The Scourge of Muirwood (Legends of Muirwood #3)

Maderos had taught her the password to open the slit in the outer wall of the Abbey. Her feelings oppressed her with crushing weight. Colvin was in danger – immediate danger. Muirwood was also facing a threat. She could feel both looming in front of her eyes, a shadow that blinded her to all other thoughts. Thrusting through the dark shaft of stone, she entered the room with the strange basin and oxen and found Maderos standing by the shaft leading to the Blight Leering. The shaft was covered by a length of silk cloth, a narrow sheet that rustled as she disturbed the air with her presence. The shimmering sheet looked like an Apse Veil.

“Maderos!” she cried, joining him around the walkway. “Maderos, where is Colvin?”

The look he gave her was stern. He turned away and smoothed the fabric, letting it settle once again. “Billerbeck Abbey.” He stared up at the length of sheet and stepped back from it. “Yes, your pethet is there.”

“Maderos, please tell me. Has he…has he fallen? I know he is with her…”

Maderos waved his hand impatiently. “Do not ask me, little sister. Do not ask me about the pethet. What if he has fallen, eh? What if he has kissed the hetaera? Does that alter what you must do now?”

“Maderos, please!”

His expression was as solemn as stone. “I will not influence you, child. I will not give you the answer you seek. It is your choice.” He gestured towards the shroud. “This is a Veil. An Apse Veil. There are only two Abbeys standing still. You must choose where to go. Both choices have consequences. But I cannot choose for you. It is yours to make.”

Lia stared at the Apse Veil in agony. She knew that Muirwood was threatened. She could feel it deep in her bones. She longed to go back there, even knowing that the Queen Dowager was there. Yet there was also the Abbey at Billerbeck. There was Colvin and Hillel. If she went there first, could she warn Colvin in time and then travel to Muirwood? Was there time to do both?

Maderos’ eyes were fixed on hers.

Colvin thought she was dead. Hillel believed she was dead. Was it already too late to save him? Had he, by error, bound himself to Hillel by irrevocare sigil? Even if he had unwittingly bound himself to the wrong person, would it matter? Was it the name that mattered or the person he had clasped hands with? Would he kiss her, believing her to be his wife, and receive the curse of the Blight as a result?

It was pure agony. Was she already too late?

She could not know the answer to that. In the end, it did not matter. As much as she wanted to save Colvin, it was her duty to save Muirwood. Even though the thought of losing Colvin forever tortured her, she knew she had to do her duty. She could not force the Medium to do her will. She could only submit herself to the Medium’s will.

Tears had pooled again in her eyes, but she brushed them away harshly. “I will obey,” she whispered. She gripped Maderos by the arm. “If I understood the Aldermaston of Tintern properly, once I go to Muirwood, I will not be allowed to leave. I must remain there and help direct others to the safe haven. The Blight will afflict slowly at first. Then it will increase, faster and faster, as more fall to the curse.”

In her mind, she remembered the stories about the maypole dance in Dahomey, how Pareigis had taught the youth to be bound to the pole and then steal kisses when the boys were free. She shuddered, realizing how quickly the traditions would cause the fall.

Maderos eyed her somberly. His cheek muscle twitched.

Lia swallowed and nodded, firming her resolve and her courage. Then with a glint of determination in her eye, she approached the Apse Veil and passed through it to Muirwood.





CHAPTER THIRTY THREE:


The Prince’s Death





Prince Alluwyn Lleu-Iselin stroked the baby’s cheek with his finger. Tears welled in his eyes and blurred the image of the child, his daughter. She was asleep, her little mouth puckered and at rest. Little tufts of golden hair crowned her fragile head. Bending low over the basket, he kissed those curls.

“Hold it steady,” he asked. The Evnissyen’s name was Nuric. He was young but he had proven himself trustworthy. He was fluent in three languages and looked like someone from Comoros with his straight dark hair. He would blend in better than the fair-haired Pry-rians. Nuric clenched the basket to his chest and held it still as the Prince placed two fingers on the babe’s head. “Close your eyes, Nuric.”