The Blight of Muirwood
Page 5
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Where was Colvin? He had promised he would dance with her. Where was he?
“Lia?”
She turned, expecting to see him, but it was Duerden. He coughed, trying to work up his courage. He looked so young and small, even though they were the same age, for she was much taller than him. “Lia, would you…would you do me the honor and dance with me?”
Anything was better than the agony of standing alone for the third dance. She looked down at him. In the back of her mind, she remembered being teased about his height.
“Yes, Duerden. Of course I will. I would be pleased to.”
His hand was sweaty. He led her awkwardly to the maypole ring. Reome saw them, sizing them both up, and could not be bothered to conceal a smirk. Sowe stood across the ring from them, holding hands with the learner who had claimed her.
“It is lovely this evening…you look…lovely this evening.” It was a gallant attempt, but it felt forced. Everyone in the outer circle held hands, the girls on the left of each boy.
“You do not need to praise me, Duerden,” Lia said. “We have been friends for a year now. Are you excited to see your family before starting the second year? Are they staying in the village?”
“Yes, at the Swan. They are over there, actually, by the booth where Pasqua is selling her treats. My father is the one stuffing his face with a tart.” She saw him. He was short as well. His mother was taller, more Lia’s height. She cringed inside.
“Will he mind seeing you dance with me?” Lia asked in a low voice as the circle began skipping around the maypole.
“No, Lia. It is not your fault you are a wretched, after all. I have never looked at you that way. I would like…you to meet them. My parents. After the circle is done.”
Lia closed her eyes, grateful to be dancing, but uncomfortable. Duerden was a good-natured boy. He had always been friendly to her, but she had no other feelings for him.
“I would like that,” she said, but it felt like a lie on her tongue. She glanced back at Pasqua’s booth which was brisk with business as it was each year. A year ago she had watched the maypole dance with hungry eyes. So much had changed.
“Have you heard the latest news about Winterrowd?” Duerden asked as the circle stopped and began rotating the other direction. “The old king was killed by hired archers, they say. Pry-rian archers. Do you know about Pry-Ree, Lia? About their mercenaries?”
Her stomach did flip-flops as it had every time he mentioned the battle of Winterrowd. So much of what he told her about it was untrue, nothing more than gossip. She knew the truth for certain, because she was the one who the Medium had used to loose the shaft that killed the king. She had only told the Aldermaston what she had done – no one else – and how the Medium had commanded her to do it. No one else knew. Not even Sowe.
“I know little about Pry-Ree,” she said, glancing through the throng surrounding the circle for a sign of Colvin.
Duerden kept going as if he had not heard her. “Pry-Ree was defeated before we were born, Lia. It used to be its own kingdom, but now it is a vassalage of the Crown. They have always hated us. Some are saying that Demont did not win Winterrowd because of the Medium as the mastons claim. They say that there was an ambush and a slaughter to avenge the death of Demont’s father and the overthrow of Pry-Ree. They say Demont was in Pry-Ree before crossing with his men. Now that he controls the king’s privy council, we may never know the truth. Strange days, Lia. So very strange. I am not sure what to believe myself.”
They danced, weaving the sashes and avoiding stepping on each other’s toes. Smiles and cheers and claps heralded them, but Lia’s heart was dark. She knew the truth, but she could say nothing of it. Not of the murderous sheriff of Mendenhall and his death by the Medium’s fire. Of Colvin and his fear of a battle where Demont’s men were hopelessly outnumbered. There were no Pry-rian archers there…except for herself and she was not even trained as an archer. Duerden held her hand and wove the sashes with her, but there was a gulf between them now, of secrets that could never be shared.
After the dance, Lia met Duerden’s family and they were gracious to her. Pasqua embarrassed her by giving her a crushing hug in front of everyone and mumbled incoherently while weeping about losing her again. Sowe was asked to dance every time and had blisters on her feet by the end of the night and a smile on her face that shone like burning oil. As they limped back to the kitchen sometime after midnight, carrying empty platters and trays from Pasqua’s booth, Lia’s heart grew heavier and heavier with those secrets and with disappointment that seemed to mount with each step on the grass and each trip back.
