“Any sage bits of wisdom from it?” she asked playfully, bumping into him to knock him off balance. He staggered a bit, grinned, and kept up with her.
“Several. From today – you will like this one. ‘A burden which is done well becomes light.’ Another good one – ‘he who is not prepared today will be less so tomorrow.’ Every learner should be forced to memorize that one. Rather obvious.” He started fidgeting again. She could tell he had been rehearsing. “My favorite from today was this one – ‘What is allowed us is disagreeable, what is denied us causes intense desire.’”
The truth of that statement burned in her mouth. It was so true. Her craving to read was only made more desperate by the Aldermaston’s refusal to let her. Would she find as much pleasure in it, were it suddenly given? She hoped so. “Why Duerden, have you been practicing that one all day?”
“I just… I thought you would like it, Lia,” he said, stammering. Sweat glistened on his forehead. The day was cool. She wondered if he had shared it with any of the other girls. “Have you heard the Queen Dowager is coming to Muirwood? What do you make of it?”
Lia kept her eyes on the trees ahead, keeping the pace steady. “I know she is coming but I do not know much about her really. Actually, I do not know anything about her. I imagine she is very old?”
“No, she is young,” Duerden replied. “She is eighteen, I think.”
Lia stopped, staring at him. “Reome’s age?”
“The old king’s first wife died when we were children – I was eight, I think. I remember when it happened. Three years after her death, he married the Pearl of Dahomey of the royal house of Mondragon. Pareigis is how you say her name in Dahomeyjan. Most call her the Queen Dowager. That means the young king is only slightly younger than his step-mother. She will surely marry again, as they had no children together.”
“That is disgusting,” Lia replied, cringing at the thought. She started walking again and he followed. “How old was the old king when he married her?”
Duerden looked puzzled and thought quickly. “Nearly sixty, I think. She was fifteen when they were married – our age. Yes, he was an old man when he was murdered.”
The accusation stung her conscience. It always made her angry when he doubted the truth of what happened at Winterrowd. “He was not murdered, Duerden. He died during a battle.”
“That is not what I heard,” he replied skeptically, ducking beneath an oak branch as they crossed the row of trees. “I am not certain there even was a battle at Winterrowd.”
It was just at that moment, crossing the border of oaks, that she saw Colvin. Beyond the screen of trees on the other side of the duck pond was the hunter’s lodge. Just to the west of it grew a field of purple mint used by the lavenders for scenting clothes and the apothecaries for remedies. She saw him crouching amidst the flowers, with a stem broken off in his hand. As they had not concealed their approach, he lifted his head and rose when he recognized her. He started towards them, and her heart hammered with surprise. There was no sign of Ellowyn.
“That is Colvin Price,” Duerden muttered in awe. “He is the Earl of…”
Lia interrupted, “He is the Aldermaston’s guest, and he was at Winterrowd. I think I will ask him if there was really a battle, or if...”
“That is impertinent, Lia. He is a stern man, does not suffer fools…”
Colvin twirled the stem in his hand and crossed the maze of purple flowers to reach them.
“I am going to ask him,” Lia whispered.
“Lia, do not!” Duerden whispered back.
“Good day, Lia,” Colvin said. He looked at Duerden and an expression clouded his face for just an instant. She did not understand what it meant, but she noticed it. “I do not believe we have been introduced,” he said to Duerden. “I am Colvin Price. I bid you good day.”
Duerden stared at him as if some thunder had exploded in his ears and he could not hear a word.
Colvin waited for an awkward moment, patient.
“This is Duerden Fesit,” Lia said, tugging at his hand. “From Fath Court Hundred.” His palm was sweaty and cold. “He is the friend I told you of.”
Colvin was composed. Duerden looked as white as an eggshell.
“We were just talking,” Lia went on, patting Duerden’s hand in sympathy. “About all the rumors involving Winterrowd. You were there, were you not, Lord Colvin? At the battle?”
The look he gave her had the sheen of amusement. “Yes.”