The Scourge of Muirwood
Page 49
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
Was Colvin there?
She waited, stilling her breathing until she was calm again. She tripped the latch and pulled on the stone wall, which slid soundlessly back and opened to the full view of a small, square bedchamber. The only light came from the orb and from a thin curtain covering the sole window. It was not a spacious room. It seemed more fit for a scullion than an earl. There was a small bed, a single leather-bound chest, and a chair. There was no changing screen, no garderobe, only a chamberpot. Lia stared at the room, wondering if the orb would lead her further, but as soon as she entered, the spindles stopped moving.
The walls were made of stone and very cold. There was a small brazier by the window, but it was full of white ash. Was this Colvin’s room? Her heart sank with the realization. The small, confined place was where he was being held prisoner? She walked to the bed and touched the thin blanket covering it, then leaned down and smelled it.
The scent was unmistakable. It smelled like Colvin and it brought tears to her eyes. There was a pillow and dusty velvet hangings from the square frame. It reminded her a little of Pasqua’s bed – narrow enough for only one person and high off the ground.
There was a small cup near the window with sprigs of desiccated purple mint. Lia parted the curtain and saw the windows were dirty, but there was a latch that allowed them to be opened, so she did and stared out at the vista. Iron shutters were recessed but open to the view. She could see the gardens below. The balcony was a decoration – there was no room for a person to stand on it. From her vantage, she could see the ocean stretching before her as well as the cusp of land known as the Spike. The air had a salty smell.
Lia went to the door and tested it, but it was locked. That gave her a measure of comfort that she would be able to hide if anyone came, for the key jangling in the lock would be her warning. She set about studying the room, looking at it with her hunter’s eye. There was no food, for example. It meant Colvin did not eat there. The leather-bound chest opened to her touch and there were several folded garments within. The leather tunic she recognized instantly. There were still blood spots on it from the battle outside Muirwood. She clutched it instinctively and smelled it, squeezing the leather as if it were him. There were linen shirts beneath, and she had memories of washing them. A sturdy pair of boots, a belt with star-stud designs were seen beneath. That was all.
Lia went to the window and pulled down the cup with the shriveled sprigs and smelled them. There was a hint of fragrance clinging to the brittle stems. She imagined Colvin holding the cup and smelling it, trying to remember what it was like to be free. Was it only a place where he slept? Where did he spend his days? What did he do to prevent the oppression from stealing his spirit?
The Cruciger orb had brought her to the place where she would find him. She knew she would have to wait for him to return.
A chilly sea wind came from the open window and she shut it, realizing that her long walk during the day had exhausted her and that she was very tired. The sun was beginning to sink towards the sea and she realized that other than the plums, she had not eaten much during the day. Opening her travel sack, she pulled out the apple she had saved from Muirwood and slowly pulled it free. It was firm and hard in her hand and she held it near her nose, breathing in its deep smell. She set the apple down near the cup.
Lia waited. The sun set and the room became thick with shadows. She waited until the moon cast squares of light on the stone floor. She waited and still he did not come. She was anxious, tired, and worried. Still she waited. There was no sound except her breathing and stony silence. It was cold in the room and she pulled the cloak more tightly around her, wondering what she would say to him. What would he think when he saw her again?
She waited.
There was no end to the waiting. Drowsiness finally won over and she found herself huddled on the floor near the bed, dozing. She was not sure how much time passed, but the moon shifted the squares until even they were gone and nothing but shadows remained. Dozing – waking. Listening – was that a footfall somewhere? A distant laugh? Nothing – nothing but stillness. Deep stillness and smothering darkness. In the dark she began to hear whispers in her mind. The Abbey lulled her to sleep. Dream of me, it said to her. Learn of my ways. We are ancient. You are our sister.
The rattle of a key in a lock jolted her awake. Lia blinked quickly and was through the stone portal in a moment, pushing it shut but leaving it ajar so that she could see and hear into the room.
Torchfire illuminated the doorframe and she winced, shielding her eyes from the fierceness of the flames.
There were voices, a mocking tone, but she could not make out the words. Then the door was shut and locked again, the keys jangling as the door was bolted. Inside the room, framed only by a single taper, stood Colvin, looking exhausted, stern, and dressed in a rich outfit of Dahomeyjan style. He leaned back against the door a moment, sighing deeply, and then shuffled forward towards the bed.
