“The Medium is not always manifested in a dramatic way, my lord,” she answered. “In its most powerful form, it is often softer than a whisper.”

“Indeed,” he replied, his voice low and serious. “She is gone? Truly?”

“Yes, Ellowyn left last night. I did not see her go, but I heard that she…”

“Not her, you simpleton. Ciana.” His eyes looked haunted. “Forshee left her behind. Hid her in a tunnel?” His voiced begged it to be so.

Lia stared at him in shock, and realized he was being serious. Maderos was right. Men would do extraordinarily unwise things for the women they preferred. “You think he would not take her with him?” she asked, amazed. “You do not know him at all.”

His teeth clenched and so did his hand around the bar. His face was so near, she could see the shadows under his eyelids. “I do not care to know him! He is an insufferable rag. I hate the man. But I love the sister.” He rested his forehead on his hand. He looked up at the sky. “I thought…I truly thought she would come last night. When she did not, I began to suspect her faith in this Abbey was greater than my doubt. Did she truly, earnestly believe it would protect her? It seemed so. Now I do not know what to think.” His voice was bitter.

“Or what to believe,” Lia added, feeling a spark of sympathy for him.

His head jerked up, his eyes staring as if she had seen right through him.

She stared into his eyes. “That is your problem, my lord. Your thoughts tell you that the Abbey is only made of stone and glass and fine furnishings. But your feelings tell you it is made of something more than that. Just because an Abbey can be made to burn does not mean it cannot also save. Until you put them together – your thoughts and your heart – you will only see confusion.”

A wry smile crossed his mouth. “You almost sound like an Aldermaston.”

“I have learned much by being raised in Muirwood’s shadow. How long have you ever stayed in one place?”

“One year at Billerbeck Abbey,” he answered stiffly.

“Then I pity you,” she replied. “You have never known a home.”

“Pitied by a wretched,” he mused. “I am not sure how to feel about that.” His face went grave. “Will you track them for me? I do not care about the Demont girl. She can rot in the swamp. Help me find Ciana.”

Lia shook her head. “Good day, my lord.” And she turned and followed after the Aldermaston.

* * *

“The worse a person is the less he feels it.”

- Gideon Penman of Muirwood Abbey

* * *

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE:

Sorrow

The bonfires around the maypole had all become ash. Lia was amazed at the wreckage in the village green. Broken casks of cider, torn ribbons from the maypole, garlands tossed and trampled, dashed cups. The mist finally cleared, revealing the debris, and Lia stared at it from behind the slats of the bars. The first family that had defected from the celebration was the Fesits. They were followed by the Chaldwilks and then the Bitners. They were the first families to rejoin the Abbey after the Queen Dowager’s men had ridden away. Lia and Prestwich took turns escorting them from the porter door to the Abbey kitchen, where they joined Pasqua, Sowe, Astrid, and some of the teachers who had refused to leave the grounds in the first place. There were so many uneaten treats in the kitchen, that they all enjoyed themselves.

After returning from another trip, Duerden took Lia aside, a tartarelle crammed in his fist. “You were right,” he told her, taking a bite without enjoying it. “I wish I had never abandoned you last night. I cannot get the memories of it out of my mind.”

“What memories?” Lia asked.

He looked stern for a moment. “It felt…wrong to be there. The maypole dancing started as it always does. Even the Queen Dowager joined in and let it go for several rounds. Then she insisted we do the maypole dance as they do in Dahomey. In her country, the girls bind the boys in the sashes until they cannot move. Then they run while the boys wriggle free and if they catch a girl, any girl, she has to allow a kiss on the cheek.”

He took another bite. “I did not join them. It did not feel right to me, but so many others gladly did. The Earl of Dieyre allowed himself to be tied up that way. But I did not feel comfortable…I mean, even if you were there, it would not have felt right. Like it was stealing something from a girl who may not want to give it. Some of the lavenders refused to pay their kisses, even when they were caught. Each dance got more and more wild. Everyone was drinking cider. It tasted a little strange so I did not drink much of it. My parents are still shocked at what happened. If they had not been here last year, they would have asked if the dance always ran wild like last night. Then the Queen Dowager taught the girls a new dance. A dance…without a partner. Why would Dahomeyjans do that, Lia? What a strange land they come from.”

Tags: Jeff Wheeler Legends of Muirwood Fantasy
Source: readsnovelonline.net