The niece of Garen Demont. Questions like buzzing flies swarmed around and around in Lia’s mind. She had seen Garen Demont following the battle of Winterrowd. Graciously, he had given credit for his victory to the Medium and forbidden anyone to boast of the battle where none of his soldiers had been killed. Such a thing had never been heard of before. Afterwards, he had seized custody of the young king and became Protector of the Realm. Many of the earls and barons revolted against the change and refused to swear homage to the young king with Demont controlling him. Many did support him, so the kingdom was dangling between peace and civil war. Some defied Demont but there were others who had hated the old king and his ruthless acts. It was a tottering pile of dishes that could come crashing down. She remembered something the Aldermaston had told her.

“Finished,” Sowe mumbled and put away the comb.

Lia sat forward eagerly. “The Aldermaston said tonight that the Queen Dowager was coming to Muirwood. Did you…?” She stopped, seeing their surprised faces. “I guess you did not know that. She is coming for Whitsunday.”

Sowe looked serious. “The king’s widow? Why?”

There was so much happening so quickly. Lia rose and started pacing. “When I left, everything was its usual boring self. Now look at it all. I do not know whose side she is on, but I would guess she supports the side of her son. Colvin would know, if he will speak to me again after tonight,” she muttered. She wanted to talk to him desperately, to apologize for screaming at him and crying.

Sowe gave her a hug. “Lia, when they came, they both asked to see you right away. That should please you. The Earl of Forshee…Colvin…was very kind to me. He said that he still owed me a gift. You remember, for the time when I helped. You did most of the work. But he remembered his promise. I wonder…I wonder if he came all this way for a reason. That his sister is going to study here for the next year at least. He is a maston already, no longer a learner.”

Lia looked at her.

“You know…to teach you himself,” Sowe suggested.

The burning in Lia’s heart nearly choked her.

* * *

At dawn the next morning, Lia retired to the laundry to clean her gear. The water gushing from the Leering’s mouth was scalding hot, but Lia kept her mind on the heat and scrubbed at her leather tools using gloves and the wood ash soaps. She cleaned the sap-stained hunter equipment first – her girdle, bracers, shooting glove, quiver, scabbard – and then set them aside and bundled up the damp dress. She heard voices and footsteps approaching. Angry to be interrupted, she willed the Leering to stop. The eyes of the Leering cooled and the water ceased flowing.

The morning was cool and misty and the grounds were veiled. Martin was always up before dawn, and she did not want to miss the Aldermaston’s news, so she hurried to gather up her things as the lavenders approached, but the clutch of girls entered the roofed shelter before she could leave.

Reome had a way of scrutinizing with her eyes that made others feel mottled and ugly. With her voice, she could cut as efficiently as a fruit knife. “Look at your face, Lia,” she said with a tiny smirk. “What disease are you suffering from?” She clucked her tongue. “Right before Whitsunday too. How awful.”

Lia hefted the basket and tried to walk past without answering, but the other lavenders unfolded like a wall, blocking her path. They all had daggers for eyes and carried their wicker baskets in front of them.

“Let me through,” Lia said impatiently. “The Aldermaston is expecting me.”

“What happened to your face?” Reome asked, squinting and looking revolted and delighted at the same time.

“It is none of your concern. Let me pass.”

“Are you really so anxious to see the Aldermaston? I doubt it. The new guests must be luring you. Treasa says the Earl of Norris-York is the prettiest man in the Hundred. She has offered to help with his laundry and he accepted. The brooding one said he will not, that he would only trust you.”

“Me?” Lia asked, startled.

“Not you, specifically,” Reome said, and Lia could tell she was trying to draw out information from her. “Only that one of the Aldermaston’s girls would do it. You are still the Aldermaston’s girl, Lia. Are you not?” Her smile was sickeningly close to a leer.

Lia’s cheeks went hot, but she controlled her emotions. Reome was eighteen now. After Whitsunday, she would leave Muirwood and either marry the local blacksmith or have to find work in one of the bigger towns. She was a beautiful girl – would no doubt find little difficulty convincing a boy to marry her. But in Muirwood, and for most of her life, she had been seen as the most beautiful, the most desirable – until the last Whitsunday when Sowe had emerged and taken Reome’s place, without ever trying and without saying a mean-spirited word to anyone. The sudden attention had bolstered Sowe’s lacking confidence and her timidity shrank when she realized that boys would stumble over their tongues just to bid her hello. But unlike Reome, she had not used the situation to belittle others or set the lads fetching things for her or making other girls do her work for her. It was a festering sore to Reome, and Lia could see it pock-marking her soul.