She waited, stilling her breathing until she was calm again. She tripped the latch and pulled on the stone wall, which slid soundlessly back and opened to the full view of a small, square bedchamber. The only light came from the orb and from a thin curtain covering the sole window. It was not a spacious room. It seemed more fit for a scullion than an earl. There was a small bed, a single leather-bound chest, and a chair. There was no changing screen, no garderobe, only a chamberpot. Lia stared at the room, wondering if the orb would lead her further, but as soon as she entered, the spindles stopped moving.
The walls were made of stone and very cold. There was a small brazier by the window, but it was full of white ash. Was this Colvin’s room? Her heart sank with the realization. The small, confined place was where he was being held prisoner? She walked to the bed and touched the thin blanket covering it, then leaned down and smelled it.
The scent was unmistakable. It smelled like Colvin and it brought tears to her eyes. There was a pillow and dusty velvet hangings from the square frame. It reminded her a little of Pasqua’s bed – narrow enough for only one person and high off the ground.
There was a small cup near the window with sprigs of desiccated purple mint. Lia parted the curtain and saw the windows were dirty, but there was a latch that allowed them to be opened, so she did and stared out at the vista. Iron shutters were recessed but open to the view. She could see the gardens below. The balcony was a decoration – there was no room for a person to stand on it. From her vantage, she could see the ocean stretching before her as well as the cusp of land known as the Spike. The air had a salty smell.
Lia went to the door and tested it, but it was locked. That gave her a measure of comfort that she would be able to hide if anyone came, for the key jangling in the lock would be her warning. She set about studying the room, looking at it with her hunter’s eye. There was no food, for example. It meant Colvin did not eat there. The leather-bound chest opened to her touch and there were several folded garments within. The leather tunic she recognized instantly. There were still blood spots on it from the battle outside Muirwood. She clutched it instinctively and smelled it, squeezing the leather as if it were him. There were linen shirts beneath, and she had memories of washing them. A sturdy pair of boots, a belt with star-stud designs were seen beneath. That was all.
Lia went to the window and pulled down the cup with the shriveled sprigs and smelled them. There was a hint of fragrance clinging to the brittle stems. She imagined Colvin holding the cup and smelling it, trying to remember what it was like to be free. Was it only a place where he slept? Where did he spend his days? What did he do to prevent the oppression from stealing his spirit?
The Cruciger orb had brought her to the place where she would find him. She knew she would have to wait for him to return.
A chilly sea wind came from the open window and she shut it, realizing that her long walk during the day had exhausted her and that she was very tired. The sun was beginning to sink towards the sea and she realized that other than the plums, she had not eaten much during the day. Opening her travel sack, she pulled out the apple she had saved from Muirwood and slowly pulled it free. It was firm and hard in her hand and she held it near her nose, breathing in its deep smell. She set the apple down near the cup.
Lia waited. The sun set and the room became thick with shadows. She waited until the moon cast squares of light on the stone floor. She waited and still he did not come. She was anxious, tired, and worried. Still she waited. There was no sound except her breathing and stony silence. It was cold in the room and she pulled the cloak more tightly around her, wondering what she would say to him. What would he think when he saw her again?
She waited.
There was no end to the waiting. Drowsiness finally won over and she found herself huddled on the floor near the bed, dozing. She was not sure how much time passed, but the moon shifted the squares until even they were gone and nothing but shadows remained. Dozing – waking. Listening – was that a footfall somewhere? A distant laugh? Nothing – nothing but stillness. Deep stillness and smothering darkness. In the dark she began to hear whispers in her mind. The Abbey lulled her to sleep. Dream of me, it said to her. Learn of my ways. We are ancient. You are our sister.
The rattle of a key in a lock jolted her awake. Lia blinked quickly and was through the stone portal in a moment, pushing it shut but leaving it ajar so that she could see and hear into the room.
Torchfire illuminated the doorframe and she winced, shielding her eyes from the fierceness of the flames.
There were voices, a mocking tone, but she could not make out the words. Then the door was shut and locked again, the keys jangling as the door was bolted. Inside the room, framed only by a single taper, stood Colvin, looking exhausted, stern, and dressed in a rich outfit of Dahomeyjan style. He leaned back against the door a moment, sighing deeply, and then shuffled forward towards the bed.
