by Jeff Wheeler
“I thought I was the only one who humiliated myself,” she answered. “Give me your hand.”
“What?”
“You are freezing. Give me your hand.”
“I know it is cold. We should get going.”
“Colvin, you are being ridiculous. I would like to explain something to you, so give me your hand.”
The third time, he finally obeyed. She tugged off her shooting gloves and clasped his hand between hers. His skin was ice cold. Chafing his skin, she leaned closer to him in the cramped tunnel to share some of her body warmth. “Martin taught me, you see, that when we lose heat in our bodies, it can harm our thoughts. Did you know that? If you are lost and wet and cold, it makes it difficult to think. Goodness, your hand is cold. Give me your other, so I can warm them both.” He obeyed, which surprised her, and she took both of his hands and rubbed them between hers. She had never touched him so intimately before. Being huddled near him, with all the earthy smells surrounding them was making her light-headed and very warm. She breathed on his hands, and he stared at her, his eyes curious yet guarded. As she chafed his hands, his expression slowly changed. The expression was grateful – that she was not mocking his weakness, but seeking to comfort him. The tender look made her swallow.
“So you see,” she said, glancing over at the orb, “your fear of the tunnel was made worse by being so cold. By warming you just a little, you will be able to master that fear again. Like you did at the cellar of the Pilgrim when you jumped right in, even though you were afraid to.” She had finished warming his hands but did not want to let them go yet. She nestled them on her lap and kept a grip on them. “How long have you had this fear?”
“I am ashamed to confess it,” he replied, his voice thick. She could hear every breath he took. He was calming down, the panicked look beginning to fade.
“You can trust me with your secrets, Colvin. I should not need to remind you of that.” She gave his hand a little pat.
He leaned his head back against the wall, sighing deeply. “I have always been cursed with an imagination. Of imagining details that do not exist, but that I secretly fear. When it happens, I cannot stop it. It has been that way since I was little.” He looked down at his knees. “When my mother died, I was young. I watched the Aldermaston lay her in a stone ossuary. I was a child but old enough to realize she was dead. But when they started sliding the lid closed, I imagined that maybe she was sleeping. That after they buried her, she would revive.” He shook his head, his expression turning sour. “I had nightmares for days, that she was trapped in the ossuary and could not get out. After the first night, I begged my father to check. The look on his face – his grief so fresh.” He breathed out deeply. “Ever since then, I have been terrified of being trapped below ground. I thought I had mastered that fear. Until tonight.”
He looked at her, then a little smile tugged at his mouth. “Do you remember when you first showed me Maderos’ cave?”
She nodded brightly, glad that he was talking to her and not snatching his hand away. That he was letting her comfort him.
“You said that you and Sowe would play down with the ossuaries at the base of the hill. You cannot imagine what that did to me. That a little girl would hide in one…deliberately.”
Lia grinned. “I never would have guessed by your reaction though,” she said. “You do so well to veil your thoughts and expressions, Colvin. I wish I could. People know what I am feeling by looking at my face most of the time. With you, it is always hidden unless you are angry. I always wonder what you are thinking.”
“Why wonder when you can ask? Did you not accuse me of that as well? I treated you rudely because I did not know how old you were. You seemed sixteen at least. Nearer to my age than you really were.”
“I will be fifteen on my nameday this year. So strange. It was not that long ago – those memories you have. But it feels like ages have passed.”
“You said you wonder what I am thinking sometimes. Like when?” He leaned closer to her, his eyes showing curiosity and interest.
It was her turn to feel uncomfortable. “Well. I am probably not supposed to ask, which is why I did not.”
“You can ask me anything, Lia.”
Their relationship went beyond words. The shared suffering in the Bearden Muir and at Winterrowd gave them a bond that others did not have.
“I wanted to ask you about Ellowyn,” she said, looking down. “How you…felt about her.”
She glanced up as a lazy smile twitched on his cheek. “You sound like Ciana. She wants so much for everyone to be happy, she is constantly giving her opinions and advice.”
