Maia could hardly contain herself. Collier was sailing upriver to Muirwood on the Argiver. There was no doubt in her mind that he was coming to her as he had promised. Whatever Murer may have done, Maia would pardon and forgive. Everything would be right again so long as she could see him again, hold him again. Her emotions were in such tumult that she did not notice the shadow in the open doorway until the kishion revealed himself by stepping forward. Seeing him in her sanctuary brought a scowl to her face.
Thewliss had just set his cart by a stone bench and was fetching a hand spade. When he noticed the intruder, his white whiskers tightened into knots of concern, and he gave the kishion a black look.
“What is it now?” Maia asked, not wanting to spend this moment in his company. She had not seen him since their bleak conversation in her pavilion. She had hoped he would not intrude on the grounds of the abbey.
“I need to speak with you,” he said. “There is something you must see. Come with me.”
She felt a wrinkle of concern. “Tell me.”
“I must show you,” he insisted, extending his hand toward her.
Thewliss straightened from his crouch, the hand spade still in his grip. He started to edge closer to Maia, and she felt a stab of fear for the old man.
The kishion cast a fierce frown at Thewliss.
Feeling a tense pressure in the air, Maia said, “Very well. I will come with you.”
“My lady,” Thewliss said in a warning voice.
The kishion moved before Maia could react. In a moment, he had his arm around the old man’s throat. Thewliss was nothing but bones and wrinkled skin, and he struggled in vain against the stronger man’s iron grip.
“Let him go!” Maia said angrily. She rushed up and tried wrenching the kishion’s arm free. “I said I would go with you!”
Thewliss’s head lolled and his eyelids fluttered. His face was turning blue. The kishion dumped the body to the ground. Maia knelt by Thewliss, her heart pounding in her chest.
“Why did you do that!” Maia managed to choke out as she ruffled the gardener’s white feathery hair.
“Because he saw me,” the kishion answered. “And I do not want any witnesses.” He unsheathed his dagger, and Maia went cold to her bones.
She shielded the old man’s body with her own, her heartbeat thundering in her ears. She felt dizzy with fear and dread. “No . . . not this man. You will not kill him.”
The kishion brandished the knife. “You think you can stop me, Maia?” He took a step toward her, looking determined and cruel.
“Do not do this!” she pleaded, feeling her arms and legs begin to shake. If she threw herself at him, he would only shove her aside. She had no weapon that could hurt him. She tried to focus her thoughts, to summon the Medium to defend her, but fear chased away her composure.
“If you come with me willingly, I will spare him,” the kishion said in a whisper-like voice. “Walk alongside me. Do not speak to anyone, or they will die too. If you resist, I will murder this man and all his family. Do not think I will not. He is from the kitchen by the manor. There are two little girls who work there as well. I want to talk to you and I want to show you something. Are we agreed, Maia? I trust your word.”
“Where are you taking me?” she demanded, her eyes tracing the sharp edge of the knife he held.
“Not far. Come.”
She looked down at Thewliss and watched the slow rise and fall of his chest. He was breathing. There was a little scrape on his cheekbone, but it did not bleed. She touched his white hair softly again—a benediction.
“I will do as you say. Do not harm anyone. But you have betrayed my trust, kishion. I will not forget this.”
He gave her a sardonic look. “I believe you.”
He sheathed his dagger and then quickly unclasped his cloak and put it around her shoulders. He lifted the cowl to cover her hair and face. He gave her a pointed look. “You always did stand out too much,” he said with a strange inflection in his voice. “Come.”
Taking her arm gently, he escorted her from the garden and marched her across the grounds. There were people everywhere still, roaming the grounds in various directions. A few glanced at them, but the kishion said nothing and took no notice of anyone as he led her toward the Cider Orchard. The sight of the Aldermaston’s manor was almost enough to make her break away and run for freedom. But she knew the kishion would keep his promise of violence. Yes, perhaps he would be captured himself. But he would kill many who were dear to her before he was brought down. Where was Jon Tayt?
She tried to tame her skittering thoughts, to find some answer to her dilemma. The ground was spongy against her shoes as they crossed the short distance to the grove of apple trees. They plunged into the sturdy rows and quickly left behind those wandering the grounds. The branches and leaves whipped at her cloak as they walked.