The Wretched of Muirwood (Legends of Muirwood 1)

“Stay in the kitchen the rest of the evening.”

She bit her lip and said nothing for a moment. “What did I do wrong?”

“The sheriff has taken an interest in you.”

She looked at him coldly. “He said he knew my father.”

The Aldermaston’s face was composed, but his eyes started to churn with anger. “What would it matter if he did know?”

“What would it matter?” Lia said, clenching the crock tighter. “How can you ask that?”

He took a step closer. His voice was so low, she barely heard it. “You think that knowing would make your life easier? You forget, child, that I have dwelled at Muirwood a very long time. I have witnessed many wretcheds grow up and leave. Some come back to ply the skills they learn here. Some, only a few, have ever found the knowledge they sought. Not one of them was ever grateful that they did. Not one. They wished that they never knew. Do not be tempted by the sheriff’s words. They were intended to harm you, whether or not you wish it so.”

Lia trembled, but tried to calm it. “So he was lying then?”

“It makes little difference whether he was or not. My instructions are clear. I want you to stay in the kitchen tonight. They leave at dawn. And that is the end of our conversation.”

CHAPTER TEN:

Garen Demont

The dream started gently with a kiss on her cheek causing a flush of warmth inside her. Then it turned dark, all surging quickness and it was as if she were drowning in fear and shame and she awoke with a start, trembling with terror. She blinked, too frightened to breathe, and tried to calm herself. Feelings from dreams always lingered with her. Nothing could banish them quickly. There was an inky, oily feeling in the air, a murmur like a harsh whisper. The corner kitchen fire, with the Leering, was burning bright and hot, flooded with flames instead of winking with embers in the dark as it should have been that late at night. Lia sat up and scooted to the edge of the loft to get a better look. The sheriff knelt by the flames, staring into them, a hand on his chest. When he turned to look up at her, his eyes were glowing bright silver in the dark.

He cupped something in his hand that was threaded through a gold necklace. The shape was tarnished and circular, like interweaving leaves or flower petals, or the coil of a snail’s shell. He tucked it back into his shirt, the firelight revealing a tattoo mark on his chest, which was blocked as he fastened his collar.

“There you are,” he said, rising to his full height. The glow in his eyes began to dim as he approached.

“You are not…” She could barely talk, and swallowed to clear her voice. “…Allowed. To be here. The Aldermaston forbids it.”

“You have your grandmother’s famed beauty. The slope of you nose, your cheeks. It must be hers. The sons were handsome, to be sure. Your father was indeed a handsome man. Did he ever know about you, I wonder?”

Lia could not stop trembling. Breathing was an effort. “I do not believe you.”

He stopped at the bottom of the loft ladder. “So young. So very young.” And he gave her a look, a look that made her stomach sick, her head swim, and that made the floor feel like it was spinning.

“Go,” she whispered. She wanted to scream, but there was something terrible in his dimly glowing eyes. Something warped and black, the color of shadows behind the gleaming silver.

“I was there when your grandfather and uncle died. I fought in that battle. That glorious battle when so many accursed men of your Family fell. I would never have dreamed it possible that one of them would leave a wretched behind. So sanctimonious! So full of pride and their own worth. You must be one of them. Your face…your sweet face. It is staring at me past the brink of death. Child, you are special.”

He put a hand on the ladder and started up.

“Do you wish to know the name? Are you not curious why you were abandoned? The shame of it! Oh, the glorious shame they must have felt.” Each step of his boots shook the ladder, doubling her fear. “How they must have choked on it, a cup of gall spilling over.”

“Go,” Lia whispered huskily again, her voice too dry to speak loud – or scream. Sowe was asleep near her, her back facing them. A spasm of fear went through Lia’s heart as his face crested the loft floor.

“I can tell you all. I know where your father died. I know when he died. The blood of your Family is still on my sword. The moans have never rubbed clean. But I will tell you of them. Of their traitorous hearts. Of their punishment even after death. Your grandfather. Your uncle. Their heads spitted on spikes. How we played with their corpses. Oh, child, how we avenged you!”