“Wake up! Maia, wake up!”
She could almost hear the tinkling sound of Murer’s laughter as she was ripped away from the vision. Men are easily seduced, Maia. They never cease craving with their eyes. They want to yield to us. Even the mastons. You had your chance. Now it is my turn.
The vision broke apart and Maia found herself being shaken violently. She was in her nightclothes, in her bed in the palace. The blankets were tangled and askew. Strong hands gripped her shoulders, clenching hard enough to hurt.
“Please, wake up!” the kishion said with desperation. His fingers made the brand on her shoulder burn and she knew that if she had not been wearing the chaen beneath her chemise, the Myriad Ones would have already infested her. Even with it, she could feel them mewling around her, hissing.
Her eyes snapped open, and she saw the kishion’s face, a look of worry and fear mingling with his scars. His eyes were wide and sincerely concerned.
“I am well, let me go!” she said, realizing only then she was trembling, and pushed his arms away.
Looking relieved, he released his hold on her shoulders. She could feel the marks where his fingers had pressed and was very aware of how close he was and the smell of him, and a spasm of fear shook her.
Maybe it shone on her face. His look hardened, turning in an instant from concern to spurned anger, and he rose and stepped away from the bed.
“It was another nightmare,” he said, almost defensively. Frail light seeped in through the parted curtains. She saw him walk to the table and grab a goblet. He raised it to his lips and gulped the liquid inside down quickly, muttering something to himself she could not make out.
Maia ripped away the bed sheets and blankets. It was dawn, just as it had been in her dream. That meant Murer had already left Comoros by ship and sailed across the channel to Dahomey. It was not a great distance to travel, and in good weather could be done in less than a day. She strode over to the changing screen, snatching one of her gowns on the way.
“What is it?” the kishion asked her gruffly. “In a hurry to leave me?” He scowled, as if already regretting the choice of words.
“Thank you for watching over me,” Maia said, holding the gown in the crook of her arm and pausing before the changing screen. “It was not just a dream . . . but a vision of sorts. I must go to Dahomey. Right away.”
“What?” he asked with a perplexed chuckle.
Maia summoned light from the Leerings in the room, and they dispelled the gloom and shadows, revealing her private chambers. None of her ladies-in-waiting were present, since Suzenne had ordered them to move around to various chambers to protect them and conceal where Maia slept. She quickly removed the nightgown and then pulled on the other gown, trying to hurry for fear someone would enter and find her alone with the kishion.
“You must go,” she said, struggling to fit her hands through the sleeves. The impatience to be gone was frightening.
“You are not going to Dahomey,” he said angrily. “What was this dream? Tell me.”
Maia repressed the urge to scream at him and the gown in frustration. “It was not a dream, it was a vision. I was in a ship . . . no . . . I could see a ship heading to Dahomey. My stepsister was there.”
“Murer,” said the kishion knowingly.
Maia finished putting her arms in the sleeves, only to belatedly realize that the gown laced up in the back. She did the first of the lower strings, but she knew she could not finish it herself. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment; it galled her to her core to have to ask him for assistance.
She straightened the skirts and pulled the strings as tight as she could manage. Gritting her teeth, she rested her head on the wooden frame of the changing screen.
“Can you . . . help me?” she asked in a small, defeated voice.
He had a quiet step, and she barely heard his boots on the floor, but he approached the screen.
“What is it?” he asked.
Maia sighed, smothering her pride, and stepped around so he could see her. “I cannot do the lacings . . . by myself,” she said. “I should have chosen another dress, but I was not thinking.”
He gave her a curious look. “For a moment, I thought you had discovered a tick and needed me to fetch a hot needle.” A low smile came to his mouth as he brought up their shared memory of the cursed shores. He shrugged as if it were no matter to help a queen with her gown and quickly cinched up the lacings and tied the string off deftly.
“So Murer is headed to Dahomey,” he said.
“I have to warn my husband,” Maia said, fidgeting.
“But he is not your husband,” he reminded her. “You fear his faithlessness so much? I am not surprised,” he added with a chuckle.
“I do not fear his faithfulness,” she said, perhaps too hotly. “But Murer is a hetaera . . . or nearly one. And she has my kystrel. That is why I connected with her so easily. It was like I was inside her mind.”