She pressed her mouth against his ear. “If they find us, they will kill us. Come, Colvin. The Abbey is just past those trees.” She tugged gently on his arm, whispering soothingly. Another crack snapped and lightning lit the sky again, painting his face with shadows. “This way. Come with me.”
Somehow her urgent whispers lured him into the gloom. Keeping watch on the gully hole, she felt her way further in, pulling Colvin after her. Her hand touched the stone and she pressed close against it. “
Eveleth Idumea
” she whispered and felt Colvin flinch at her using maston words.
The Leering swung away from her, filling the air with the musty smell of oil and mold. Deeper into the darkness she pressed, tugging Colvin after her until they were in. Something splashed in the water outside. Lia shoved Colvin ahead and turned back to the hole. A man leaned in the tunnel, his eyes glowing silver, sword in hand. She could not see his expression, just the baleful glow of his eyes, reminding her of Almaguer. She swung the Leering shut and willed its defenses back to life, feeding it with her strength. As the doorway sealed, the noise from the storm and gully vanished, replaced by their harsh breathing. The darkness penetrated to their bones. His teeth were chattering.
She paused a moment, appreciating just how close they had been to being captured…or worse.
Lia set down her bow and tugged open the drawstrings to the pouch. She removed the orb and it began to glow, illuminating the narrow tunnel. The orb was brilliant in the dark, revealing their mud-spattered clothes, the twigs and leaves and grime.
She sat down suddenly, exhausted. “You are afraid of confined spaces,” she said softly, though knowing her voice would not carry beyond the thick Leering. “Sit, Colvin. I tested this tunnel recently. It is safe. Here, share my bread. I almost forgot Pasqua gave it to me.” She opened her leather sack and withdrew the small loaf. Twisting it in half, she broke it and handed a portion to him.
Colvin sheathed his sword and slouched against the wall apart from her. He looked pale, streaked with sweat and rain. Reaching over, he took the bread and bit into it, shivering.
“At least your eyebrow is not bleeding,” she said, nibbling her share.
It was quiet and they both ate slowly, she enjoying the sweet crust of the bread, the fresh doughy center. After the run, she was starving and normally would have wished for a warm bath, a clean dress, and a table stacked with treats. But a moment trapped alone with Colvin was worth any deprivation. She waited for him to talk, enjoying Pasqua’s bread, giving him time to master himself.
His voice was ghostly. “Why is it that you must always be witness to my most humiliating moments,” he said darkly, staring at his lap. He sighed, his whole body trembling.
“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.”
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.”