might say, in Paeiz.”