“She wants you to be happy. Is that wrong of her?”
“Very true. She quotes Aldermaston Ovidius who wrote a great deal on the heart and the emotions. He wrote: ‘someone who says o'er much I love not is in love.’ And so she uses that to surmise that I either I have no heart, or I conceal the source of my affection.”
“And the truth is?” she asked, looking up at him.
“The latter, of course. As a maston, I recognize that I cannot achieve my full potential – that my family cannot achieve its full potential until I find someone. It is a commitment, you understand, that the knowledge of the Medium must be passed on to a new generation. It is part of the oaths we take, as mastons.”
“Why are you reluctant to tell your sister that you care for Ellowyn then?” Lia asked, her heart nearly bursting with pent up hope. Hoping that she was wrong, that her question would be denied.
His eyebrows bunched together. “Why do you say that, Lia? Why do you think I regard her that way?”
Lia shifted uncomfortably, but kept pressing on because there was no other choice. “I see the way you are with her. You defer to her needs. You are very courteous. I know she is shy and that suits you. You once told me you found Sowe’s deference admirable. So many times, you accused me of not being able to hold my tongue…”
Colvin chuckled softly.
“You find your past insults humorous?”
“I laugh because you have noticed all my particular behaviors, but have ascribed the wrong motives. I will tell you something no one else except my sister knows and she does not even believe me though she knows I never lie. But it is the truth.” He leaned forward, so near she could feel his breath on her cheek. “I told you about Ellowyn before, that I have known her story practically all my life. I have been in love with the…the…thought of her for years. A poor wretched, from a noble Family, living in obscurity in an Abbey. Not knowing who she really was. As a young man, I put a thought into my head that I would be the one to find her. That I would be the one to free her. I know this is sounding silly to you, but let me finish.”
Lia stared at him, swallowing, very aware that she was still holding his hands in her lap. “Hardly silly, Colvin. Go on.”
“When I met her at last, when I went to free her from Sempringfall, you can imagine my intense desire to meet her. It was the moment I had been waiting for.” He paused, as if lost in the memory for a moment. “I cannot find words to describe to you how disappointing it was. I felt nothing at all for the girl. Nothing. She was kind. Polite. Deferential, as you said. Everything a wretched should be. Not a wife. Not someone I want to share every part of myself with. Someone who wants to read from the tomes, to try and improve herself. To learn languages, to travel. To banter and argue with. I was keenly disappointed, Lia. During the last year, I have watched her struggle with the very basics of her own language. She was not raised in the Aldermaston’s kitchen, as you were. Her ability to communicate higher thoughts was very limited. Her thoughts never rose above the mundane of the laundry.” He shook his head, looking down at their hands, still entwined on her lap. “I care for the girl and mourn what has happened to her. She will be a political pawn for the rest of her life. Or murdered because of who her father and mother were. Even if I desired to marry her, and I do not, I cannot dismiss that there would be insurmountable barriers to that union.
The Pry-rians want her. Let them have her, I say. But because of who she is, because of who her parents were, she will be a prize many will fight over with drawn swords. One of the reasons Demont trusts me with his niece, I think, is because I am not trying to win her for myself.”
He looked down for a moment, then met her eyes. “So there…you see? The rumors about our impending nuptials are idle tales and nothing more. But I am sure you already knew that.” He squeezed her hand gently, and it made her jolt. Slowly, he pulled away. “We should get back and warn the Aldermaston.”
Lia stood and shook off dirt and leaves. “If you ever find yourself trapped in an ossuary, be sure to remember that warm hands help.” She paused, wanting to say something but not sure if she dared. “In the kitchen, with everyone around and all the laughing at Edmon’s stories…it makes it difficult…to…talk like this.”
“I agree,” he said and rose slowly, needing to stoop to keep from brushing against the roots. She stuffed away her shooting gloves and unstrung the bow before they crossed the tunnel back to the Aldermaston’s manor. Walking crouch-backed the whole way did not make it easy to talk, but they did. She shared with him some of the history of the tunnels and how they had been excavated at the beginning of the Abbey’s founding, that it was one of her duties to ensure they were repaired and kept up.
