by Jeff Wheeler
The Aldermaston approached slowly, awkwardly, stiffly. She heard it in the way he moved, the pain whistling in sharp puffs through clenched teeth. Her mind filled with anger and she clenched the bow. It was the Queen Dowager who caused the Aldermaston such pain. It was she who had come and stripped away the loyal people from Muirwood. Better that she was the dead one at Winterrowd instead of her husband. The thought struck her forcefully – it would be over so fast. A quick arrow, through the gate bars and into the Queen’s breast. Her other hand twitched towards the quiver, but she clenched it shut, realizing the feelings were not her own. She shoved at the hate, the loathing. The temptation to kill was powerful. It was not her own.
Pareigis’ voice was void of any accent. “You are abandoned, Aldermaston. Open the gate.”
“I think not,” he replied solemnly. “I will not invite you willingly.”
A smirk twisted the corner of her mouth. “Then release the girl as you promised. Demont’s niece rides with me to Comoros.”
“I am afraid that is impossible,” came the simple reply.
Her eyes narrowed. “You think you can save her from me? I came here to fetch her, and I will not leave without her in my custody.”
The Aldermaston’s voice was humorless. “Then enjoy your stay in the village, my Queen. She is not here to give to you. The earls left at sunset, certain I would betray them to you. They escaped during the confusion of the dance.”
Her face hardened, her mouth drawing back into a simmering frown. “Where did you send them?”
“You misunderstand me, my Queen. They left on their own accord. I do not know where they went.”
“You let them out a porter door!” she accused, rising higher in the stirrups. Her stallion shied and snorted, its tail thrashing.
“I did not,” he replied. “The exterior grounds are confined by the Bearden Muir. It is a difficult and treacherous wilderness, made even more so by the untimely rains. They may be lost. I do not know where they are.”
“You lied to me!” she seethed.
“You may believe whatever you will,” he answered back.
“You are my enemy,” she returned. “You are responsible for the murder…”
The Aldermaston’s voice erupted like thunder. “Shall we end this tiresome game, your Highness? Your words and accusation mean nothing to me. I care only for the life of the learners and the villagers of Muirwood, not my own. I have the earl’s sworn word about their safe conduct, so any massacre this morning will end with his hands bloodied, not mine. They are fled. The earls have a great lead on you, but they do not have horses for we do not have any to spare, even if I were so inclined. Their fate and destiny is in their own hands now. I care not whether you kill me or let me live. I do not care!”
Her face was livid with fury. She was so beautiful – so dark, yet so beautiful. “You will care, Aldermaston,” she answered softly. “There are deaths even you would shrink from. When I see you next, expect my vengeance in full.” She straightened in the saddle. “Ten thousand marks for whoever brings me Demont’s niece by sundown!”
The fleet of horses surged and then stampeded. It was a ruckus of hooves and shouts and whistles. The hunt had begun.
The riders all cleared away, save one. The Earl of Dieyre stared at Lia, his eyes inscrutable. The Aldermaston turned to shuffle away, stifling his groans again as he walked. Lia stared at Dieyre for a moment and then turned to follow.
“Wait,” he called after her.
She turned back to the gate and approached. He slid off the saddle, landing gracefully in the muck.
“Lia, is it not?” he asked her.
She nodded. “You are not riding with the rest?”
“I do not need ten thousand marks,” he replied in a sallow voice. He fingered the cold iron bar gently. “So that is it? Your great Abbey’s defenses? I must confess I was looking for something a bit more…dramatic. The fog turning into fire. Or the Abbey shattering us into salt.” He fingers squeeked against the iron. “Maybe an infestation of weevils at least.”
“The Medium is not always manifested in a dramatic way, my lord,” she answered. “In its most powerful form, it is often softer than a whisper.”
“Indeed,” he replied, his voice low and serious. “She is gone? Truly?”
“Yes, Ellowyn left last night. I did not see her go, but I heard that she…”
“Not her, you simpleton. Ciana.” His eyes looked haunted. “Forshee left her behind. Hid her in a tunnel?” His voiced begged it to be so.
