Lia scratched her neck, longing for a bath. Siara had given her some special salts to bathe with which would also help with the healing. Thoughts jumbled through her mind. If she had time the next day, she would seek out Duerden and ask what he knew about the Queen Dowager. She had avoided the learner lately because he was so enraptured with his studies about the Medium and wanted to boast to her what he was learning. He did not realize that she already knew it – that someone else had already taught her the basics he was struggling to comprehend. It was so frustrating having to keep secrets from him, to pretend she knew nothing about it. That the Medium obeyed her in ways he could not even imagine.
As she approached the kitchen, she noticed the light in the upper windows were full, so she realized Sowe and Bryn were still awake. Exhaustedly, she pulled at the handle and it opened easily, filling her with the breath of baked bread, some roast in the spit, and fragrant cloves and spices. A man’s voice was telling a story – a voice she recognized instantly and it caused her stomach to drop down to her toes.
It was Edmon’s voice. They had met at the battlefield of Winterrowd in Colvin’s tent. “…No, it is true! Do not laugh – it was the perfect depiction of stubbornness you could imagine. Picture this - the king’s council and there was Demont, red-faced and shouting…” He stopped suddenly, turning to the opening door.
Lia stood for a moment in utter shock. Edmon, the Earl of Norris-York, was telling stories in the kitchen – her kitchen – as if that were completely normal. There was Pasqua, grinning and serving up a bowl of tarterelles. Sowe and Bryn were hanging on his every word, their eyes lit by the lantern light.
Then she heard another voice as he emerged from the shadows beneath the loft. “Lia?”
There was Colvin.
It was too much. All eyes fastened to her standing in the doorway. Could they see her ravaged face in the shadows? She was completely overwhelmed. Colvin approached, wearing clothes elegant enough for a prince of the realm. His maston-sword was belted to his waist. She looked at his face as he approached, saw the little scar near his eyebrow and her blood began pounding inside her ears. Not tonight. Not like this! She was ashamed at her appearance, her muddy clothes, the rash and salve. She could not swallow. She could not breathe. She could not even think properly.
“Lia?” Edmon asked, straightening and then smiling. “Lia! You returned early!”
She slammed the door and started away, walking briskly then started to run, but she was so tired she only made it a few steps before walking again. The kitchen door opened and she heard his boots on the grass behind her. She was mortified beyond anything. This was worse than Reome’s teasing her about Duerden over and over. Worse than Getman’s contempt towards her and his grinning leers at Sowe. She kept walking as fast as she could, but he caught up with her before she made it around the corner of the kitchen into the shadows where the moon could not reveal her disfigurement.
“Lia, wait!”
His voice. She had starved to hear his voice again. For nearly a year, she had waited for him to return to Muirwood, to explain himself. To apologize. For weeks after Whitsunday, she had prepared little speeches in her mind. Not a single word from any of them came to her.
Fool, fool, fool! she cursed herself. She was a hunter! She should have noticed the signs that something was different. Careless. So careless in her exhaustion. Stopping suddenly, she turned in time to see Colvin reaching out to grab her cloak.
“Do not touch me!” she screeched at him. She flung her cloak behind her, knowing it was still infected with the sap’s poison. She took two steps backwards and swallowed heavily, trying to find her voice through the humiliation. He stopped, stunned, his eyes widening with shock and hurt.
“Please…please do not touch me,” she said and groaned at herself.
His voice was stern. “Show me your face.”
She shook her head violently and backed away further. “Go. Please go.”
“What happened to your face?”
“I cannot see you. Not like this.”
“I do not care what you look like! You have seen me at my worst before.”
She said nothing.
“Can I see you tomorrow?”
She nodded lamely.
Pasqua’s voice bellowed from the doorway. “Lia! Child! Where are you! Lia?” She sounded frantic.
“We are guests at the Abbey,” Colvin announced. “There is so much I have to tell you. So much to explain. I am sorry, Lia. I truly am. I will see you tomorrow.”
He hesitated before leaving her, his hand slowly clenching and unclenching. She had seen that gesture so many times during their moments together. Then he turned and walked back to the kitchen, his voice low when he spoke to Pasqua. “She is around the corner. Edmon. We must go. Now.”