The Blight of Muirwood

“I am with the Queen Dowager, simpleton, obviously. I ride with her to investigate the old king’s murder. I am her protector in these lawless lands.”

“The old king was killed in a battle, Dieyre. Leading an army of superior forces.”

“You were there, so you would know. All we have to believe is that mastons never lie.” He chuckled with an edge of mockery in his voice. “I do not need to ask why you are here. Tending Demont’s little kitten? Or did you find some wise speck to scrawl in your tome that you missed in Billerbeck?” He looked down at the tome near where Colvin had sat. His gaze turned to Lia. “We studied together there, lass. We have known each other a great long time and cannot stand each other. I apologize if he is boring you.”

Lia squeezed the garment hard, wringing it out. For a moment, she could think of nothing to say. Colvin was flustered and angry, his hand slowly clenching, as if he wanted to draw his sword.

The words came to her with a flash of insight. “It was rude of you to interrupt our conversation,” Lia said, looking him in the eye.

Her bluntness took him aback and he looked at her in surprise, then laughed. “Why, that was my very intent, lass. You picked right up on it.”

“Is there a reason you are walking the grounds right now?” Lia asked, twisting the clothes again to get the rest of the water out. “In the rain?”

“I was looking for the Aldermaston’s hunter, actually,” he said, gazing at her with an amused smile. “I was told to look at the laundry, but that is…”

“Exactly where you found her,” Lia said, standing. “What can I do for you?”

He looked shocked, then pleased and burst out laughing. “That makes slightly more sense that you should be discussing politics with Forshee instead of haggling a fee for bathing him…or his clothes. I completely misjudged you. Here I thought you were trying to woo a lavender girl, Forshee.”

Colvin’s eyes went flat with hatred.

“Easy, Forshee. I am only jesting.”

“Are you?” Colvin asked softly.

“When am I not jesting, that is the better question! As if you would ever woo a girl. Well, lass – my pardon for interrupting then. I had heard the hunter was short and bearded. My information was obviously very wrong, because you are quite tall and you do not, in fact, have a beard.”

The way he said it struck Lia as witty beyond words – more amusing than anything she had heard come out of Edmon’s mouth since he had arrived at the grounds. It took deliberate focus not to startle with laughter. She swallowed. “If you know a cure for being tall, I am glad to hear it,” she said.

“Another clever retort,” he said, complimenting her. “My, you are a surprise. So…my purpose for trudging out in the muck was to find another way to humiliate and infuriate the Earl of Forshee, which I have mostly succeeded in doing, and my second purpose was to seek the Aldermaston’s hunter and tell you that the Queen Dowager would like to hunt in your grounds later this day. The roads are too wet to ride and Winterrowd is terribly far away, so we are postponing our departure by a day. Shall I advise her of your coming now? Or when you are finished bathing the earl…?” He paused for effect. “the clothes, I mean?”

“I must ask the Aldermaston first,” Lia said, rising.

“Of course you must,” he agreed, smiling. He turned back to Colvin. “Is Norris-York here as well? Good. Did you hear that Caspur offered me one of his earldoms if I take his side?”

Colvin shook his head, his face still livid. “He would never give one up willingly, Dieyre. He is just as likely plotting to take yours as he is to give you one.”

“He does not have an heir, you see. And neither do you and neither do I. Well, no legitimate heirs, that is. Interesting. Well, I will dismiss myself back to the rain then. I will tell the Queen Dowager you are coming later. The hawks will not like the rain, so all we will need is a sturdy bow.”

“If the Aldermaston allows it,” Lia answered, nodding to him.

Another smile twitched on his mouth. “No one denies the Queen Dowager what she wants. Not even him.”

He went back into the rain, walking hastily away. Colvin and Lia stood under the shelter, listening the rain tap on the damp shingles.

“That was the Earl of Dieyre,” Colvin said softly, seething, staring at the matted grass his boots had left behind. “The best swordsman in the realm. Of any realm, for that matter.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN:

Arrowmaker

Lia sought for the Aldermaston first in his study, but Prestwich informed her that he was with the learners in the cloisters. She trudged back into the rain and crossed the murky grounds, adjusting the quiver around her hip and gripping the bow sleeve tightly. The meeting with the Earl of Dieyre had left a swarm of new thoughts, especially related to Colvin. She was struck by Colvin’s discipline regarding practicing his swordplay. One night in the Bearden Muir he said he practiced in case he ever met a better swordsman. If I hope to defeat a man who has more training and experience than me, then I best drill and drill and drill harder than that man. He must have been referring to Dieyre.