With the cloak fluttering behind her like a flag, Maia hugged the kishion to keep from tumbling down to the road. The horse was lathered and sweaty, but it was relentless in its mission. It had been bred for stamina and endurance, and the cart horses they passed look like ponies in comparison.
With the night, some of the carts had pulled off to the side of the road to rest and make camps, but many pressed on through the night regardless of the hour. The sun fell and Maia grew hungry, but they did not stop to eat or drink or rest. The kishion kept a punishing pace, which she knew was not helpful or healthy for the horse. But it was clear to her that the kishion did not care to spare the beast. He rode hard because he knew they were being pursued. How much of a lead did they have? In her mind, during the darkness of the night, she sent her thoughts toward Jon Tayt and Collier. Bridgestow—he is taking me to Bridgestow. Hurry!
She strained her ears for the sound of pursuit. But only the thudding of their hooves could be heard. The road was well traveled and it was built for the speed at which they journeyed. As the night stretched on, she had memories of riding in a carriage toward Bridgestow. Sometimes the memories were so vivid, she was afraid she had fallen asleep and the Myriad Ones had forced her to succumb.
But no, she did not sense the Myriad Ones. Even with the pale moon’s arc in the sky, she did not feel herself to be in danger. There were thousands of glittering stars above, and she stared at them in wonder, amazed by their beauty. Occasionally, a shooting star would sizzle across the horizon, gone before she could blink.
She calmed her emotions and listened for whispers of insight, for the Medium’s guidance. Jumping off the horse would be foolish. Not only would she likely break her leg, it would not be difficult for the kishion to halt and find her. She clung to him so tightly her fingers and arms hurt, but she endured the pain as she tried to sort through what was happening, why, and what she should do next.
Time seemed to race as fast as their steed, and soon the sky was brightening. They ascended a long hill, and the horse was struggling, weary and spent from the arduous ride that had lasted through the night. The animal would be in no condition to continue the race much farther. She began to hear birds calling to one another, greeting the day ahead, and small camps of travelers were stirring ashes and coaxing coals back to life for breakfast.
Pink turned to orange, and suddenly the dawn was there, radiant and dazzling. The Bearden Muir was far away now, and the lush woods and groves were glorious in the bright morning light. The beautiful sight gave Maia some small happiness—this land of hers was gorgeous—and she cherished it, despite—or perhaps because of—the danger she was in. Her cheek had been pressed against the kishion’s muscled back, and she lifted up and turned back, holding tight to keep herself steady. The road behind them stretched down for miles, a clear and easy view.
It was then she caught sight of the lone horseman riding toward them at a full gallop. He was far in the distance, but she saw a small speck of dark hair, and could make out the man’s approximate size and build. He rode as if on fire. The sound of the hooves had only just started to reach them, and the kishion quickly glanced back, his eyes narrowing with anger.
It was Collier. Maia was certain of it. Where was Jon Tayt? Where were her guardsmen? And she realized with a private smile that none of them had been able to keep up with Collier. Only he had managed to close a distance of hours. Her heart thrilled in excitement.
Just then, they crested the hill, and Maia saw Bridgestow appear before them, waving the banners of Comoros. Once more, she was the little girl whose father had sent her away at his chancellor’s behest to begin her tutoring as the future queen. There was a garrison there. There were soldiers who would obey her commands. But how could she escape the kishion?
“Pray he does not catch us before we reach our destination,” the kishion said in a threatening tone.
“Where are we going?”
“There is an inn on the outskirts of town. I have a room for us.”
A feeling of revulsion and wariness seeped inside her at his words.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Queen of Dahomey
The inn was called the Battleaxes and was in the village of Wraxell, just south of Bridgestow. It was a large, stone building with a steep, multileveled roof. Part of the outer walls were made of brick and stone—the rest, timbers and plaster. There were easily five or six chimneys, and the inn was divided into several wings, reminding her of the Gables, the place where she and Collier had first danced.
Many wagons and carts were parked in the field near the inn, and there was a good deal of commotion as the teams prepared for the trek to Muirwood.