“It could have even been Billerbeck,” Morton replied. “All the abbeys in Comoros pay homage to Muirwood and Muirwood pays homage to Tintern where the High Seer sits.”
“Pry-Ree,” the king said with a sneer in his voice. “We used to rule that kingdom . . . long ago. It sickens me that they are the least of the kingdoms, yet they have authority over their betters. That the High Seer can block my divorce based on maston custom.”
“You agreed to that custom when you chose to marry the queen—”
“She is not my queen!” her father thundered, pounding his fist on the table. “You must watch your tongue, Chancellor!” His eyes burned with fury, and Maia saw the chancellor’s expression tighten like a walnut shell. He took the brunt of it quietly. Her father’s anger continued to fester. “I am no more her husband than that iron poker by the fire is my wife. I would that she were dead.” Maia’s heart shriveled with blackness upon hearing the words. She sat as still as a mouse, not daring to remove her hand from his. His words were like shards of glass crunching under boots. “Yet it begins with a thought,” he said in low, strangled words. “I will have this divorce, Chancellor. You must find a way.”
His face paled. “My lord—” he paused, swallowing. “There is no legal way to compel it.”
“I am not faithful to our marriage vows,” her father snapped. “By all that is right and just, she should divorce me.” He slapped the table, less violently this time, and grumbled under his breath. “Find a way, Morton. Put all your thought into this. I would not have my authority undermined by an Aldermaston in a sniveling kingdom less than half the size of our own, full of giant trees and . . . and . . . spoiled grapes. Tintern has authority over Muirwood. I think not. Oh, I think not. It should be Muirwood that compels the others.”
“As Your Majesty knows, the Aldermastons of Tintern have always been those chosen as the High Seer since the return of the mastons. They are the strongest in the Medium.”
“I care not for the history lesson, tutor,” her father said with a sting. “I do not wish my realm to be governed by the whims of Tintern Abbey. I am a king-maston by law, yet I cannot command those who live in the abbeys, who are said to be outside of the king’s tax. Well, the cost of rebuilding abbeys chokes my income. How many people live under the shadow of an abbey to avoid paying taxes? Hmmm? Look at Augustin. To see its decadence and splendor, you would think the abbey had hardly been damaged before the Scourging. It was pride that felled our kingdoms. It was the love of treasure within the abbeys themselves.”
Maia shrank from her father at those words and hid her hands in her lap, trying not to tremble.
One of the other men from the table stood, planting his palms down on the table. “If Your Majesty seeks an example of pride, then look no farther than your own mirror.”
Maia stared at the grizzled man. He was older than her father, much older. His dark hair was well silvered and his angry, brooding look surprised her. She had rarely heard him speak since coming to court. He was the Earl of Forshee, an earldom that was as far from the throne of Comoros as one could get.
Maia saw the tendons on her father’s hand harden like cords.
“I wondered when you would first find your voice, Forshee,” her father said angrily.
He was a powerful lord of the realm and he had five sons. Two of whom were already married by irrevocare sigil, leaving three as valuable prizes. Maia knew Murer had been vigilantly pressuring her mother to marry one of them.
“I came to court at your command, Your Majesty,” Forshee said darkly. “I did not seek a seat on your Privy Council. I will accept nothing for my service to you. In return, I give you my most candid advice, and it is up to you whether to accept it or not. You speak like a spoiled child who does not get his way. You are not the highest law of this land, Your Grace. The Medium is. Do you even wear the chaen, my lord? I see you have stripped away the other vestiges of your beliefs. Your selfish thoughts will ruin this kingdom.”
Everyone was silent, staring at the ancient earl with shock and, Maia could see, a touch of relief. Someone was risking himself enough to speak up to her father. Maia knew the earl had a bold reputation for being fearless and strict. But always fair. He was a descendent of the Price Family, a cousin to hers.
“Well,” her father said icily. “You have said quite enough, have you not, my lord Forshee.”
“There is more,” he replied sternly, “but you are not man enough to hear it.”
“Do not hold back,” her father said, his eyes narrowing coldly. “By all means, vent your spleen if it helps.”