the sand, sitting up and feeling her emotions swell inside her. The weight of it came crashing down on her. What if they failed? What if she failed? What was she supposed to do at Dochte Abbey? Warn them that the Blight was coming? But would they listen to her as a wretched and not Ellowyn, who had the appearance of a lady of rank? In her mind, she had clung to a secret wish that after rescuing Colvin and Ellowyn, they would return to Muirwood and ask the Aldermaston to marry them and bind that marriage with an irrevocare sigil before the end came. The binding would last forever and Colvin would be hers. That is what she wanted, even more than learning to read and engrave.
The doubts began to play with her then. The sneaking doubts that poked at her, jabbed her with icy fingers.
What if Colvin changed his mind? What if Pareigis won and managed to turn over Muirwood to the Aldermaston of Augustin before she returned? What if there were no Abbeys left by the time she and Colvin met?
Her heart raced. Her blood pounded in her ears. She had not known who she truly was when he had left her. He had been in love with her for most of his life – at least in love with the idea of her. She would be sixteen. He was twenty. In her mind, she had imagined there being time to marry. If not Muirwood, then Tintern surely. The Aldermaston in Pry-Ree knew her true identity. Would he perform the binding ceremony? But what if the Queen Dowager learned of Tintern’s existence? What if there were no Abbeys left in the world?
Lia squeezed her hands together, pushing another thought into the aether. Colvin, can you hear me? Colvin, my love, can you hear my thoughts? I am Ellowyn Demont. Please hear me – I am she. I am coming, my love. I am coming for you.
She paused, holding her breath – listening to her thoughts, her insights, her connection and strength with the Medium.
She heard nothing save the crashing of the waves.
* * *
Lia abandoned the shelter at dawn. She used the Leering at the mouth of the cave to summon water to drink and bathe in. Her hair was an impossible mess, but she held it up and let the water splash on her neck and then soak her hair. Long ago, Colvin had held up her hair while she bathed. The memory made it difficult to think. She wiped the soot from her face, cleansed the ash from her hair and brought fire to summoning, enough to make the water steam. A seagull looped in the sky above her, as if curious about the human invading its cliffs.
Lia squeezed the water from her hair, arranged her cloak and rucksack. She found some bread that Pasqua had packed and ate it hungrily along with strips of cool beef and broke off some cheese from the small slab. In her rucksack, she saw the bundle she had packed and opened it quickly, staring at the apple she was saving for Colvin. She stared at it, studying the splotches on the skin and then held it to her nose and smelled it. There was the scent, the reminder of Muirwood. Her thoughts turned to the Cider Orchard, at the trees which produced the fruit she held in her hand. Somehow the Queen Dowager was claiming Muirwood through its fruit. The price of cider had tripled. Perhaps she was arranging that – buying up all the casks after it left the grounds. She had come to Muirwood for Whitsunday and had offered free cider to those who had been allowed to dance around the maypole. The Aldermaston of Augustin had been drinking the cider. It was the drink that Marciana was offered in the tower in Lambeth.
In her mind, the pieces clove together making a whole. The Queen Dowager was corrupting the kingdom through Muirwood’s cider. Was there a poison she was adding to it which enabled her to control the minds of others? Such a harmless thing, a cup of cider, an innocent thing. But what if it was being twisted to serve her purposes?
The Medium whispered to her as she stared at the Leering. Yes, there were poisons. Dahomey was the land of poisons and serpents and subtlety. In
The doubts began to play with her then. The sneaking doubts that poked at her, jabbed her with icy fingers.
What if Colvin changed his mind? What if Pareigis won and managed to turn over Muirwood to the Aldermaston of Augustin before she returned? What if there were no Abbeys left by the time she and Colvin met?
Her heart raced. Her blood pounded in her ears. She had not known who she truly was when he had left her. He had been in love with her for most of his life – at least in love with the idea of her. She would be sixteen. He was twenty. In her mind, she had imagined there being time to marry. If not Muirwood, then Tintern surely. The Aldermaston in Pry-Ree knew her true identity. Would he perform the binding ceremony? But what if the Queen Dowager learned of Tintern’s existence? What if there were no Abbeys left in the world?
Lia squeezed her hands together, pushing another thought into the aether. Colvin, can you hear me? Colvin, my love, can you hear my thoughts? I am Ellowyn Demont. Please hear me – I am she. I am coming, my love. I am coming for you.
She paused, holding her breath – listening to her thoughts, her insights, her connection and strength with the Medium.
She heard nothing save the crashing of the waves.
* * *
Lia abandoned the shelter at dawn. She used the Leering at the mouth of the cave to summon water to drink and bathe in. Her hair was an impossible mess, but she held it up and let the water splash on her neck and then soak her hair. Long ago, Colvin had held up her hair while she bathed. The memory made it difficult to think. She wiped the soot from her face, cleansed the ash from her hair and brought fire to summoning, enough to make the water steam. A seagull looped in the sky above her, as if curious about the human invading its cliffs.
Lia squeezed the water from her hair, arranged her cloak and rucksack. She found some bread that Pasqua had packed and ate it hungrily along with strips of cool beef and broke off some cheese from the small slab. In her rucksack, she saw the bundle she had packed and opened it quickly, staring at the apple she was saving for Colvin. She stared at it, studying the splotches on the skin and then held it to her nose and smelled it. There was the scent, the reminder of Muirwood. Her thoughts turned to the Cider Orchard, at the trees which produced the fruit she held in her hand. Somehow the Queen Dowager was claiming Muirwood through its fruit. The price of cider had tripled. Perhaps she was arranging that – buying up all the casks after it left the grounds. She had come to Muirwood for Whitsunday and had offered free cider to those who had been allowed to dance around the maypole. The Aldermaston of Augustin had been drinking the cider. It was the drink that Marciana was offered in the tower in Lambeth.
In her mind, the pieces clove together making a whole. The Queen Dowager was corrupting the kingdom through Muirwood’s cider. Was there a poison she was adding to it which enabled her to control the minds of others? Such a harmless thing, a cup of cider, an innocent thing. But what if it was being twisted to serve her purposes?
The Medium whispered to her as she stared at the Leering. Yes, there were poisons. Dahomey was the land of poisons and serpents and subtlety. In
Similar Books
