The Scourge of Muirwood (Legends of Muirwood #3)

The kishion returned with another cup, so full it sloshed on his wrist. His face was twisted with anger and purpose.

“You will drink this,” he said savagely. “If I must, I will dunk your head in the barrel and drown you in it.” His teeth were crooked. The look on his mouth was horrifying.

“Why must I drink it?” Lia challenged, meeting his gaze with her own.

“Because the Aldermaston commands it,” he replied, walking closer. “Before you face the ordeal, you must drink the cider.”

He was closer now and Lia’s mind whirled furiously. Even without chains, she was still no match for a kishion. He closed the distance.

“I will do it!” Lia said, shoving at him with her mind. She willed all the force she could muster to keep him away from her. He seemed to stagger a moment, blinded by the intensity of the thoughts she hurled at him. “Do not force me! Give me the cup and I will drink it.”

The kishion looked at her warily, confused.

“Give me the cup,” she said, holding out her hands.

He looked skittish for a moment, unnerved by her change of heart. She focused on his eyes, pushing her thoughts at him savagely. “Give it to me,” she ordered.

He scowled, still looking confused. “If you splash it at me, I swear you will suffer. If you dump it on the ground, I will dunk your head in the barrel.”

“I understand. Give me the cup.” She shook her hands at him impatiently.

The kishion reached out and extended it, watching her carefully.

Lia grasped the cup between her palms and stared at the sweet cider. She stared at it hard, smelling it. The idea came to her in a whisper. It always did.

Closing her eyes, she focused on the thought. The Medium began to swell inside her. She did not look at the cider, she ignored the smell of it. In her mind, she pictured the Leering at the laundry in Muirwood. She remembered its face, the curve of the profile, the mouth that spewed water. When the trough was empty, it was used to summon water to wash the clothes. Water was what she needed. Clean, cool, refreshing water. The Medium throbbed in her heart, hungering for the safety and shelter of Muirwood. She experienced it again, the longing and peace of her home. There were birds chirping in the branches of the sprawling oaks. The grass and flowers tended throughout the grounds gave the air the scent of autumn. The kitchen, with Pasqua and Sowe. In her mind, she could almost see them, hear the cackle of voices, smell the baking bread. She thought of the Aldermaston, his flowing beard and dark eyes, the brooding look on his face. In that moment, her heart panged with regret at all the naughty things she had done as a child in his service. He had been so patient with her. Truly, he had been a father to her. Her belief in the Medium came from him. Even as a small child, she had experienced its power first from her exposure to him, emanating from him as he performed his duties. She longed to see him again, to thank him for all he had done for her.

With the chains on her wrists, she could not make the maston sign. But she did it in her mind as she held the cup. Make this water.

She did not open her eyes. She did not want to risk doubt or the fear of failing. She experienced the confidence of the Medium, could tell it was engulfing her like a flood. Lia raised the cup to her mouth and drank deeply, not holding back.

It was water, precious water. She gulped down the entire cup, slaking her thirst. When it was gone, she opened her eyes and saw the kishion squinting at her, as if she were too bright to look at. She set the cup down and then knelt on the hard warm stones, thanking the Medium silently for intervening. Without another word, the kishion locked the cell door and vanished into the other room.





*





Lia had dozed on her knees and awakened with the sound of keys in the lock. Her knees were cramped and sore from her posture and she found herself leaning against the wall, her chin touching her chest. Her toes had lost all feeling and tiny pinpricks of pain flooded her feet and legs as she struggled to stand.

“Lia,” Colvin said huskily.

She blinked and rushed to the bars separating them, her heart surging with fire to see him again. Glancing over his shoulder, she saw Dieyre, hand on his hilt. He had a smirk on his face that was infuriating.

Colvin clasped his hands around the bars. “Why did you tell them?” he said sharply, his face flushed with emotions. “Why?”

“Because she is a fool,” Dieyre answered, pacing the room languidly. “We already knew it was her at Winterrowd. The cloak and hood were a disguise, but the hair is remarkable. Many saw it. Old villagers saw her roaming the battlefield afterwards. Even some children. It was a girl they had seen.”