Lia smoothed the linen napkin enclosing the foodstuffs and carefully packed it inside Martin’s baggage. She included some small pouches of spices that she knew he liked and then cinched it closed and held it out to him. Martin gave her one of his rare smiles. His bow was strung, the two quivers full of brightly-fletched arrows, his hand resting casually on the gladius pommel in a way that made her worry. Anything involving the work of death and war made her slightly sick. The nightmares of the battlefield of Winterrowd still haunted her, though not as often.
She gave him a hug, which always made him scowl and shoo her away. “’Tis you who need the comforting, lass. By Cheshu, I get the joy of wandering again in the fenlands and smashing little bloodsucking flies. Your work is more dangerous.” He looked at her sternly. “I have taught you well enough if you had the mind to listen. The hunter is patient. The prey is careless. You are a good lass. Be wary. Be wise. Be cautious. I will return within a fortnight.” He reached out and smoothed a lock back over her ear. It was a tender gesture, a subtle showing of affection, and it made her swallow.
“I will have Pasqua save you a slice of sambocade,” Lia said. “Maybe a whole dish.”
He shook his head and pounded his stomach. “It would not settle right to eat the whole thing. But a slice – that would be worth returning to. Keep an eye on the learner quarters. I think there are several of the first years who are getting a bit daring now that the year is finishing. I would not scold you if you dyed some of their hair blue if they wander at night. Woad is a useful plant for that.”
Lia laughed and gave him another hug. Then she opened the pouch at her waist and withdrew the Cruciger orb. He peered at her, his eyes suddenly fierce and penetrating. The scowl was still there beneath the bushy cropped beard that was mostly silver and black. He grimaced, his teeth showing. It was as if he wanted to say something, but could not.
“Show me the way to the man known as Scarseth,” Lia whispered, unnerved by his gaze.
The orb twirled and spun in her hand and pointed northwest, towards the Bearden Muir. He looked at the spindles, at the writing that appeared on the surface of the orb, but he could not read either. He nodded to her and then departed, tugging up his leather cowl to shade his face from the noonday sun.
After he was gone from sight, she looked down at the orb again. Show me Colvin, she thought, and again it directed her, pointing towards the Cider Orchard, where she expected him to be. Carefully, she placed it back in the pouch and headed off towards the orchard. So many thoughts collided in her mind, that she nearly stumbled as she walked. Of the many threats and dangers, it was difficult untangling them all. Mastons were still being murdered. The Demont girl had enemies. The Queen Dowager would be arriving soon at Muirwood. How could she, one person, handle it all? Part of her had been dreading Whitsunday for weeks, and that had turned to excitement when she learned Colvin had arrived. But instead of enjoying the dance, she would be worried about him.
“Lia!” called a voice from behind. She turned in annoyance and saw Astrid running towards her. He was eleven years old and very short with spiky dark hair.
She stopped, frustrated. “Does the Aldermaston want to see me?” she asked.
He shook his head when he approached, out of breath. “I thought you should know,” he said, then stopped, panting. “I overhead Getman Smith talking to some of the stable hands. He did not see me. He warned them against dancing with Sowe around the maypole. He said…he threatened them, Lia. If anyone asked her but him, he would thrash them.” His little face bunched up in distaste. “He really is a coxcomb. Tell her, Lia. It is not fair that he should be the only one to dance with her.”
She scowled and nodded. “Thank you, Astrid. I will tell her.”
“What happened to your face, Lia?”
“Nothing. It is healing. Thank you, Astrid.” As he ran to his next errand, she continued on, worrying about how ravaged her face looked before seeing Colvin. The skin was peeling and coming off in flakes, especially her nose. At least the itching was gone.
She entered the orchard from the south side, crossing the even rows towards the Leering guarding the trail downward. But before she reached it, she encountered Colvin part-way. The orchard trees were thick around her, forcing her to duck and weave beneath the claw-like branches.
She tried to keep her voice light, to not betray her excitement at seeing him. “I did not bring you any food this time. If you are hungry, it is your own fault. But there may be some apples in the higher branches.”
He held up his hands and she saw he was holding two. “Muirwood apples suit me now. I have not tasted one like these since I left. The ones that grow elsewhere are either red or yellow, sometimes juicy, sometimes mush - but never this blend of colors, and never this particular taste.” He tossed one to her. She caught it, noting the blemishes and blotches around the stem.