“Maybe that sore belly will remind you to think better next time,” Pasqua said in her most scolding tone.
Sowe bowed her head to hide her blushing. “Yes, Pasqua,” she whispered.
“Drink another cup of valerianum tea, and you will feel better tomorrow.” Smugly, the cook cleaned her hands on the apron while looking around the preparation table. “Lia, grind some fresh nutmeg before you lay down. In the morning, make some topping with oats, treacle, sugar, and butter for the Aldermaston. I wish it were the season for apples, but we have some other fruit so we will use what we have.”
“Yes, Pasqua,” Lia said with an exaggerated yawn.
“You should very well be tired. I hope you both learn to be wiser, or the Aldermaston will make you wait another year to let you dance around the maypole.” She paused, glancing around the kitchen once more as if she’d forgotten a ladle or something. “Secure the door when I am gone. Now, Lia. No dawdling.”
After snatching her cloak from the peg near the door, Pasqua went into the gloomy darkness and the door thumped shut.
Lia dusted her hands and drew the crossbar in place and turned back to Sowe. “Complain if you must, but it did work.”
The squire’s voice ghosted from the loft. “Will she return?”
“Not tonight. She was fidgeting to use the garderobe again, so she will not walk back through the mud unless she sees the kitchen on fire.”
“Where is my shirt?”
Lia walked to the basket beneath the loft poles and touched it. “Still damp. I could not dry it in front of Pasqua, but I can dry it now. It will not take long by the fire. Come down, if you can manage it.” A thin cord was already stretched taut on the corner wall by the bread oven, the wooden pins still fastened there. The dresses she had washed earlier were already dried and folded, so she withdrew and unfolded the shirt, taking aside the sprig of purple mint in the basket, and fastened both to the line. She stared at the Leering carved into the wall at the rear of the oven. The walls were caked with soot and smoke, the visage black, the mouth twisted open like a scream of pain. She stared into its eyes, waking it with a thought. The eyes blazed orange and fire engulfed the oven from the Leering’s mouth. The heat singed her cheeks, making her smile with satisfaction. With the Leering, it did not need wood to burn.
“What are you doing?” Sowe whispered after rushing over. She looked over her shoulder at the squire climbing down the ladder. “You never do that in front of people. Lia, he will see it!”
“And who is he going to tell?” Lia asked smugly. She ducked around the shirt and straightened the fabric.
He reached the bottom and stared at them both, his face twitching with anger. “How did you start a fire so quickly?”
She ignored the question but saw that he had noticed the bright flames. “It will dry your shirt faster,” Lia said, but he walked past her and planted his hand on the stone above the fireplace, looking at it then at her, then back at it again. The flames went out with a whoosh, the Leering tamed.
“Do it again,” he ordered. He had a look on his face, a mixture of fear and anger.
She scratched the side of her neck, stared into the tortured eyes, and the flames flared up, even hotter this time. With a thought, she made them hot enough that he had to retreat or be burned. His chaen shirt glimmered in the firelight. As his eyes were locked on hers, the flames went out again.
His gaze wandered down to her neck. “You wear a charm on your string. Let me see it.”
She had worn the gold ring around her neck since the stormy night long ago. “It is just a trinket. Why?”
“Let me see it.”
She pulled the ring from her bodice and let it hang in front of her gown. He squinted at it, his face filled with a terrible look. The blood was black against his eyebrow, the bandage askew. For a moment, a fish of fear wriggled inside her, and she thought he might try to snatch the ring from her.
“May I handle it?” he asked.
“I never take it off,” she replied. “But you can see it.” She held it up so that the firelight played off its smooth edge. Sowe gulped, her eyes wide with nervousness.
The squire reached out tentatively, cocking his head as he examined it. “Just a ring? A gold band?”
She slid it on and off her small finger to demonstrate, then let it dangle. With a little thought, without the Leering in her direct sight, the fire flared up again and he jumped, startled.
“How long have you practiced taming the Medium?” he asked her, turning around and staring into the flames.