The Wretched of Muirwood (Legends of Muirwood #1)

“That despite anything I may do, you will still die at Winterrowd, and I will have nothing left in the world. You promised me your man might teach me to read. But you may lose all to the king’s fury. Even your steward! Then I have gambled everything to achieve a dream…” She paused, bowing her head. “But in my waking, to have lost everything instead.”


His eyes were as dark as shadows. “It is you who do not understand. You are a silly girl. You bound me by the Medium. You will get what I promised you, even if I do not live to fulfill it in person. Did you not feel the Medium when I gave you my oath? By Idumea, it feels a lifetime ago! What a day. What a haunting day.” He closed the saddle bag snugly and then turned back to face her again, leaning forward. “The truth of the matter is that you were and are no longer safe at Muirwood. You were not safe the moment the sheriff came looking for me. It is not a haven for you. Not while the sheriff seeks you. What I do not understand is what he wants from you. There are sordid reasons, for certain, but would he risk the Aldermaston’s wrath, or brave a festering marsh like this, without sufficient provocation or motivation? What I cannot understand is why, what reason he could have?”

Her eyes bored into his. “He may think I have his medallion.”

Colvin was silent, his eyes widening.

“The night he stole into the kitchen. He was using it against me…making me fear him. I saw a chain around his neck and when I snapped it off, the fear left me. He chased me out of the kitchen, but then Jon Hunter arrived. When I went back, I hid it.”

He rose to his feet instantly. “You did not mention that when you told me. You said you saw the amulet, but you did not…did he…did he hurt you?”

She nodded. “A little. I might have hurt him worst though. I scratched his face.”

He stared again. “If he thought you had the medallion, would not he also presume that you gave it to the Aldermaston? Surely he is more powerful in the Medium than the sheriff!”

“That presumes there is trust between the Aldermaston and I. The sheriff could probably see there is little. By hiding you, did I not prove my lack of loyalty? Scarseth stole it when he betrayed me. He has it.”

Colvin breathed deeply. “And through the Medium, I just took away his voice. If the sheriff thinks you still have it…of course he will want it back. A thwarted man is dangerous.”

Lia closed her eyes again and rested her forehead on her arms. “There is something else,” she mumbled.

“What?”

“When the sheriff first came – the morning we snuck into the orchard – I was in the kitchen with the Aldermaston there and Pasqua. He…he said that he knew my father. He told me that night, in the dark, that he was one of the ones who had murdered him.”

Colvin looked at her intensely. “Did he say who your father was?”

She shook her head. “But he made me believe that I might be a Demont.”

Again, he looked stunned. “Did he say as much?”

“Only that the blood of my Family was still on his sword. That they were cruelly punished after their deaths. My grandfather, my father, my uncle were all killed. Just like the Demont family at Maseve. I had never even heard of Demont before the sheriff came.”

Colvin paced a moment, brooding over what she had said. The sky was nearly black, the horse just a shadow at the base of the hill. He walked back and forth near her, struggling with his thoughts. He glanced up, stopped, then stared back the way they had come.

The moonlight gleamed off the river, making it turn silver. But on the far bank, there were torches and lanterns, pinpricks of light against an impenetrable black field. At least a dozen lights, swarming like fireflies.

“Almaguer,” he whispered. There was fear in his voice.





CHAPTER TWENTY TWO:


Fear





Lia had received a new blanket as a nameday present from Pasqua when she was ten. She had outgrown her childhood one, and she loved that she did not need to curl up her legs in order to keep them covered. The blanket had its own smell after so many years in the kitchen. She took care of it, folding it every morning and storing it in a wicker basket. That was where it still was – alone in the basket, until another tall, spindly wretched would claim it.