The Aldermaston reached out and stroked her cheek, near her eye. “That is my burden, Lia. Not yours. I am touched by your compassion. It warms my heart, truly.” He traced his finger across her cheek. “Do you not think it odd…deliberate…even contrived…that you are here just now? Of all the people in the kingdom who I would want standing by my side, it is you who have not forsaken me. A hunter-maston. A wretched of Pry-Ree. You are here for a reason, Lia. I knew that when I first laid eyes on your tiny body, wrapped in a blanket with a shawl draped over a Cruciger orb.” His voice was thick with emotion, a breathy rasp. “The Medium told me then that you would play a role in Muirwood’s destiny. You are special to me in ways you cannot understand, in ways you cannot yet appreciate. Thank you for being here, Lia, in this hour when I need you most.”
She had never heard more tender words from his mouth in all her life. Instinctively, she reached out and hugged him close. She had never done that before. Never. It surprised him, this stern man who could rebuke with a glance or a scowl, could command and even the skies would obey him. He stood stiffly, awkwardly, and then settled his hand on her head tenderly. She closed her eyes. He was family to her and her feelings were sacred. The closest thing to a father. Pasqua was her mother. Jon Hunter and Astrid Page had always been like brothers. Sowe her sister. Old Martin an irascible uncle. The family of Muirwood.
The Abbey door opened. Lia pulled away from the old man, tears swarming in her eyes. It was Prestwich. His eyes were blazing with anger.
“What is it?” the Aldermaston said.
“I know you warned me not to disturb you,” Prestwich replied, his voice thick with outrage. “But I had to tell you. The Queen…the Dowager…she is dancing at the maypole. Her manner…her form. It is shocking. There are learners who want to come back inside the grounds with their families. Can we let them?”
The Aldermaston’s eyes burned with fury. “No. They made their choice. Do not look at her, Prestwich. Warn them not to look at her as well.” He turned to Lia. “You will change back into the learner robes. The chaen is yours to wear. It will guard you against the Myriad Ones. It will protect you from them so long as you keep the oaths you made. The Queen Dowager will come at dawn.”
* * *
The Aldermaston was right. She came at dawn.
An unusual mid-summer mist cloaked the grounds. It was strange for that time of year, but it was a strange morning. Lia had not slept, keeping a post at the gatehouse. She did not watch the festival through the gate. Only the shadows illuminated by the blazing fires would she look at. It seemed that each dance got more and more wild. Everyone was drinking cider. She could hear the metal cups clanking. The Queen Dowager taught the girls a new dance, a dance without a partner. Some of her men had strange instruments they played. She had never heard such haunting music before. It made her want to look, to see what was happening beyond the gate. Part of her craved to see it, but she held the thoughts at bay with memories of Colvin, Marciana, Ellowyn. Memories from the time they had stayed at the Abbey. The memories helped her ignore the celebration outside. With the memories came the pain of losing Colvin again. The subtle throbbing was like an ache that would never fade.
The celebration ended and it was quiet until just before dawn. She was warm enough with a cloak wrapped around her, but the chaen was warm and soft. It reminded her of everything she had learned inside the Abbey. The knowledge twisted and turned, showing new angles and interpretations. Deep in the dawn mist, she heard the horses before she saw them. The clatter and rattle of hooves seemed to fill the air, advancing like an army.
“Get the Aldermaston,” she whispered to Astrid. He nodded and darted through the mist like a shadow.
Lia gripped her bow and tensed the string, bringing the cloak open to reveal the arrow-feathers stuffed in the quiver. She stood near the gate, breathing deeply, trying to calm her nerves.
The white stallion emerged first from the mist, flanked by riders in black. The Queen Dowager was no longer veiled. Her face was beautiful and cold as she gazed down at Lia. Her black cloak was lined with silver fur, open at the throat. Her fingers held the reins tenderly. Gently, she smoothed the dress at her leg.
“Open the gate,” Pareigis said. It was said in a low tone, almost a purr. Behind the words, the force of the Medium struck Lia like a hammer. Her mind recoiled from the surge, but she gritted her teeth.
“I do not have the key,” she answered truthfully.
Pareigis scowled, thwarted and furious. The Earl of Dieyre chuckled wryly, his horse appeared next to the Queen Dowager’s.