Free The Blight of Muirwood by Jeff Wheeler Page B

“Colvin hates it when I call them that, but it is far more fitting than gargouelle . Why use a Dahomeyjan word when we are so far from that country? Some learners at her Abbey used to torment the laundry girls by making it spew water while they were washing clothes. And you know how fear hampers the Medium. Poor girl. I wish it had been you instead, Lia. I would have loved being your companion, your friend while you learned. But Ellowyn is a sweet girl. You will like her. She is shy, like Sowe. But you will help me draw her out?”
    “Of course. You are not afraid? Of those who hate her Family?”
    Her smile was infectious. “I do not fear, Lia. It does no good. First, my brother is a wickedly good swordsman. He trains every day, never satisfied with himself. Secondly, Muirwood has two hunters instead of one. And thirdly, one of my gifts of the Medium is the gift of warning. I have a sense for trouble before it happens. It is true. When I was a little girl, I was playing in the gardens. Two shepherd boys who worked our estate thought it would be silly if they tripped my ankles with their crooks. In my mind, I could hear their thoughts and felt them sneaking up on me though I could not see them. When I glanced back and caught them in the act, I ran screaming to my brother.”
    “Did he lose his temper?” Lia asked, eager to hear the story. This is dangerous, she thought. Marciana can tell me stories of his childhood!
    “He was all of twelve years old, but he acted like he was one and twenty. He warned those shepherd boys. He always warns first. You like hearing stories about him? Good! There are many he would not want me to tell you. And you must tell me your stories, Lia. I want to hear them. I want to know you better. I am jealous of Sowe that she knows so much about you, but she is too loyal to you to share anything interesting. From what Pasqua has said, you were a very naughty child. But you and I are alike, I think. I hope we can be friends?”
    “Lia! It is almost gone!” Pasqua said. “Hurry over lasses, or you will miss it.”
    “Here I am, stealing all your attention when you are probably starving. Come over and eat. We have the Aldermaston’s permission to be with you.”
    Lia joined the others and Edmon approached gallantly with a spoon for her. “It must be excruciating torture for you to live in a kitchen like this with such an excellent cook. And she has taught you all her secrets, has she?”
    “It has been a year, but I have not forgotten them all yet,” Lia said, tasting the Fool and enjoying it. It was always a favorite of hers. “You should try her sambocade too, Edmon. That will make you drool on yourself.”
    “Posh, lass. Do not be making any promises to him for me,” Pasqua said. “When Whitsunday comes, he will get his chance to taste it all. If he can stop dancing, that is.”
    Edmon rubbed his hands together. “I must be a fool, but I have always enjoyed ring dances like the maypole one they do here. It never took much coaxing to get me to try it. And with such lovely partners as all of you make, it would have to be a tempting display of desserts to draw me away.” He bowed his head dramatically to each of them, smiling like a blazing candle. “I hope you will all save a dance for me. You included, Pasqua.”
    “Me? Dance on Whitsunday?” Pasqua chided, beaming at the handsome young man. “When pigs fly, lad. When pigs fly. But I will save you some sambocade for the kind words.”
    His gallantry reminded Lia of what Astrid warned her of earlier. “I would like to see the look on Getman’s face when you ask Sowe,” Lia said softly after another spoonful.
    Sowe’s eyebrows crinkled and she looked at Lia curiously.
    “Who is Getman?” Edmon asked.
    “He is the blacksmith helper,” Bryn said. “Strong as an ox, but he is rude and jealous. Everyone is afraid of him except for Lia and Sowe. Lia hates him…well, maybe that is too strong, but she cannot abide his company,