The Blight of Muirwood

“And the truth is?” she asked, looking up at him.

“The latter, of course. As a maston, I recognize that I cannot achieve my full potential – that my family cannot achieve its full potential until I find someone. It is a commitment, you understand, that the knowledge of the Medium must be passed on to a new generation. It is part of the oaths we take, as mastons.”

“Why are you reluctant to tell your sister that you care for Ellowyn then?” Lia asked, her heart nearly bursting with pent up hope. Hoping that she was wrong, that her question would be denied.

His eyebrows bunched together. “Why do you say that, Lia? Why do you think I regard her that way?”

Lia shifted uncomfortably, but kept pressing on because there was no other choice. “I see the way you are with her. You defer to her needs. You are very courteous. I know she is shy and that suits you. You once told me you found Sowe’s deference admirable. So many times, you accused me of not being able to hold my tongue…”

Colvin chuckled softly.

“You find your past insults humorous?”

“I laugh because you have noticed all my particular behaviors, but have ascribed the wrong motives. I will tell you something no one else except my sister knows and she does not even believe me though she knows I never lie. But it is the truth.” He leaned forward, so near she could feel his breath on her cheek. “I told you about Ellowyn before, that I have known her story practically all my life. I have been in love with the…the…thought of her for years. A poor wretched, from a noble Family, living in obscurity in an Abbey. Not knowing who she really was. As a young man, I put a thought into my head that I would be the one to find her. That I would be the one to free her. I know this is sounding silly to you, but let me finish.”

Lia stared at him, swallowing, very aware that she was still holding his hands in her lap. “Hardly silly, Colvin. Go on.”

“When I met her at last, when I went to free her from Sempringfall, you can imagine my intense desire to meet her. It was the moment I had been waiting for.” He paused, as if lost in the memory for a moment. “I cannot find words to describe to you how disappointing it was. I felt nothing at all for the girl. Nothing. She was kind. Polite. Deferential, as you said. Everything a wretched should be. Not a wife. Not someone I want to share every part of myself with. Someone who wants to read from the tomes, to try and improve herself. To learn languages, to travel. To banter and argue with. I was keenly disappointed, Lia. During the last year, I have watched her struggle with the very basics of her own language. She was not raised in the Aldermaston’s kitchen, as you were. Her ability to communicate higher thoughts was very limited. Her thoughts never rose above the mundane of the laundry.” He shook his head, looking down at their hands, still entwined on her lap. “I care for the girl and mourn what has happened to her. She will be a political pawn for the rest of her life. Or murdered because of who her father and mother were. Even if I desired to marry her, and I do not, I cannot dismiss that there would be insurmountable barriers to that union. The Pry-rians want her. Let them have her, I say. But because of who she is, because of who her parents were, she will be a prize many will fight over with drawn swords. One of the reasons Demont trusts me with his niece, I think, is because I am not trying to win her for myself.”

He looked down for a moment, then met her eyes. “So there…you see? The rumors about our impending nuptials are idle tales and nothing more. But I am sure you already knew that.” He squeezed her hand gently, and it made her jolt. Slowly, he pulled away. “We should get back and warn the Aldermaston.”

Lia stood and shook off dirt and leaves. “If you ever find yourself trapped in an ossuary, be sure to remember that warm hands help.” She paused, wanting to say something but not sure if she dared. “In the kitchen, with everyone around and all the laughing at Edmon’s stories…it makes it difficult…to…talk like this.”

“I agree,” he said and rose slowly, needing to stoop to keep from brushing against the roots. She stuffed away her shooting gloves and unstrung the bow before they crossed the tunnel back to the Aldermaston’s manor. Walking crouch-backed the whole way did not make it easy to talk, but they did. She shared with him some of the history of the tunnels and how they had been excavated at the beginning of the Abbey’s founding, that it was one of her duties to ensure they were repaired and kept up.

When they reached the ladder leading up to the cellar. She went first, shoving open the trapdoor. It opened into an anteroom, leading to the Aldermaston’s study. As she climbed out, she heard voices in the other room.