The Scourge of Muirwood (26 page)

Lia flinched.

“You know the word, for you are a maston yourself. You have studied the maston lore. She betrayed her lover, as all hetaera betray those they love. She betrayed him to his death at Maseve. But she was carrying his child. You. It was in secret, of course. No one was to know that you had been born or when you had been born. You were sent to Muirwood deliberately, child. You were sent there to destroy it.” His smile was cold and cruel. “You are gifted with the Medium. I can sense it in you. You have only begun to learn its full potential. So you see, child – Dochte Abbey welcomed you. The gargouelle let you pass because it recognized the kinship in your blood. You have betrayed the Evnissyen. You have betrayed the Aldermaston of Muirwood. And very soon, you will betray Colvin Price, the man who loves you so fiercely. When you do, you will pass the hetaera test and realize your full power as a daughter of Ereshkigal. You will learn all of our poisons and their many potencies. There are a variety of serpents, after all, each one with venom that can control the thoughts and minds and bodies of those bitten. Your mother killed the Prince of Pry-Ree’s young wife after she birthed her first and only child – Ellowyn. Betrayal is your heritage, child. It is the heritage of all wretcheds and the reason they are not allowed to study.” He laughed softly. “Poor fool, Gideon Penman. By trusting you, he destroys himself.”

Lia’s stomach swirled with odd, conflicting feelings. He had unleashed a hurricane of doubts against her mind. But she held firm in what she knew to be true. There was some element of truth in his words. She sensed it, but could not discern the specks of gold with all the mud of lies. Instead of trying to, she clamped her mind shut to his ideas. He was trying to poison her thoughts, seed her with doubts so that the Medium would abandon her. By doubting who she really was, he would then manipulate her feelings.

She remembered her charge.

“I came here with a message for you,” Lia said, looking up at the void that threatened to swallow her.

He smiled, seeming impressed with her boldness. “Another warning of the Blight, child? Truly, how tiresome.”

“It may be tiresome, but it is still true,” she said. “It will strike here first. It will strike the heart of Dochte Abbey. Then it will spread and consume all lands. This is your final warning.”

The Aldermaston looked at her, amused. “And who told you of this Blight coming? Hmmm?”

“An Aldermaston,” she replied.

“From which Abbey? There are many, as you know. I must judge the reliability of your claim, after all. From which Abbey does this warning come?”

Lia felt a pulse of warning. “I cannot speak it. I will not say it.”

“Of course not. It is probably a trifling little Abbey hidden in the mountains of Pry-Ree. The warning did not come from Muirwood, the ancient Abbey of your country. It did not come to Dochte of Dahomey. It did not come to Bruge Abbey in Paix. Nor any of the other chief Abbeys. Yes, young Ellowyn gave us the warning when she first arrived. But when pressed as to the facts, she said the warning was given in a language she did not comprehend the nuances of. She was learning a bit of Pry-rian, of course, in her deep studies at Billerbeck. But the Aldermaston spoke the warning to you, and you translated it for her. You, who serve the machinations of Muirwood. You may understand why I am loathe to take your word for it, child. A warning so obviously self-serving. If it is true, then why have not all the other Aldermastons been made aware of it themselves?”

Lia knew the answer. “Because they are drinking your cider, my lord. The poisoned cider that has been so expensive to buy. Only the most wealthy can afford it.”

He smiled tautly. “The cider comes from Muirwood, child,” he reminded her.

“I know what I speak to be the truth. The Medium has confirmed it to me.”

“Yes,” the Aldermaston nodded sympathetically. He paced slowly within the small confines, his brow gleaming with sweat. “You will find, child, that everything you were taught at Muirwood is a lie. The Medium can make anyone feel anything. Even I can make you believe that what I tell you is true.” The force of feelings slammed against her, causing her emotions to well up so quickly and strongly that tears pricked her eyes and she found herself sobbing uncontrollably. Then she was laughing, hysterically and violently, and she fell against the floor, twitching as the mirth and giddiness swarmed against her. Then sadness – a sadness so deep and terrible she drowned in it. She could hardly breathe through the pain, the pain of a thousand deaths, the pain of a million deaths. Of mothers clasping their dead babes, of girls jilted by love, of widows for husbands. The depth and immensity exploded inside her, blinding her mind to everything but the suffering. Then it was gone, and she found herself huddled on the floor, choking on her tears, clawing at the stone. Her entire body was drenched with sweat.