When they reached the ladder leading up to the cellar. She went first, shoving open the trapdoor. It opened into an anteroom, leading to the Aldermaston’s study. As she climbed out, she heard voices in the other room.
One voice she did not recognize. A woman’s voice.
The Aldermaston’s, she recognized. “Yes, Queen Dowager. I understand your meaning perfectly.”
CHAPTER TWELVE:
Pareigis
There was something in the Queen Dowager’s voice that was familiar to Lia, and the hint of recognition disturbed her. It was not her accent, her decidedly foreign way of speaking, but the intensity with which she spoke. Words with unspoken loathing lurking beneath, but sugary and soothing on the crust.
“My meaning, Aldermaston? You think you know my true meaning? As you say, I am welcome here but without my servants? Without my, how do you say, men at arms? This is dangerous country, Aldermaston. My lord husband was murdered in this Hundred. So you ask me to trust my protection in such lawless lands? Certainly these times say otherwise. Prudence, as you say. Yes, that is the word. Prudence. It would be prudent of you, Aldermaston, to grant my servants permission to enter the Abbey grounds.”
The Aldermaston’s voice throbbed with anger. “I beg you to excuse me, but I cannot allow that. When I last permitted the king’s men permission to enter these grounds, my hospitality was egregiously violated. You understand full well that these lands do not fall within the jurisdiction of the crown. Your late husband understood this.”
“Then why has there not been an inquest then into my husband’s murder? To see that those who brought it about are punished severely? It is wickedness to murder an anointed king. Your lack of interest in this matter, as you say, is of great concern to me.”
The Aldermaston’s voice became raspy. “Only the sheriff of Mendenhall has the authority to investigate the matter.”
“What sheriff of Mendenhall? There has been no word from him since he came to this Abbey! He was last seen in Muirwood!”
“Correction, Queen Dowager. He was seen riding the road with plans of joining up with the king’s army which was converging on a battlefield. In all likelihood, he was never numbered with the dead or he joined the marauding survivors and is one of them. The young king has not named a successor and what have I to do with that? I have not seen the sheriff since that moment. To insinuate that he met an ill fate here in Muirwood is preposterous. I must bid you good night, Queen Dowager. Your unexpected arrival this evening has caused added concerns for my cook as well as those I am responsible for. There are orders and instructions to be made.”
Her voice sounded dismissive. “I will not be troubled with your inconveniences. As you say, I am unwanted as a guest at this moment. We are waylaid by a storm, that is all. Our destination is the village of Winterrowd. I travel with my men at arms because this Hundred is lawless – a situation that you do nothing to prevent.”
“This is an Abbey, Queen Dowager, not a garrison. I have no resources to speak of, nor do I have jurisdiction in this Hundred.”
Her voice was chilling. “Then best you remember that, Aldermaston. You have no garrison here, as you say. You too are at the mercy of these roving bands of thieves and mercenaries from Pry-Ree. I should loathe to hear of any treachery disturbing the peace of your domain.”
His reply was cold and even. “Then we understand one another, Queen Dowager. I bid you good evening. Prestwich, show her to her rooms.”
The sound of a door closing and voices heading down the hall could be heard. Lia gently prodded open the antechamber door. The Aldermaston was in his chair, brooding, his face a maze of wrinkles and crags.
“Come in, Lia,” he murmured, raising an eyebrow when Colvin followed. “You were unsuccessful in finding Scarseth.” It was not a question.
Lia shook her head. “We followed his trail to the Tor when the Cruciger orb warned us of danger. Men on horseback, dressed in black tunics chased us into the woods. We just came through the tunnels.”
“As I feared,” he whispered. “There are a dozen of her men at arms at the Pilgrim. I have refused them entry, except for one bodyguard and two ladies of the chamber. I dared not let the rest inside.”
