The Scourge of Muirwood (Legends of Muirwood #3)

Her heart beat frantically as the porter opened the door and let her in. She did not acknowledge his curt greeting and merely tromped inside, clutching the basket to her bosom as she quickly surveyed the courtyard and saw the oak. The inner yard was a giant circle, grown with sod and ringed with cobblestones. She counted three doors giving access to the manor house from the interior, and one directly at the base of the tower Reome had pointed to. She took the pathway to the right and followed it towards the tower, her heart pounding in her ears. She wished she could have checked the Cruciger orb. Glancing at the upper windows, she noticed the heavy curtains blocking them. She had no idea what was happening inside.

A raven caw startled her and she noticed the black bird perched atop a flag spike. The building was larger than the Aldermaston’s manor house – it was two stories compared with one, and the towers rose to a third height, the main keep rising the highest of them all. The tower she sought was on the edge of the grounds, connecting to an outer wall with spikes fastened into the stone like a ridge of teeth. She crossed the path to the door and shoved at it with her basket. A porter opened the door and looked at her curiously. Lia glanced behind him and saw a stone stairwell ascending up the gullet. There were no other guards.

“Set the basket down by the brazier,” the porter told her. “I will carry it up later. They wish no interruptions.”

Lia nodded and carried the basket into the chamber and set it down by the brazier. She released the gladius blade resting in the basket but turned the dirk over in her hand to conceal it from him.

“Move along, girl.” He waved for her to leave the way she had come.

Lia walked towards the door and saw him glance outside and look at something that interested him. His distraction was all she needed. Her hunter training flowed back to her, filling her with knowledge. There was a spot on the back of the skull. With the dirk handle, she clubbed him there and his eyes rolled back in his head and she caught him as he fell and laid him out on the floor. Then she shut the door softly and glanced up the stairwell winding its way up within the tower. She could hear the murmur of voices, but could not discern any of the words.

Hefting the basket of laundry, Lia gripped the gladius hilt again beneath the wrap and started up the stone steps. Her leg throbbed with the effort. Doubts struck at her thoughts, but she batted them away. Having faced a kishion before, she knew that their training exceeded hers. The last time, she had been surprised and unprepared for the encounter. It had ended with her face down, drowning in a bathing tub. She grit her teeth, preparing herself for another fight. Part of her wished Kieran was there. Two against one would make it easier, but the porter door would not have opened if he had seen them both. She did not want to think about Kieran and what he was thinking about her at that moment. His expression was one of disgust when she had revealed her lackluster plan. Follow the Medium. That was all she could do.

As Lia made the loops up the stairwell, the voices grew louder. Torches hung in racks along the wall, lighting the way. At the top of the stairs, a wooden door barred the way. Lia’s hand trembled as she reached for the handle to pull it open. There was no crossbar on it and it opened to her touch. The voices became clear and so did the presence of the Medium. It fluttered in her heart powerfully, bringing tears to her eyes once again. She recognized the powerful feelings, but it felt forced and not tamed.

“You must persuade your brother to join us,” said a man’s voice. “When the kingdom falls, do you think he will be allowed to keep his earldoms if he is on the losing side? Do you think he will keep his head? Lord Dieyre has promised him amnesty in return for your willing consent to be his wife. With his authority, I offer you his plight troth and will accept yours in return. You must promise to marry him when you reach Dahomey. His affection for you is sincere. Do not doubt that.”

“I love him, but I cannot accept him,” Marciana replied. Her voice was throbbing with emotion.

“Why not?” The voice was a sneer.

“He is not a maston.”

“You have sworn to yourself that you will only marry a maston. But what a foolish oath to make to yourself, child. What will you do when there are no mastons left? Marry your brother?” The voice dripped with sarcasm. She heard an accent in the speech, and she recognized it as Dahomeyjan. “You are the price Dieyre demands. You are the only person who can save your brother’s life. Even now, he is under guard at Dochte Abbey in Dahomey. He is being treated fairly and courteously. But should you refuse this arrangement, he will be sent into the dungeons. There are serpents in the dungeons, my lady. If he were to fall asleep, he will be bitten and poisoned. Do not trifle with me, child. You must promise to marry Lord Dieyre. You must say it for it to be binding. You must agree.”

The Medium throbbed even stronger and as Lia opened the door, she heard Marciana sniffling and crying. The only light in the chamber was the light of fire. The air was thick and hot and smelled strongly of incense.

“I am thirsty,” Marciana moaned.

“Then drink some more cider,” the man replied.

“I will not drink it,” she said. “Water – just a little water.”