Lia blushed, glancing over at her brother, who was scrutinizing them with such an intense look that she winked at him for prying on their conversation with his attention.
“Do you really think he wants Ellowyn to marry the young king?” Marciana asked her.
“I do not pretend to understand his motives, other than that he accomplished his desire. He is trying to convince Ellowyn to grasp at that possibility, whether or not it is possible. And he gave you the impression that Muirwood is not safe and that you would be safer in Dahomey, the Queen Dowager’s country. I doubt that for some reason.”
“Well, he was not lying that it is a famous Abbey. Dochte is the Muirwood of Dahomey. The princes and princesses of every realm study there. It is a high honor to be invited. It is said that it was founded by Idumeans, that the Leerings left behind can do magnificent things.”
Lia was curious. “Like what?”
“You would have to ask Colvin. He is the one who told me. I am not sure I even believe it.”
“Give me an example,” Lia pressed.
“What he said was that king-mastons who study there become so powerful with the Medium that they…that they can command in Idumea’s name and that trees obey them. They can bring fruit out of season, for example. Or the mountains obey them or even the sea. Such power…”
Her words brought thoughts to Lia’s mind, thoughts so dazzling she could barely understand it. It had happened to her before as Colvin explained the Medium’s power. Ideas and thoughts so huge and full of possibilities that her mind quivered with their weight.
Marciana continued, “There have not been many king-mastons in our generation. Most never finish the training because of the responsibilities of state. The regents they leave behind to rule tend to be selfish and disinclined to relinquish power. Long ago, the kingdoms helped each other. Now, they squabble over territory, over privileges and honors, over coin and trading agreements.”
“I have one more question for you, Marciana. Perhaps you can help me answer it. What is a kishion? Do you know that name?”
She knew at once that Marciana was familiar with the word. She scowled, her face losing its shine and sparkle. “They are dangerous, Lia. A kishion is a hired killer. A man who murders for coin and guards the secret. They are the opposite of mastons in every possible way. Thank Idumea their kind are not allowed in this realm.”
“Thank you,” Lia answered, gazing at the door with a spasm of worry. “I need to see the Aldermaston.”
The Aldermaston eased into the chair, wincing as he sat. A stifled breath of pain hissed from his lips, but he straightened himself and then motioned for Prestwich, who looked at him in alarm. “Leave us, but wait outside. I do not want us to be disturbed again. Thank you, my friend.”
“Is it still troubling you?” Prestwich asked softly, his brows agitated.
“More so at night. Do not worry. All will be well in the morning. Thank you.”
The snow-haired steward did not look convinced, but he obeyed the Aldermaston and gently shut the door. A pent-up breath passed in the hush of the evening. Only the desk lamp offered light. Lia nestled at the window seat, where Martin usually did, and watched the Aldermaston’s face, so tired and in obvious pain.
“I am sorry to add to your burdens,” Lia whispered.
“You did as you should. Thank you, Lia.” He looked at her solemnly. “You do not realize how much I rely on you. Or how much I trust you. Let me see if I can arrange the facts as I understand them. If I miss any, do correct me. The Queen Dowager seeks to lay blame for her husband’s death on Muirwood and specifically, myself.”
Lia’s blood sizzled with anger. “How can she accuse you when it was I?”
The Aldermaston held up his hand. “Let us understand the facts before we discern motives. She arrived at Muirwood earlier than her message indicated. She departs on the morrow for Winterrowd with her retinue but claims she will return to celebrate Whitsunday which is next week. Martin has not returned. You tracked Scarseth to the Tor where you were ambushed by riders, likely part of the Queen Dowager’s retinue. Those riders are probably still in the woods searching for Martin or perhaps waiting for you to wander out. It is clear they had a description of my hunter before they arrived. The Earl of Dieyre travels with the Queen Dowager and offers a warning to Ellowyn Demont to leave Muirwood, hinting that it is dangerous to be here. He discloses to you that a kishion is part of the retinue, and you have rightly learned that they are hired killers.” He stared at his desk. “Did I neglect anything?”