Lia stared at him in shock, and realized he was being serious. Maderos was right. Men would do extraordinarily unwise things for the women they preferred. “You think he would not take her with him?” she asked, amazed. “You do not know him at all.”
His teeth clenched and so did his hand around the bar. His face was so near, she could see the shadows under his eyelids. “I do not care to know him! He is an insufferable rag. I hate the man. But I love the sister.” He rested his forehead on his hand. He looked up at the sky. “I thought…I truly thought she would come last night. When she did not, I began to suspect her faith in this Abbey was greater than my doubt. Did she truly, earnestly believe it would protect her? It seemed so. Now I do not know what to think.” His voice was bitter.
“Or what to believe,” Lia added, feeling a spark of sympathy for him.
His head jerked up, his eyes staring as if she had seen right through him.
She stared into his eyes. “That is your problem, my lord. Your thoughts tell you that the Abbey is only made of stone and glass and fine furnishings. But your feelings tell you it is made of something more than that. Just because an Abbey can be made to burn does not mean it cannot also save. Until you put them together – your thoughts and your heart – you will only see confusion.”
A wry smile crossed his mouth. “You almost sound like an Aldermaston.”
“I have learned much by being raised in Muirwood’s shadow. How long have you ever stayed in one place?”
“One year at Billerbeck Abbey,” he answered stiffly.
“Then I pity you,” she replied. “You have never known a home.”
“Pitied by a wretched,” he mused. “I am not sure how to feel about that.” His face went grave. “Will you track them for me? I do not care about the Demont girl. She can rot in the swamp. Help me find Ciana.”
Lia shook her head. “Good day, my lord.” And she turned and followed after the Aldermaston.
* * *
“The worse a person is the less he feels it.”
- Gideon Penman of Muirwood Abbey
* * *
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE:
Sorrow
The bonfires around the maypole had all become ash. Lia was amazed at the wreckage in the village green. Broken casks of cider, torn ribbons from the maypole, garlands tossed and trampled, dashed cups. The mist finally cleared, revealing the debris, and Lia stared at it from behind the slats of the bars. The first family that had defected from the celebration was the Fesits. They were followed by the Chaldwilks and then the Bitners. They were the first families to rejoin the Abbey after the Queen Dowager’s men had ridden away. Lia and Prestwich took turns escorting them from the porter door to the Abbey kitchen, where they joined Pasqua, Sowe, Astrid, and some of the teachers who had refused to leave the grounds in the first place. There were so many uneaten treats in the kitchen, that they all enjoyed themselves.
After returning from another trip, Duerden took Lia aside, a tartarelle crammed in his fist. “You were right,” he told her, taking a bite without enjoying it. “I wish I had never abandoned you last night. I cannot get the memories of it out of my mind.”
“What memories?” Lia asked.
He looked stern for a moment. “It felt…wrong to be there. The maypole dancing started as it always does. Even the Queen Dowager joined in and let it go for several rounds. Then she insisted we do the maypole dance as they do in Dahomey. In her country, the girls bind the
boys in the sashes until they cannot move. Then they run while the boys wriggle free and if they catch a girl, any girl, she has to allow a kiss on the cheek.”
He took another bite. “I did not join them. It did not feel right to me, but so many others gladly did. The Earl of Dieyre allowed himself to be tied up that way. But I did not feel comfortable…I mean, even if you were there, it would not have felt right. Like it was stealing something from a girl who may not want to give it. Some of the lavenders refused to pay their kisses, even when they were caught. Each dance got more and more wild. Everyone was drinking cider. It tasted a little strange so I did not drink much of it. My parents are still shocked at what happened. If they had not been here last year, they would have asked if the dance always ran wild like last night. Then the Queen Dowager taught the girls a new dance. A dance…without a partner. Why would Dahomeyjans do that, Lia? What a strange land they come from.”
