The Scourge of Muirwood (Legends of Muirwood 3)

He crouched down, squatting close to her so his eyes could focus on hers. The feeling of blackness made her dizzy, forced her to tremble and cower. Her arms were heavy with the chains. “I know who you are,” he said. “Who you truly are.”

She swallowed, amazed but wary. “You do?” she asked, wondering if the binding would prevent him from speaking it.

“What did the Aldermaston of Muirwood tell you? Or did he ever tell you?”

Lia was silent, waiting for the other man to speak. She slowly slid away from him, until she felt the cold iron of the door press against her back.

He rose, looming over her. Every feeling of warmth and goodness disappeared from her heart and soul in his presence. Every spark of kindness or love sapped away. She shivered with the feeling, even though the Leering in the room made the dungeon stifling.

“Almaguer recognized you,” he said softly, almost in a kindly tone. There was nothing kindly in the way it made her feel. “I see it before me as well. You are a Demont. Rub away the dirt and grime and you have your grandmother’s features. The slope of your chin. The clever expression when you smile. You are a Demont, child. It is plain for anyone to see.” He stepped closer, squinting at her thoughtfully. “It is a wonder Garen Demont did not recognize you. But then the man has always been self-righteous and blind. Yes, child – you are a Demont. How old did they tell you that you were? When was your name day?”

“I am nearly sixteen,” Lia said, confused and wary.

“No, you are eighteen. At least eighteen. You likely had your first year before you were abandoned at Muirwood. Too little to remember anything of where you came from. Or who your mother was. Your father was a Demont – a warrior of great ability. He was Sevrin Demont’s oldest son and he died with his father at Maseve. When they sought an alliance with the Kings of Pry-Ree, he fell in love with a woman of the court, a lady in waiting to the nobles of Pry-Ree. A lady in waiting who was a hetaera.”

Lia flinched.

“You know the word, for you are a maston yourself. You have studied the maston lore. She betrayed her lover, as all hetaera betray those they love. She betrayed him to his death at Maseve. But she was carrying his child. You. It was in secret, of course. No one was to know that you had been born or when you had been born. You were sent to Muirwood deliberately, child. You were sent there to destroy it.” His smile was cold and cruel. “You are gifted with the Medium. I can sense it in you. You have only begun to learn its full potential. So you see, child – Dochte Abbey welcomed you. The gargouelle let you pass because it recognized the kinship in your blood. You have betrayed the Evnissyen. You have betrayed the Aldermaston of Muirwood. And very soon, you will betray Colvin Price, the man who loves you so fiercely. When you do, you will pass the hetaera test and realize your full power as a daughter of Ereshkigal. You will learn all of our poisons and their many potencies. There are a variety of serpents, after all, each one with venom that can control the thoughts and minds and bodies of those bitten. Your mother killed the Prince of Pry-Ree’s young wife after she birthed her first and only child – Ellowyn. Betrayal is your heritage, child. It is the heritage of all wretcheds and the reason they are not allowed to study.” He laughed softly. “Poor fool, Gideon Penman. By trusting you, he destroys himself.”

Lia’s stomach swirled with odd, conflicting feelings. He had unleashed a hurricane of doubts against her mind. But she held firm in what she knew to be true. There was some element of truth in his words. She sensed it, but could not discern the specks of gold with all the mud of lies. Instead of trying to, she clamped her mind shut to his ideas. He was trying to poison her thoughts, seed her with doubts so that the Medium would abandon her. By doubting who she really was, he would then manipulate her feelings.

She remembered her charge.

“I came here with a message for you,” Lia said, looking up at the void that threatened to swallow her.

He smiled, seeming impressed with her boldness. “Another warning of the Blight, child? Truly, how tiresome.”

“It may be tiresome, but it is still true,” she said. “It will strike here first. It will strike the heart of Dochte Abbey. Then it will spread and consume all lands. This is your final warning.”

The Aldermaston looked at her, amused. “And who told you of this Blight coming? Hmmm?”

“An Aldermaston,” she replied.

“From which Abbey? There are many, as you know. I must judge the reliability of your claim, after all. From which Abbey does this warning come?”