The Blight of Muirwood (Legends of Muirwood 2)

“Being the sister of an earl, she would be an advantageous match to any man of rank. If something happened to me, she would inherit my earldoms. Many of her suitors seek to hold her hand and shed my blood. But she has told me that she will marry a maston, and I am proud of her decision.”

Lia laughed softly. “A maston would be less likely to want you dead. Do you have anyone in mind for her?”

“Why are you curious to know?”

“Is it Edmon?”

Colvin smiled at the suggestion and she could see in his eyes that it was well off the mark. “You do not think she would be happy with him, do you?”

“She is trusting you with her happiness, Colvin. What sort of man would you consider for her then?”

“She is a second year learner. I have not begun to search in earnest.”

“That is not what I asked you. What will you look for?”

He was quiet a moment, his expression grave. “Lia, now is not the right time or…season. The kingdom is on the brink of civil war again. It could arrive at any moment. As long as Demont’s influence holds sway, there will be peace. But these are dangerous times.”

She continued with the laundry, glancing at his face, at the worry crinkling his eyes. “Tell me more.”

“I do not wish to frighten you.”

“I am not frightened, Colvin. The world is so vast – this kingdom is so vast. Help me appreciate some of the burdens you carry. Is it about the Blight? Is that why the season is not right?”

He looked at her for a moment, then nodded. “It is happening throughout the kingdoms, and not just ours. We do not know what shape or form it will take, but the Aldermastons all fear it will be devastating when it comes. A Blight greater than any other that has come before. Often it takes the guise of war, but this time might be different. At least my Aldermaston believes so. The rulers of the kingdoms are not listening to the Aldermastons. It has been many years since a king-maston graced the throne of any kingdom. Even our current king does not have the inclination, the patience, or the humility to study and earn the rank. He wants to be a knight, not a maston. So the threat of the Blight grows and those who lead men because of their birth are blind to it.”

“I do not understand.”

“The Leerings are all beginning to fail. And with them the protection they provide. There are students in Billerbeck who cannot command them at all. It requires even more strength of will now, to make one obey. Not here – not in Muirwood. But at other Abbeys, it is different. It is a sign that trouble is coming and devastation awaits us in the future. Rather than acknowledging it, there are many leaders who are focusing on power and land and wealth. The biggest one right now is the Earl of Caspur. Have you heard of him?”

Lia thought a moment. “I have heard the Aldermaston mention him. He has come here before, I believe, years ago. He is the richest earl, is he not?”

“And the most arrogant, the most greedy, and the most powerful magnate of the realm. He does not lack for lands, or honor, or wealth, or inheritance, but he is fighting Demont, demanding more grants of land and refusing to reconcile. On his side are the earls of Werrick and Andrel. We hear they are raising an army to fight Demont for custody of the king.” His face twisted with disgust. “They want control of the king to add to their possessions and wealth. They are resentful that the patronage is now under the domain of a man who is honorable and…”

A voice interrupted from the rain. “Mother of Idumea, Forshee, I cannot believe you are trying to woo the girl with boring political tirade. Let her alone already – you are completely bewildering her!”

The man behind the voice appeared from the walk, his mantle wet with fresh rain, his hair damp. He was Colvin’s age and bearded around the chin only, his face handsome yet sardonic – as if he found the entire world a jest that only he understood. His hair was long, his tunic studded with twinkling gemstones. A sword was belted at his waist, but it bore no maston symbol.

On hearing the intruder’s voice, Colvin stiffened, his eyes turning with recognition and shock to the newcomer, who joined them to get out of the rain.

“I apologize lass, for the Earl of Forshee’s bad manners. Here you are performing labor for wages and he is blabbing on about such idle things. Really, Forshee, you have no common sense. Girls love being flattered, not preached to.”

Colvin’s jaw tensed with anger. She recognized it also in the pale sheen of his eyes—tightly controlled anger, murderous anger. “What are you doing at Muirwood, Dieyre?”