The Scourge of Muirwood
Page 104

The winter had been sad and lonely for Lia. Every so often, a traveler would appear at the Abbey looking for shelter and safety. Some had heard a warning from a family member to flee to Muirwood. Occasionally it was an entire family, mostly poor and desperate. They brought news she did not want to hear, but she listened to the stories of the world beyond. She listened and her heart died a little bit each time.
He was no longer called the Earl of Forshee. His titles and lands had been stripped by the young king and given to his sister, Marciana, who was still missing. Marciana was placed under the wardship of the Earl of Dieyre, who would control the lands in her absence. He was by far the wealthiest noble of the realm. His influence with the young king and the Queen Dowager was unmatched by any. It was clear by the reward offered that he would pay handsomely for any information regarding Marciana’s whereabouts. But Dieyre had never come to Muirwood himself.
The Traitor Forshee, it was said, was languishing in a dungeon at one of Dieyre’s many estates in the north country. Abandoned by the knights of Winterrowd before the invasion, he had been captured by the Queen Dowager’s men and taken. It was said he was so sick that no one wished to be near him or tend him for fear of catching his illness. The very thought of him, alone and ill in a dank lightless place, made her heart clench with dread and misery. She would have tended him to the last, bathing his forehead with cool rags, if she only knew where he could be found. She did not try, though, because it was her duty to remain at Muirwood. She was the Aldermaston of a grave.
With the spring came a revival of the Cider Orchard. The skeletal branches that had lay dormant during the winter frosts and snows were budding with blossoms. The entire orchard was wreathed in snowy white petals and Lia walked amidst the trees every day, feeling the soft kiss of the petals as they began to trickle down like snow. The air was alive with smells as the grasses and flowers began to bloom amidst the toppled garden boxes. She roamed the grounds, trying to remember where the laundry was. The small shelter had vanished with the winds that night so long ago. The cloisters were gone as well. The only tome that had survived was the Aldermaston’s tome. A tome she could not even read.
She lingered by an apple tree, pausing to stare up at the trunk and the flurry of blossoms that shook look with the breeze. It was a tree she remembered, and she gazed at it longingly, rubbing her hands along the smooth bark. Memories were things. Dwelling on them could summon feelings as powerful as anything a kystrel could create. It was the tree where she had first revealed to Colvin that she loved him. It was the place where he had spurned her. So much had happened to her since then, but as she stood, conjuring the memory and the emotions, she thought for a moment she could make it real if she just wished hard enough. To hear his voice again, one last time. To see the scar at his eyebrow. To touch his hand. To smell him, close and tight in a hug.
It was the distraction of her thoughts and emotions that made her fail to hear the approach, until a boot cracked on a branch and alerted her with a startle. Lia turned her head, seeing the man approach. The wind rustled the trees sending a blizzard of apple blossoms, veiling him. Her heart wrenched with longing. Was she dreaming? The gait of the man walking, the height and size of him was as familiar as her own shadow. She began to tremble and clutched the apple tree, afraid her senses were tricking her.
The petal flurry slowed and she saw him – Colvin.
Her heart thudded in her chest, her eyes widening with shock. He looked hale, not sickly. He was staring at her, walking purposefully closer. Was he a shade? Had he died in the dungeon and now came to her from the dead as the Aldermaston had done? Tears stung her eyes, but she saw something else.
She noticed the orb in his hand – the Cruciger orb. The spindles were pointing at her.
Colvin stuffed the orb in a pouch at his waist and cinched the strings closed with a tug. He ducked past a looming apple branch and came up near her, his face lighting with an expressive smile of pure delight at finding her there, in the Cider Orchard.
Lia bit her lip, feeling tears blur her gaze. Was it real? Was it a dream? Was she only dreaming? The bark felt real against her hands as she scraped them, squeezing the wood so hard her knuckles blanched.
“Colvin?” she whispered breathlessly, her legs trembling. Her whole body trembled.
He stood in front of her, looking deep into her eyes and grabbed her hands so she could feel the flesh and warmth. He was real and his eyes were shining with warmth and love.
“You are truly Ellowyn Demont,” he said softly and then squeezed her hands fiercely. “But to me, you will always be Lia.”