The Blight of Muirwood
Page 58

Lia had seldom visited the guest wing of the manor house, it being on the opposite side from the kitchen, closest to the main gates of the Abbey grounds. Most of the rooms had high windows set into the thick stone walls, but this room had none. The only way in or out lay through the sturdy oak door. The furnishings were elaborate. A single stuffed mattress, which the two ladies shared, lay against the northern wall, with canopied bedposts made of damask and velvet with golden tassels. Several couches, changing screens, tables and cushions, and a garderobe also complemented the design. Tapestries adorned the walls and rush-matting that was changed daily was green and fragrant. She ran her fingers through the stream of water and nodded.
Marciana treated the bath with scented oil and soap, making it frothy and inviting. She seemed familiar with the vials and stone basins and Lia figured she did not hire a servant to bathe herself as many nobles did.
“Let me help you out of those soiled clothes,” Marciana said. Lia unbuckled her leather bracers and girdle, which were filthy and damp. She suddenly remembered that she had not brought with her a clean gown. “What is it?”
“I have a spare dress is back in the kitchen,” she said softly. “I can send Astrid…”
Marciana touched her arm. “I have something you can wear. Do not worry. Here, hang your garments behind the screen.”
Lia slipped into the warm water and shivered. The tub was spacious, much more so than the one in the kitchen where she had bathed all her life. Having a water Leering next to it was ideal, for water did not need to be toted in buckets from the ovens. There was a fireplace and chimney with a fire Leering for warming water. But Marciana’s trick, learned from Colvin through Lia, had saved much time in filling it. With a soft sponge, she washed her arms and fingers while Marciana cleansed her hair with a dish of water just as Sowe had always done. The water turned a murky brown.
“You have lovely hair, Lia,” Marciana said and she squeezed the clumps of her tresses and wrung them out. With a sculpted wooden comb, she began untangling them.
“It can only be subdued for a while, never tamed,” Lia said wistfully. “It is not straight and beautiful, like yours and Sowe’s.”
“It is beautiful in its own right. It is darker than mine but not as dark as Sowe’s, and it has some lovely hints of copper amidst the crinkles. Here and here.” She knelt by the edge of the bath, her flowing sleeves a little damp but pushed up past the elbows. Lia was not sure how much time had passed, but she felt luxuriant and clean, as she had not felt for months.
“The water is cold. Can I dry by the fire now?” Lia asked.
“First something to wear,” Marciana said and rose. She went to one of her chests and withdrew a pale chemise with an embroidered hem. Lia had never owned a chemise before and as she slipped it on, it felt warm and soft against her skin, like a warm breath. It was loose at the shoulders, so Marciana helped tighten the lacings in the front. The sleeves fit her well but she was taller than the other girl so it did not reach down to her ankles.
“By the fire then?” Marciana joined her, sitting at the mouth of the fireplace, staring into the lapping flames and the Leering’s eyes. The scent of the soap against Lia’s wrist, the way her hair smelled, even the chemise which had been packed with purple mint to keep away moths. For a moment, she wondered what it would be like to be a noble like the other two were. To have more than a spare dress. The chemise was made of the softest material she had ever worn.
Silently, Ellowyn gathered up the dirty gear and went to the tub and commenced washing them.
“You are pretty, Lia,” Marciana said. “You will not struggle to find a willing husband when it is your time. But it will not be Colvin.” She shook her head, her expression full of pity as well as sympathy. She stroked Lia’s arm gently. “I need to explain to you why.”
Lia looked into the flames, grateful that Marciana had kept her voice low. She knew that Ellowyn could hear them, but at least the girl had the decency to pretend to ignore them as she scrubbed the leader girdle with soapy water. “He made it clear why I cannot be with him. I am not a simpleton.”
“No, you are not. But in his fit of anger, he did not explain something to you. It is important, Lia. Have you ever heard of the irrevocare sigil?”
Lia turned, her eyebrows raising. “I have not.”
“It is a maston custom. You know so many of them, I was not certain if you had heard of it. The term is an ancient one, a practice that goes back to the First parents. It is a binding sigil, one that has the power to last perpetually. It lasts forever. Only an Aldermaston can invoke them and only within the most important chamber of the Abbey. It has been the custom for generations within the order of the mastons to bind certain things using an irrevocare sigil. Specifically, a marriage between two maston families. When this is done, the power of the Medium flows even stronger with the next generation. That is why maston families tend to intermarry and spurn marriages to those who are not of the order. To the Earl of Dieyre, for example, marriage is a means of growing his already disgusting supply of wealth. But a maston who comes from a long line of marriages bound by the sigil will always seek out another of that station. Always the next generation is more powerful in the Medium because of it.” She squinted at Lia. “Am I making sense to you?”