“With good reason,” Lia said. “One followed our trail, in the dark, to the tunnel entrance. His eyes were glowing.”
The Aldermaston muttered darkly under his breath. “She has no mastons in her employ. Her husband hated them too. She comes from a strong Family, from the royal line of Dahomey. Though she is young, she is trained in the cunning of statecraft. Be on your guard with her or any of her servants. They may try and befriend you to learn more about the Abbey’s defenses. Be wary. I do not know how long this storm will last, but I need you to be vigilant this evening, Lia. She may try to abduct…”
A knock rapped on the door.
Before an announcement could be made, it opened and the Queen Dowager entered, with Prestwich looking flustered.
“Aldermaston, I warned her that…”
He held up his hand. “What is it now, Queen Dowager?”
She looked at Lia and Colvin, at their mud-spattered clothing. “I was going to ask for fresh horses for our ride tomorrow. But I am told, as you say, that Muirwood does not have sufficient stables? What guests are these, Aldermaston? More arrivals from the storm?”
“You will recognize the Earl of Forshee, I am sure,” the Aldermaston replied, his eyes glinting with anger at the sudden interruption. “The other is the Abbey hunter. They were indeed caught by the storm.”
The Queen Dowager looked at Lia, her eyes running from her tangled damp hair to muddy boots. Lia had never met someone so darkly beautiful before. Raven hair spilled down her back. She wore a raven dress threaded with silver weave and a bodice cut so low that it was shocking. Earrings made of diamonds and ropes of jewelry around her neck and throat, with a large spider-like medallion showing a family crest set against her pale olive skin. She looked amused by Lia’s appearance, her full mouth smiling, but her eyes disdaining.
“A very strange choice in hunters,” the Queen Dowager said mockingly. “I had heard he was an old man.” Then she looked at Colvin and a wicked glint came to her eyes. “So it is Lord Price. I hardly recognized you. I have gratitude to be returning in time for the Whitsun Festival. A quaint tradition in this country. I shall look forward to dancing with you.”
* * *
The sunrise came through a break in the clouds, painting the heavens in orange and gold. The thunderheads loomed over the Tor and another blast seemed destined to arrive shortly after, turning the already muddy grounds into an impassable mess. Lia and Colvin walked side by side from the
gatehouse toward the kitchen.
“Thank you for walking the grounds with me tonight,” Lia said, trying not to yawn. “Right now, Pasqua and the girls have been awake for a while getting ready to feed all these guests. Pasqua will be in high dudgeon because it was unexpected and the ovens will be hot. Which means I will get a warm bath. And since she is awake and I have not slept, I will sleep in her bed in the manor house instead of up in the loft.” She smiled at him.
“A bed is better than sleeping behind barrels and listening to Pasqua in high dudgeon. I understand you completely.”
“Get some rest, Colvin. If you leave your clothes with Prestwich, I will clean them when I go to the laundry later.”
“That is thoughtful of you. May I join you there?”
She looked at him. “Washing clothes is not very interesting work.”
“But I enjoy your company. I wanted to share something with you as well, if you recall and preferred to wait until daylight.”
The words sent a thrill through her heart. “What about now?”
He smiled. “We are both exhausted. Later then?”
“Very well. I will be anxious to know what it is. When it comes time for you to move on to another Abbey, you will be tired of me. I have not had anyone I could talk to like this…before. I enjoy being with you.” A question came to her mind and before she could think better, it blurted out. “A few days ago, I saw you and Ellowyn by the laundry. What were you talking about?”
He looked thoughtful, his gaze ahead at the sunrise. “The Medium. I tried to explain it in terms she could understand. That the Medium can channel anything – that the Leering nearby could summon water as well as mix with fire to warm it.” He looked at her smugly. “So really I was teaching her something that you taught me. I thought that by putting it in a familiar setting that she would understand better – water and scrubbing and purple flowers – that it would help her.”
“Did it?” Lia asked, already suspecting the answer.