Lia stared at him, understanding what Pareigis had done. In a small way, she had realized the lure as a child when learners wore jeweled chokers and then the wretcheds all mimicked them. It would not surprise her if the learners began wearing low-cut gowns like Pareigis did. Or practiced the dancing they had but learned the night before. It was new and exciting – and it was different than what their kingdom was used to. The curiosity of it would guarantee it would be passed on. Just the sort of thing a hetaera would do. That way her influence would continue to corrupt everything around her. Lia knew all this but was bound by her oaths not to tell Duerden. It would have to wait until he faced the maston test himself.
“Do you think?” Duerden asked, interrupting her thoughts. “Do you think she will come back? ”
Lia looked at him thoughtfully, unable to say what was in her heart. “I suppose she may,” she answered. “But I hope not. I do not like her.”
She left him to enjoy the tartarelle and snatched a wafer herself and started off on another errand when Sowe caught her wrist.
“Are you going on a walk?” Sowe asked timidly.
Lia nodded. The girl looked miserable. “Come with me,” she invited.
Sowe smiled gratefully and they left the overflowing kitchen. Lia had never seen Sowe so downcast. She seemed neck-deep in her feelings of loss, while Lia had spent as much time as she could keeping busy so she would not mope about Colvin being gone. Everytime she saw a shock of dark hair, her heart spasmed with recognition and then disappointment.
“It was so noisy in there,” Sowe murmured. “When the treats are all gone, it will be quiet again.”
“I am not fancying the treats this year,” Lia said. She squeezed Sowe’s hand as she used to. “You are sorry he is gone.”
She flinched. “Not so much for him being gone. But he whispered a promise in my ear and I have a feeling he will not be able to keep it. I know he probably will not be able to keep it, and so I am preparing myself for the disappointment and the hurt. Like you have had to bear.”
Lia gave her a sharp look, surprised.
“I am not blind, Lia. Did we not grow up together in the kitchen? You know all of my faults and I know all of yours. Our little habits that make us who we are. I sleep too deeply and you can hardly sleep at all. You adore treacle over everything else. Whenever Pasqua bakes the pumpkin loaves, you snitch and snitch and snitch. The Earl of…well…Colvin…he is gone and you wish he were back but you are not sure you can stand the pain of that thought.”
Just saying it like that made it hurt. Lia swung their arms, trying to stay cheerful. “At least Edmon kissed you goodbye. That was not a brotherly kiss.”
Sowe reddened but looked even more forlorn. “I wish he had not.”
Lia was surprised. “What – you would rather a kiss from Getman? I thought Pasqua would have chased him out with the broom for sure, but she was crying with joy and fit to burst.”
Sowe looked mortified. “No! Of course I would not want to kiss Getman. I shudder at it. Think on it, Lia. I will forever have that kiss in my memory. My husband, poor soul, whoever he will be, he must compete with that memory. It was perfect in every way. He has already stolen my heart but he is an earl, Lia. I cannot believe he will come back for me. He is always one for speaking without thinking first. For dramatic gestures without pondering the consequence. He is gone now. His feelings will cool. He will marry some woman who is the daughter of an earl or the like, and he will never come back.” She gripped Lia’s arm. “How can it happen any other way? Colvin may have spurned you, but he will keep his word. He does not say much, but you can rely on what he does say. Edmon speaks too much. I fear I cannot rely on his words as much as you can.”
As they walked, Lia found they were approaching the laundry. She had completely forgotten the errand the Aldermaston had set her on. Siara Healer and some attercorn to steep in warm broth. She was just about to tug Sowe towards the apothecary when she spied the Earl of Dieyre beneath the covered awning of the laundry. He was alone with Reome. She felt a prick of unease seeing him on the grounds. Had the Aldermaston given him permission?
“This way,” Lia murmured, tugging her slightly along.
Lia could not make out much of the conversation until they got closer. Dieyre spied them coming and his expression changed abruptly.
“I had too much cider last night, lass. You will forgive me if I am in a bit of fog still concerning my memory. If you said I promised you five marks a year, then it is five marks a year.” He rubbed his forehead and winced. “I could use you at my manor in…” he sighed, “in Lambeth. Yes, that would be the place. It is near Comoros. You are a wretched so you have not been there. I will advance you some wages for your travel.” He fished in his purse for some coins and pressed them into her hand. “I will warn my steward you are coming.”
