The Scourge of Muirwood (Legends of Muirwood #3)

“I am nearly sixteen,” Lia said, confused and wary.

“No, you are eighteen. At least eighteen. You likely had your first year before you were abandoned at Muirwood. Too little to remember anything of where you came from. Or who your mother was. Your father was a Demont – a warrior of great ability. He was Sevrin Demont’s oldest son and he died with his father at Maseve. When they sought an alliance with the Kings of Pry-Ree, he fell in love with a woman of the court, a lady in waiting to the nobles of Pry-Ree. A lady in waiting who was a hetaera.”

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.