Sniffling and still feeling the dregs of the emotions, she did not have strength to raise her head as the kishion hefted her body and dragged her into an open cell. From the slits in her eyes, she saw the Aldermaston leaving, mopping his brow with a silk kerchief.

As the kishion dumped her on the floor, she proceeded to retch violently, expelling everything within her stomach. The stink was vile and made her thirsty for water. The heat from the Leering had drained her, the millstone of emotions had left little else inside her. As she turned to look for something to drink, the kishion returned with a goblet of cider.

“Water,” she begged him.

His eyes were flat and cold and he set the goblet down near her.

She knew that they would never give her any water. The only thing to drink would be the poisoned cider. She remembered seeing Marciana in the tower, frantic with emotions. She also understood what Dieyre meant about her suffering.

It was only just beginning.

* * *

“All is well and safe. They caught Lia in my chamber in the tower. I knew she would return. I could sense her distrust. They will test her. She will fail. The Aldermaston has told me that she will. She will fail because a maston cannot pass the hetaera test without succumbing to a kystrel. We will leave soon for home. Colvin will take me to Billerbeck Abbey. The thought is already sprouted in his mind. Soon – so very soon.”

- Ellowyn Demont of Dochte Abbey

* * *

There was no way to tell if it were night or day. There was no way to distinguish sun or shadow. The only light was the pitch-soaked torches and the incense braziers. The smoke made her mind cloudy and her skin stink. The goblet lay before her, tempting her. Her tongue was dry, her lips aching. Her throat was on fire with the desire for a drink. She was still weak from retching and they had not brought any food. The kishion stood guard within the shadows, occasionally changing position, pacing like a caged animal. He kept glancing at their cells and then he would smile, as if relishing the opportunity to torture them.

“Martin?” Lia whispered.

“Aye, child,” he said, groaning. She heard him shuffle along the floor of his cell.

“I am sorry,” she said.

There was no reply.

The kishion appeared outside her cell. His gaze was full of eagerness. He said nothing, only stared at her. Actually, he leered at her. Prowling the small room, he kept looking over at her, his eyes hungry.

She met his gaze, refusing to be ashamed by his look. She was angry and struggled to control her fury. At long last, there was a jingle in the lock and then it was opened. The Aldermaston of Dochte entered, but there were guests with him. In his wake came a young man, richly dressed with Dahomeyjan finery. He was tall, well-built, and quite handsome. The young woman holding his arm was Hillel, but he would not have known her true name. Then Dieyre entered followed by Colvin.

Lia tried to move quickly, but the weight of the iron chains slowed her considerably. She came to the bars and gripped them, hungry to see his face yet tormented with the prospect. Dieyre glanced at her, failing to hide an amused smile, and sauntered around the room, gazing at the torches, nodding to the kishion, and looking rather pleased with himself. She could have strangled him.

The young man in the finery squinted in the gloom. “Where is he? Where is the man who murdered my father?”

The Aldermaston motioned with his long arm. “In chains in that cell, my lord of Comoros.”

“Bring him to me,” the young man said icily. Lia’s heart started to churn with worry.

The kishion nodded and unlocked the cell door. There was a grunting noise, the sound of a blow and then Martin was thrown in front of the young king.

His face was puffy and bruised, dark with clotted blood. He trembled, his burned hands pressing against his chest. Martin raised his head to look at the young king, his eyes burning with hate.

The young king stared back at him, meeting his baleful look with one of his own. “At long last,” he said stiffly. “My father’s murderer.” His face knotted with fury. His hands clenched Hillel’s arm. “Is he the one, my love? Is he the one who abducted you and brought you to Pry-Ree?”

Hillel looked at Martin shyly, demurely. “Yes.” She turned her face away, as if she could not bear to look at him.

