“That is impertinent, Lia. He is a stern man, does not suffer fools…”

Colvin twirled the stem in his hand and crossed the maze of purple flowers to reach them.

“I am going to ask him,” Lia whispered.

“Lia, do not!” Duerden whispered back.

“Good day, Lia,” Colvin said. He looked at Duerden and an expression clouded his face for just an instant. She did not understand what it meant, but she noticed it. “I do not believe we have been introduced,” he said to Duerden. “I am Colvin Price. I bid you good day.”

Duerden stared at him as if some thunder had exploded in his ears and he could not hear a word.

Colvin waited for an awkward moment, patient.

“This is Duerden Fesit,” Lia said, tugging at his hand. “From Fath Court Hundred.” His palm was sweaty and cold. “He is the friend I told you of.”

Colvin was composed. Duerden looked as white as an eggshell.

“We were just talking,” Lia went on, patting Duerden’s hand in sympathy. “About all the rumors involving Winterrowd. You were there, were you not, Lord Colvin? At the battle?”

The look he gave her had the sheen of amusement. “Yes.”

“Well, Duerden was just telling me that some are saying there was not a battle. That Garen Demont could not possibly have defeated the king’s army, not losing a single man, without some treachery. It is said that the old king was murdered. Have you heard these rumors?”

Suddenly Duerden’s mouth was working again. “I was not saying that…what I meant is…that is what some are saying, not what I myself believe. I trust implicitly in the power of the Medium, but for the sake of reason and argument, I cannot vouch for what I did not myself witness, since I was here, as you know…learning.” He took a gulp of air. “I apologize for bothering you, Lord Price. It will not…happen…again.” His complexion went from white to green.

Colvin’s tone was measured, but his eyes flashed with annoyance. “If I were in your position, I would feel the same. The story is truly incredible. But as Lia said, I was there. I witnessed it. We were outnumbered, surrounded, and had to fight for our own survival. I was one of many knights who earned a collar that day. There was a battle and the Medium was with us. And it is true – not a single man of our company died, though each of us bears the scars of our wounding. Those of us who were there are…uncomfortable…speaking of it. It was a singular moment in my life. Hence the whispers and the rumors.”

Duerden’s mouth quavered. “I pray I did not offend you,” he mumbled.

“If you are Lia’s friend, you cannot offend me,” he replied. “Tell me – what studies do you prefer? Which tomes of the ancients do you scribe?”

“I have read many, but, I have studied more particularly the tome of Aldermaston Willibald.”

“The Hodoeporicon?”

“That is the one.”

“I found it rather tedious. But there is wisdom in it. I bid you both good day.”

With that, he gave a graceful nod and started back towards the Abbey. Lia felt a gush of unease, wondering what he thought of them. It was so difficult pretending in front of others, forbidden to reveal that their knowledge of each other went well beyond what anyone expected. No one else knew that Colvin had hid in the Aldermaston’s kitchen except for a few. No one else knew that Lia had stolen the Cruciger orb to find their way through the Bearden Muir to the battleground. No one else knew that she was the one who had toppled the king from his saddle with one of Jon Hunter’s arrows. No one except the Aldermaston and Maderos.

She watched Colvin pass by when he stopped and turned around. “When you have a moment, Lia, there is a passage from the Tome of Soliven you would be interested in. I thought of you when reading it.”

A different feeling spread through her stomach – warmth and giddiness. She looked back at him, saw his fingers absently twirling the stem of the purple mint.

“I have an errand to run for the Aldermaston at the Pilgrim first. When I return, I will find you.”

He nodded and went back through the trees.

Duerden let out a pent-up breath. “He is…intimidating. Like the Aldermaston.”

Lia smiled at the description. “He is just a man, Duerden. Like you will be when you finish learning at the Abbey.”

He shook his head. “I doubt it, Lia. I doubt it.” His expression soured. “I do not think I will ever be that tall.”

* * *

“Just as the lamp burns bright when wick and oil are clean, so is it with our minds. All things can corrupt when minds are prone to evil. A soft word of praise benignly intended can wreak havoc on one whose ears itch to hear it. So often we are pulled and strung along by our feelings, led to this mischief and that because we crave a fleeting emotion. Our simmering anger needs but a nudge to flame up and scald everyone around us. Yet when our thoughts are pure, we become a light by which others learn to read.”