“Until death us depart,” Collier said, bowing his head.
“Even so,” said the Dochte Mandar amiably. “It is the tradition amongst the Dochte Mandar for the husband to kiss his wife after the vow, Your Majesty.”
Collier smirked. “Thank you for the recommendation, Trevor. Not at the present however.” He rose to his feet and then gripped Maia’s hand to pull her up. Her knees were shaking, and she steadied herself on the edge of the wooden altar.
“My lord brother, thank you for being witness. Thank you as well, Earl of Lachaulx. Are those birds? Is it dawn already?”
Maia’s mind whirled like a child’s top, and she felt as if she would kneel and retch. The tent spun faster and faster.
“Your wife is pale, brother.”
“Here, my lady, let me help you to a chair.” Collier took her arm and led her to his camp chair, the one she had seen him in before. What had happened to the night? It felt as if she had dozed for but a moment or two, not slept away the entire evening. Why could she not remember? It was like a great wind had kicked up a storm of dry leaves in her mind, veiling all her memories. She had hoped to forestall the marriage by pledging to marry him later, once her quest was complete.
“My liege, I will take my leave of you. Some of the men are rousing and preparing to ride.”
“Thank you, my lord earl. I will join you later. I would appreciate a moment alone with my wife.”
A few guffaws of laughter sounded, and Maia’s heart jolted with a spasm of dread. She cast her eyes around the pavilion as the other men departed from the tent flap in front. It spoke of her disorientation that she had not noticed them until they were leaving. The place looked different in the pale dawn—starker and less magical. The brazier only had a few licks of coals left inside, and the nearby tray of food had been reduced to crumbs.
Why could she not remember? In her last recollection, she was sitting with him on a bearskin rug. He had insisted on seeing . . . what? Her shoulder. He wanted to see her shoulder, to see if she had the hetaera’s brand. The pieces of memory clashed in her mind.
An image flashed in her memory. The brand of the double serpent.
She remembered.
Horror exploded in her heart. What, by Idumea’s hand, had she just done? She bore the mark of the hetaera on her shoulder. How had she not seen it before? It was obvious, yet she had no memory of how it had gotten there. Desperate for answers, she replayed her trip step by step. Nothing stood out, except . . .
Since leaving the lost abbey, her dreams had been particularly vivid. She had thought it was the Medium’s will for her to relive parts of her past when she fell asleep at night, that the memories were being sent to assist her in some way. Suddenly it seemed as if the answer were altogether different. For days now, she had not been her true self at night.
Oh no, she thought miserably. What have I done!
Had her experience in the lost abbey enabled one of the Myriad Ones to take possession of her body as she slept? Had she returned to the hetaera’s Leering later, unwittingly, and received the brand? After visiting the dark pool within the lost abbey, she had lost consciousness for a time. It could have happened.
“I am sorry I do not have a ring to give you yet,” Collier said. “But in fairness, you did already receive one from my father. Do you recall it?”
Maia’s thoughts scattered, collected, and then scattered again. She trembled in the chair as if she had been struck by a fever. She hoped she would not vomit. “It was a silver ring,” she whispered, trying to quell the panic. “With a large diamond.”
He smiled. “The very one. Too small for your finger now. Maybe your smallest one.” He reached out and took her hand, caressing her smallest finger with his thumb. “I was not there, of course, being nothing but a babe myself. But there were two emissaries present—Chancellor Walraven and Aldermaston Bonnivet—as well as both of our fathers. When Bonnivet gave you the ring, or so he told me later, you said to him, ‘Are you the Prince of Dahomey? If you are, I wish to kiss you.’ I find that sentiment deliciously ironic now.”
Maia stared into his eyes, feeling lost and abandoned. Her last memory was exposing the brand on her shoulder. Something had smothered her mind in that moment, a presence thick as oil, making her black out. She obviously had not passed out. What had she agreed to beyond the marriage?
“What is it?” he asked her, dropping to one knee by her chair.