“Lia?”
She turned, expecting to see him, but it was Duerden. He coughed, trying to work up his courage. He looked so young and small, even though they were the same age, for she was much taller than him. “Lia, would you…would you do me the honor and dance with me?”
Anything was better than the agony of standing alone for the third dance. She looked down at him. In the back of her mind, she remembered being teased about his height.
“Yes, Duerden. Of course I will. I would be pleased to.”
His hand was sweaty. He led her awkwardly to the maypole ring. Reome saw them, sizing them both up, and could not be bothered to conceal a smirk. Sowe stood across the ring from them, holding hands with the learner who had claimed her.
“It is lovely this evening…you look…lovely this evening.” It was a gallant attempt, but it felt forced. Everyone in the outer circle held hands, the girls on the left of each boy.
“You do not need to praise me, Duerden,” Lia said. “We have been friends for a year now. Are you excited to see your family before starting the second year? Are they staying in the village?”
“Yes, at the Swan. They are over there, actually, by the booth where Pasqua is selling her treats. My father is the one stuffing his face with a tart.” She saw him. He was short as well. His mother was taller, more Lia’s height. She cringed inside.
“Will he mind seeing you dance with me?” Lia asked in a low voice as the circle began skipping around the maypole.
“No, Lia. It is not your fault you are a wretched, after all. I have never looked at you that way. I would like…you to meet them. My parents. After the circle is done.”
Lia closed her eyes, grateful to be dancing, but uncomfortable. Duerden was a good-natured boy. He had always been friendly to her, but she had no other feelings for him.
“I would like that,” she said, but it felt like a lie on her tongue. She glanced back at Pasqua’s booth which was brisk with business as it was each year. A year ago she had watched the maypole dance with hungry eyes. So much had changed.
“Have you heard the latest news about Winterrowd?” Duerden asked as the circle stopped and began rotating the other direction. “The old king was killed by hired archers, they say. Pry-rian archers. Do you know about Pry-Ree, Lia? About their mercenaries?”
Her stomach did flip-flops as it had every time he mentioned the battle of Winterrowd. So much of what he told her about it was untrue, nothing more than gossip. She knew the truth for certain, because she was the one who the Medium had used to loose the shaft that killed the king. She had only told the Aldermaston what she had done – no one else – and how the Medium had commanded her to do it. No one else knew. Not even Sowe.
“I know little about Pry-Ree,” she said, glancing through the throng surrounding the circle for a sign of Colvin.
Duerden kept going as if he had not heard her. “Pry-Ree was defeated before we were born, Lia. It used to be its own kingdom, but now it is a vassalage of the Crown. They have always hated us. Some are saying that Demont did not win Winterrowd because of the Medium as the mastons claim. They say that there was an ambush and a slaughter to avenge the death of Demont’s father and the overthrow of Pry-Ree. They say Demont was in Pry-Ree before crossing with his men. Now that he controls the king’s privy council, we may never know the truth. Strange days, Lia. So very strange. I am not sure what to believe myself.”
They danced, weaving the sashes and avoiding stepping on each other’s toes. Smiles and cheers and claps heralded them, but Lia’s heart was dark. She knew the truth, but she could say nothing of it. Not of the murderous sheriff of Mendenhall and his death by the Medium’s fire. Of Colvin and his fear of a battle where Demont’s men were hopelessly outnumbered. There were no Pry-rian archers there…except for herself and she was not even trained as an archer. Duerden held her hand and wove the sashes with her, but there was a gulf between them now, of secrets that could never be shared.
After the dance, Lia met Duerden’s family and they were gracious to her. Pasqua embarrassed her by giving her a crushing hug in front of everyone and mumbled incoherently while weeping about losing her again. Sowe was asked to dance every time and had blisters on her feet by the end of the night and a smile on her face that shone like burning oil. As they limped back to the kitchen sometime after midnight, carrying empty platters and trays from Pasqua’s booth, Lia’s heart grew heavier and heavier with those secrets and with disappointment that seemed to mount with each step on the grass and each trip back.