Lia leapt out of the window seat. “How can you sit there so calmly?” She started pacing. “My head is so full! I do not know what to think or what we should do with so many threats. I am at a loss, Aldermaston. Should I take Ellowyn now and flee in the storm? Is there a safe haven that would welcome her?”
He shook his head and gently held up one hand in a calming gesture. “The time is soon, Lia. But not yet. It is brooding with me right now. My feelings tell me we should wait.”
“Wait for what?”
“What indeed? For the right moment to act. The Medium will tell us when that is.”
Lia folded her arms. “The way the Earl of Dieyre said it, it makes me fear that Muirwood will be destroyed.” Just the thought made her furious. It was her Abbey, her
home
.
He smiled sardonically. “Which is why he said it, Lia. Do not trust him, as I warned you not to trust Almaguer. He told you about the kishion precisely because he wanted to put you on your guard. To
make
you worry. It is his purpose for being here.”
“Should I not worry, Aldermaston?” Lia said, pacing again. “Who am I against the best swordsman in the realm? Against a kishion? I am barely fifteen.”
“You are who you have always been. I told you that yesterday. In this Abbey, you are the strongest in the Medium. You have powers of influence, powers of insight and wisdom, and protection that your enemies do not have. You are under my protection as well as the protection of the Abbey. And not just this one, but every Abbey in the realm who stays true to the oaths and covenants that are made here. The Blight has not struck us yet. So remember, child, that there are more with us than with them. Even hosts you cannot see.”
“If anything were to happen to the Abbey…to you…” Lia muttered, feeling a surge of protectiveness.
His eyes crinkled. “My fate rests with the Medium’s will, Lia. Not a kishion’s. Not even the Queen Dowager’s, though she would believe otherwise. And so does yours. Remember that. Always remember that.”
“What would you have me do?” she asked, looking at him with respect. He had always been so stern. Rarely had she heard such softness in his voice.
“Prepare ourselves to act as the Medium will soon direct us at the right moment. But it would help us to be wise. The rain will delay the Queen Dowager’s departure until later in the day. Many of her servants only speak Dahomeyjan, so they converse with each other in that language, which is foreign to our helpers. Let us change that.”
Lia stepped closer. “How?”
“Come here, child. Kneel before me so I do not have to stand. I intend to Gift you.”
A thrill went through her heart. Eagerly, she approached and knelt before him. She could feel the power of the Medium radiating from him. His eyes, though red with fatigue, were strong and choked with emotion. She bowed her head and closed her eyes so he could make the maston sign without her seeing. His heavy hand pressed against her head and a shiver went through her skin.
“Lia Cook,” he said in his deep, raspy voice. “By Idumea’s hand, I gift you to hear and understand languages. I gift you with the ability to speak in any foreign tongue. To be understood and to speak freely. I give unto you the Gift of
xenoglossia
. May it serve you well in your purpose in life. I also gift you peace and protection that you will live to fulfill the Medium’s will.”
As he spoke, the Medium surged within her. She felt it singing in her blood, filling every nook within her. Tears stung her eyes at its familiar, tender presence. The peace of Muirwood descended on her. He finished the benediction and lifted his hand.
Gratefully, she stood and looked at him, feeling a sharp pang in her heart. “Thank you, Aldermaston. I have a feeling that…we will be parted soon.”
He smiled. “I feel it as well. Long have I been preparing you for that moment.” His voice thickened with repressed emotions. Glancing down, he coughed to clear his throat. “I pray you will forgive me, but I nearly refused another attempt to purchase your freedom. That was selfish of me. I should give you the opportunity to choose for yourself, and so I have.”
She paused, looking at him sternly. “I would never serve the Earl of Dieyre,” she said.
