“Lia Cook,” he said in his deep, raspy voice. “By Idumea’s hand, I gift you to hear and understand languages. I gift you with the ability to speak in any foreign tongue. To be understood and to speak freely. I give unto you the Gift of xenoglossia. May it serve you well in your purpose in life. I also gift you peace and protection that you will live to fulfill the Medium’s will.”

As he spoke, the Medium surged within her. She felt it singing in her blood, filling every nook within her. Tears stung her eyes at its familiar, tender presence. The peace of Muirwood descended on her. He finished the benediction and lifted his hand.

Gratefully, she stood and looked at him, feeling a sharp pang in her heart. “Thank you, Aldermaston. I have a feeling that…we will be parted soon.”

He smiled. “I feel it as well. Long have I been preparing you for that moment.” His voice thickened with repressed emotions. Glancing down, he coughed to clear his throat. “I pray you will forgive me, but I nearly refused another attempt to purchase your freedom. That was selfish of me. I should give you the opportunity to choose for yourself, and so I have.”

She paused, looking at him sternly. “I would never serve the Earl of Dieyre,” she said.

“No. I would counsel you against that. The Fesit family is coming to celebrate Whitsunday in the hopes of procuring your release so you can marry their son. Apparently you made an impression on them last year at the dance. They will be arriving at week’s end.”

Lia’s eyes widened with horror. “Duerden?”

The Aldermaston nodded. “It is your decision, Lia. My only request is that when the time comes, you escort Ellowyn Demont to a safe haven. But I will not forbid your happiness. He is a good young man, will make an excellent maston . You could do much worse than him.”

“Thank you, Aldermaston,” Lia said, trembling with shock as she left.

* * *

Sowe and Bryn were asleep, the door to the kitchen secured tight, so Lia slept on a pallet on the rush-matting in Pasqua’s room, but Pasqua’s snores kept her awake most of the night. Her mind raged with thoughts. Duerden wanted to marry her? They had never discussed such a thing before. He had never intimated that it was his desire. Awake before the dawn, she washed her face with water from a dish, combed some of the tangles out of her wild hair and then joined the commotion of the manor house that struck earlier than usual. The Queen Dowager was not to be deterred by the rain and snapped orders to her servants to make ready. As the sun rose, her retinue had gathered outside the gates in a light drizzle. In a black velvet riding cloak, the Queen Dowager mounted astride a white stallion with leather harness studded with silver stars. She stared at the Abbey, studying it with an expression of loathing. Lia wanted to spook her stallion and make it bolt. She walked amidst the host and servants, all barking to each other in Dahomeyjan.

“Will the Abbey burn with so much rain?” one muttered savagely, his dark face twisted into a scowl.

“Hush, you fool,” another snapped, glaring at Lia as she passed.

“She is a wretched,” the man said with a snort. “She cannot understand.”

The Earl of Dieyre was not among the riders, so she sought out Prestwich. “Where is Dieyre?” she asked him.

“Still abed, complaining of a stomach ailment. Siara is attending to him, but he says the cramps will not let him mount. He is all but accusing the Aldermaston of poisoning him.”

Lia smirked. “It is a pretext. He has another motive and does not wish to ride with the Queen Dowager. Tell the Aldermaston I heard one of them mutter of burning the Abbey.”

“I should like to see them try,” Prestwich replied grimly, his eyes searing with anger.

In due order, the retinue exited Muirwood’s gates and rode towards the Tor where Lia imagined they would meet up with the other men and possibly even the kishion. If what Dieyre said was true, he would linger after the retinue left. She wondered what sort of man he was. The bulk of the day she spent roving the grounds, looking for signs of Dieyre or any stragglers from the retinue. She missed the mid-day meal, but came to the kitchen afterwards and was grateful Pasqua had finished frying some crispels on a skillet. They were warm and sweet.

“Where were you yesterday?” Brynn asked Lia, twirling around. “It was raining so hard, there was nothing else to do but wait inside. Edmon danced with us.”

Lia raised her eyebrows at them both. “Did he?”

Brynn was beaming. “He said he wanted to be sure he knew the maypole dance done in this Hundred. He asked Sowe if she would teach him. When she did, he then danced with me and then Pasqua. He is a very good dancer, Lia. He said he wished you were there so he could dance with you as well.”