But Lia could not control her expression of dismay. She could do nothing but stare in shock at the little boy who, between mouthfuls of soup, had just revealed the worst news she could imagine. If the wretched who believed she was Ellowyn Demont consented to marry the king, what impact would it have on Lia if the truth became known? She had no desire to marry the young king, whose father she had slain with a Pry-rian arrow. Even though he had been under the guardianship of Garen Demont, she knew he must have been corrupted by Pareigis. The thought of being forced to marry him sickened her.
It was equally alarming to learn that Dieyre was in Vezins. When she thought of Reome carrying his child, she wanted to run him through with her gladius. How much suffering he had caused and continued to cause. He was undoubtedly waiting for a ship to bring Marciana to him. What would he do when he learned it was not coming? She could see the additional pieces of the Queen Dowager’s plan locking together. At Muirwood’s cloisters, Lia had witnessed Dieyre promoting marriage between Ellowyn Demont and the young king. He had tried to persuade her to aim for it.
She realized with a very real throb of terror that she had very little time to thwart it.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN:
Jouvent
Lia stayed up late baking bread, pizzelles, and even a sambocade. The soup cauldron was scraped empty before the guests had settled for the night, sharing ladders to climb up to the loft curtains. In the time she had spent with them, she had learned the innkeeper’s name – Huette – and also learned the Jouvent was not her natural son. She had lost three children to fevers and sickness and then lost her husband to the sea. Instead of despairing, she had started the inn to support herself. On a stormy night that had battered the dock-bound ships, a young woman from the Abbey had come. She was very ill and very rich and very much with child and Jouvent had been born by the hearth that night. The young woman was determined to abandon the child at the Abbey, but Huette had persuaded her to leave the child with her since bringing it out into the storm would have killed it for certain. The young woman did not care what happened to the child, so long as she was rid of it. She never left her name and she never came again. Lia stared at the boy as the innkeeper shared the story. Though a sickly thing at birth, he had managed to survive the winter and had grown strong and sturdy ever since.
The guests were all settled before midnight, and Huette tamped down the fires, locked the door and windows, and started sweeping up the spills and crumbs from the rush matting. Jouvent stared into the chimney, at the soot-choked Leering carved into the wall at the back of it. He stared at it, long and hard, but nothing happened.
“Why do you stare at the gargouelle?” Lia asked him softly.
He did not look at her. He shook his head.
“Tell me,” she whispered.
“Mother warned me never to tell of it. Too many Dochte Mandar about. They know when things happen.”
Lia stared at the Leering’s eyes and summoned their power with a thought, just enough to make the eyes glow red.
Jouvent looked at her knowingly. “Thou art a maston,” he whispered. He did not ask her to confirm it. He already knew.
“When did you realize it?” she answered softly, watching Huette as she cleaned the tables and decided to join her and help.
“I saw a peek at thy chaen,” he answered, his eyes meeting hers. “Earlier. I meant no disrespect, but I saw it and then I knew what it was.”
“How did you know?”
“The mastons find us,” he whispered. “Somehow they know they are safe here. Thou art safe here. In the morn, I will take thee to the Abbey. But I must warn thee. The Dochte Mandar have promised fifteen crown for any maston turned in. It is a lot of coin, my lady, and my mother and I are poor. But we always have enough to eat. Somehow, there is always enough. I judge it that by not turning thee in, there are blessings on our house.”
Lia smiled at him and stifled a yawn.
“Thou shouldst sleep,” he said. “Lay on my pallet, near the fire. I shall help mother.”
Lia could not argue, for she was exhausted. She stretched out on the pallet near the oven and stared at the winking embers as they died, one by one. Little bits of ash sizzled and she breathed in the scents and flavors that reminded her hauntingly of Pasqua’s kitchen. In her mind, she could hear the old woman bustling about, thumping ladles and fussing over stubborn dough. The guests at the inn had enjoyed her treats that night. She had earned some lavish compliments and the extra coin had made it the most prosperous evening throughout Huette’s time as an innkeeper.
Nestling beneath her cloak on the pallet, her thoughts drifted back to Muirwood again and she relished the memories. Long evening talks with Sowe after Pasqua had gone to bed. The thrum of the rain on the roof shingles during the wet season. How curious that her skills in the kitchen had served her so well. As she lay there, turning it over in her mind, an idea began to bloom. Maybe her skills at cooking would help her get inside Dochte Abbey. Was she just going to arrive and try to declare herself? No, that did not make sense. She wanted to find Colvin first, and if not Colvin, then maybe Martin. There was so much going on that she needed to warn them about.