Reome’s voice was far from excited. In fact, to Lia’s ear, she sounded frightened. “But you said…”
“Lambeth,” he said firmly. He put his hand on her cheek – a gesture too familiar for such an occasion. “I know you are worried about what the smithy will say. There are many smithies in Comoros. He will follow you. Five marks is more that he will earn hammering shoes on horses.” His voice dropped even lower. “You would both be wise to leave Muirwood before the Queen Dowager returns. Leave at once. There is a good lass. Ah, Lia. I have been meaning to speak with you.”
At the mention of the name, Reome stiffened with surprise and shock and whirled. Her eyes were red from crying. Her hands were tangled together, as if she were wringing her own fingers instead of the soiled garments she was used to. The look she gave Lia and Sowe was mottled with hatred and shame. Her face went white and she curtsied to Dieyre and then rushed away, wiping her eyes.
Dieyre ignored her and left the laundry with a bold stride. He bowed gallantly to both girls. “My, you are fair,” he said to Sowe, bowing twice to her. “No wonder Reome hates you so much. Has the Aldermaston finally let you out of the kitchen? What, is he dead?”
Lia gave him a burning look and he held up his hand. “A jest. Only a jest. I have seen this fair girl at mealtime only. Never been able to coax a word out of her yet, though I try. The other girl, Brynn, is quite chatty. But Sowe keeps her secrets hidden behind those blue eyes. Ah, she is blushing now!”
“You are contemptible,” Lia said, stepping in front of Sowe. “Who let you on the grounds?”
“That shows a lack of hospitality and a greater lack of tact,” he replied. “In my Hundred, a servant could be whipped for disprecting her betters in such a way.”
“We are not in your Hundred,” Lia countered. “Answer the question.”
“I rode in on my horse,” he replied, folding his arms.
“Through the gate?”
He shook his head. “Hardly. I rode to the top of yonder hill – the fat one over there.” He pointed to the Tor. “From that vantage, I saw a path onto the grounds behind the walls. I will have you know that I did get lost momentarily in the woods but found my way again. And so here am I. Surely you will not consider imprisonin
g me?”
Lia looked at him in wonderment.
“You are wondering how I made it past the Leerings,” he said. “Since I am not intending anyone any harm they merely scowled at me. That or they are, after all, only bits of carved rock with angry faces.” His mouth twitched with a smile.
“You have violated the Aldermaston’s hospitality,” Lia said. “He will decide what to do with you.”
“I put myself under his authority and guidance,” Dieyre replied. “I am not a maston and cannot claim the privilege of sanctuary here. But I request it all the same.”
Lia was not sure what to think. Was Dieyre’s change of heart sincere? Could he be sincere about anything? “You will have to appear before the Aldermaston then and petition him in person. He is ailing, as you know, and needs to rest. It may be some time before he will see you.”
Another unconscious smile twitched. “It would amaze you how patient I can be.”
Lia frowned, bothered by his words and some deeper meaning. It was as if the word he meant to have said was stubborn instead of patient. “Why were you speaking with Reome Lavender?”
“Is that any of your affair?”
“Let me be the judge of that. She was crying.”
“That seems to be a curse most women are afflicted with.”
Lia waited patiently, staring at him. Silence seemed to work best in those situations.
“There was a misunderstanding last night at the maypole dance. With a local smithy who has been carrying a torch for the girl. Completed besotted with her, you see. Did not take it in a friendly way when I earned a kiss.” He held up his hands. “He was acting a bit possessive and the cider had definitely gotten the best of his wits. I am sure you saw more than one broken cask on the green. One had his head in it. Two of his friends tried to help him and ended up wearing wooden crowns as well.” He smirked. “The lad is a fool if he thinks she will pass up my offer in favor of his paltry one. Ask the villagers. I am sure you will. They saw it.”