“Colvin,” the young king said next, looking back at the earl. “You can vouch for his identity? Do you recognize him? Is he the Aldermaston’s hunter? He is the one who led you into the trap?”

Colvin was also wearing Dahomeyjan finery. She did not recognize his costume, but she would never have mistaken his dark brooding look. He gazed down at Martin pityingly. “His name is Martin. I do know that he served the Aldermaston of Muirwood, but I do not know if he serves him still.”

The young king released Hillel’s arm and crouched before the prostrate hunter. He seized a thick handful of Martin’s hair and jerked his head up, to meet his own. There was fury in his voice, pure hatred in his eyes. “You murdered my father. It was your arrow by which he was slain. I have seen the arrow, you filthy wretched. You served Prince Alluwyn of Pry-Ree. Then Muirwood. It is all part of the plot to dethrone my father and to prevent me from achieving my inheritance. You will die, dog.” His mouth curled into a grimace of hate. “You will suffer the death of traitors. I avenge him at long last.” He cast away Martin and turned to the Aldermaston. “These grounds are under your authority, my lord. May I beg the use of your gallows for this man? I want him hanged. Now.”

Lia’s heart lurched with dread.
No!

The Aldermaston of Dochte had a look of sympathy on his face, as if he understood the deep pain that the young king had felt losing his father early to a murderer’s arrow. Lia clenched the bars tightly, watching with growing horror.

“Hanging is not the punishment of death within Dahomey,” he said. “In our kingdom, the guilty are burned. We do not shed blood.”

The young king’s expression was cruel. “Even better,” he said. “Dieyre, see it done. Fetch me to watch the execution. Thus will all traitors in my realm be punished.”

“As you command,” Dieyre said with a flourish.

It was that moment when the Medium whispered to Lia. It was in that moment of terror that she knew what to say.

“My lord king,” she said, speaking boldly, pressing her face against the bars.

Their eyes turned to hers, even Colvin’s. She saw his expression of shock and then immediate torment. His focus had been on Martin. He had not seen her in the shadows of her cell until she had spoken. The look of anguish on his face tortured her.

The young king turned curiously at being addressed by a prisoner.

“Who is that?” he whispered to the Aldermaston.

Before he could reply, Lia spoke out boldly. “I am Lia of Muirwood. My lord king, you cannot punish this man for murder.” Her heart was wild with emotions. She kept speaking, looking into his eyes. She licked her dry lips. “You cannot punish him for that crime, because he did not commit it. My lord king, it was I who killed your father. It was with a hunter’s bow and a Pry-rian arrow. I was at the battle of Winterrowd, my lord king. I was there, near the hillock where he fell. I confess it, my lord king. The truth of my words can be established by Lord Price, the Earl of Forshee. He knew I was there. And I told him what I had done. He is a maston, my lord king. He cannot speak a falsehood. Ask him, if you doubt my word. Ask him.”

She could not bear to look at Colvin’s face. She held the king’s gaze, stared at him with intensity.

The young king was astonished. He looked at her in the dim torchlight. He walked closer, examining her face, her hair. “Colvin?” he asked over his shoulder. “This cannot be true.”

Lia stared down at the floor, unable to meet Colvin’s eyes. She did not want to see the look on his face. The only sound was the sharp hissing of the torches.

“Colvin?” the young king repeated.

“It is true,” came the hoarse whisper, full of pain.

“My lord king,” Lia said, forcefully and clearly. “I did not act under the orders of the Aldermaston of Muirwood. When I helped Lord Price reach Winterrowd, I did not know myself what would happen. My lord king, the Medium commanded me to kill your father. If I speak truly, then the Medium will not allow the fire to harm me. It commanded me, my lord king. It was the Medium’s will because of the many murders your father committed and allowed to be committed in his name. The mastons have been persecuted and murdered throughout your realm…” Lia’s voice cracked and she began to choke. She needed a drink desperately. Squeezing the bars harder, she swallowed and continued. “I submit myself to your judgment. If the Medium spares my life, you will know that I have spoken the truth. This man who has been tortured did nothing. He was not even at Muirwood when Winterrowd happened. He arrived a fortnight after.”