Maia’s heart was on fire with conflicting emotions. Her little brother was dead. Or perhaps he had never truly been alive, though she remembered pressing her palm against her mother’s abdomen and feeling his gentle kicks. The memory seared her heart, threatening to destroy her composure. Her mother’s previous miscarriages had happened long ago, when she had been too young to feel them keenly. This burden was much harder to bear without breaking, but she had to be strong for her parents. Yet there was a slender, guilty part of her that was almost . . . excited. For the last year, the chancellor had been preparing her to be her father’s heir, but his training had been more discreet lately given her mother’s pregnancy. Would she be given the chance to rule on her own right and not as a result of whom she married? The idea of becoming queen one day was sweet on her tongue, sweet as crispels, and it conflicted with the bitterness of the moment. She wondered if she was truly a wicked child for having such thoughts.
When they reached the main corridor, they marched vigorously. Moans and wails were already starting to echo throughout the castle as news spread. Her parents’ grief would be shared by everyone. Maia clutched her stomach as an awful, constricting feeling clutched at her chest. She kept close to the chancellor’s heels and together they mounted the steps to another turret. Leerings began to illuminate the way as they climbed, bathing the steps in cool, smokeless light. Around and around they climbed, and soon Maia could hear voices. The handsome knight shook his head and refused to go any farther. He crumpled into tears. Still Maia did not weep. She merely followed the chancellor as he walked around the man.
When they reached the landing at the top of the turret, Maia could hear her father’s voice. That he was suffering was obvious—his voice was husky and ferocious.
“Why did I even marry you?”
Her eyes went wide with shock as she took in the meaning of the words. She had never heard him say such a thing, and was stunned silent.
The chancellor paused at the threshold, his eyes narrowing with anger. His face became a mask of calm, his lanky body stiffening with resolve as he held out an arm to prevent her from entering the room.
Maia could hear her mother’s sobs. “Forgive me, Husband. Forgive me. It . . . I . . . please . . . forgive . . . me. My child! My son!” There was a torrent of tears, gulping and swallowing and hissing breaths.
“To see you in such pain!” her father moaned. “It would have been better if we had never . . .” His voice trailed off and he coughed violently. “How could the Medium fail us . . . again? My thoughts were fixed. So were yours. It begins . . . with a thought, that is what they say. And all the vigils that were held to strengthen our connection to the Medium . . . the whole city was holding vigil!” His voice rose like thunder. “How could it fail us like this? What, in Idumea’s name, does it expect from us?”
“No . . . no . . . it is not . . . no . . . the Medium . . . it is not . . . the Medium’s . . . fault, Husband.” Her mother was babbling.
Maia shrunk, experiencing a dread that she had never felt before. Her parents had always made her feel comforted and safe. Hearing them so distraught, so wild, frightened her.
“I thought,” her father said venomously, “that if we obeyed the will of the Medium, our line would be secured. This is the fourth stillborn! It must be a sign that our marriage is cursed.”
“No!” came the pleading voice. “We both felt it, Brannon. We felt the Medium consecrate our marriage. This is a test. To see . . . if we will be faithful.”
Her father let out a hiss of anger. “Another test? And what then? Another? What if we were wrong? What if we should never have married? We are being punished by a mistake from the past.”
“Hold me. Please, Husband. Hold me. To hear you say such things . . .”
Maia heard only muffled words after that. Chancellor Walraven’s hand pressed against her shoulder now, squeezing it firmly enough to cause a flinch of pain. She stared up into his glowing silver eyes. The emotions from the chamber were draining away, drawn into the kystrel hanging around his neck. Walraven’s face twitched with agony, his fingers digging into her flesh so painfully that she nearly cried out, but she chewed on her lip and endured it, seeing the calming effect it was having on her parents.
He was taking their emotions into himself, drawing away their pain. She saw the snake-like vine of a tattoo crinkle along his neck, poking out from above the ruff of his collar. He had warned her that the use of a kystrel painted the flesh of the chest with strange tattoos. It was a residue of the magic that marked the one who wielded it. He had shown her his own whorl mark once, half hidden beneath a thatch of gray hairs.
The storm of emotions was passing. The chancellor’s eyes filled with tears and he brushed them away with his wrist, releasing the painful grip on her shoulder. She knew there would be bruises in that spot later.
Walraven gave her a fierce look. “Never repeat what you heard here,” he whispered. “Your parents’ grief is private. When husbands and wives suffer blows such as these, they say things they may later regret. I have helped them through the worst of it. Remember the lesson, child. Even the deepest griefs can be governed by a kystrel. Above all, you must learn to control your emotions.”
“I will,” Maia said solemnly.
Together, they entered the birthing chamber where the smell of blood made her sick.
CHAPTER TWO