“No. I would counsel you against that. The Fesit family is coming to celebrate Whitsunday in the hopes of procuring your release so you can marry their son. Apparently you made an impression on them last year at the dance. They will be arriving at week’s end.”
Lia’s eyes widened with horror. “Duerden?”
The Aldermaston nodded. “It is your decision, Lia. My only request is that when the time comes, you escort Ellowyn Demont to a safe haven. But I will not forbid your happiness. He is a good young man, will make an excellent maston . You could do much worse than him.”
“Thank you, Aldermaston,” Lia said, trembling with shock as she left.
* * *
Sowe and Bryn were asleep, the door to the kitchen secured tight, so Lia slept on a pallet on the rush-matting in Pasqua’s room, but Pasqua’s snores kept her awake most of the night. Her mind raged with thoughts. Duerden wanted to marry her? They had never discussed such a thing before. He had never intimated that it was his desire. Awake before the dawn, she washed her face with water from a dish, combed some of the tangles out of her wild hair and then joined the commotion of the manor house that struck earlier than usual. The Queen Dowager was not to be deterred by the rain and snapped orders to her servants to make ready. As the sun rose, her retinue had gathered outside the gates in a light drizzle. In a black velvet riding cloak, the Queen Dowager mounted astride a white stallion with leather harness studded with silver stars. She stared at the Abbey, studying it with an expression of loathing. Lia wanted to spook her stallion and make it bolt. She walked amidst the host and servants, all barking to each other in Dahomeyjan.
“Will the Abbey burn with so much rain?” one muttered savagely, his dark face twisted into a scowl.
“Hush, you fool,” another snapped, glaring at Lia as she passed.
“She is a wretched,” the man said with a snort. “She cannot understand.”
The Earl of Dieyre was not among the riders, so she sought out Prestwich. “Where is Dieyre?” she asked him.
“Still abed, complaining of a stomach ailment. Siara is attending to him, but he says the cramps will not let him mount. He is all but accusing the Aldermaston of poisoning him.”
Lia smirked. “It is a pretext. He has another motive and does not wish to ride with the Queen Dowager. Tell the Aldermaston I heard one of them mutter of burning the Abbey.”
“I should like to see them try,” Prestwich replied grimly, his eyes searing with anger.
In due order, the retinue exited Muirwood’s gates and rode towards the Tor where Lia imagined they would meet up with the other men and possibly even the kishion. If what Dieyre said was true, he would linger after the retinue left. She wondered what sort of man he was. The bulk of the day she spent roving the grounds, looking for signs of Dieyre or any stragglers from the retinue. She missed the mid-day meal, but came to the kitchen afterwards and was grateful Pasqua had finished frying some crispels on a skillet. They were warm and sweet.
“Where were you yesterday?” Brynn asked Lia, twirling around. “It was raining so hard, there was nothing else to do but wait inside. Edmon danced with us.”
Lia raised her eyebrows at them both. “Did he?”
Brynn was beaming. “He said he wanted to be sure he knew the maypole dance done in this Hundred. He asked Sowe if she would teach him. When she did, he then danced with me and then Pasqua. He is a very good dancer, Lia. He said he wished you were there so he could dance with you as well.”
“He is a cheeky lad,” Pasqua said, sitting on a stool with a mug of cider. “He danced with us all to cover his intent, but he wanted to dance with Sowe. He is smitten with you, lass. It is as clear as the noonday sun.”
Sowe went scarlet at the attention, but managed to keep her composure. “He is kind and tells amusing stories. But I think you exaggerate his affection.” She scrubbed her hands on a towel. “Did Duerden find you, Lia?”
She nearly choked on the crispel. “Was he looking for me?” she stammered.
“Yes, he came by the kitchen after studies. He looked…guilty. Did he do something wrong?”
“I suppose it depends,” she replied, her stomach souring. “Did Edmon dance with him as well?”
Brynn giggled, Pasqua poshed, and Sowe just smiled. “Do you know why Duerden was seeking you out? He has never come asking for you at the kitchen before.”