“I do not think so,” Lia replied, hedging. “I am on a journey to Doviur.”

“I know most of the Families in your Hundred. Even the minor ones, like the Fesits. I would have heard if any passed the maston test so young. Who is your Family?”

Lia clenched her fists, trying to calm her anger. “I must be leaving. I am sorry to have disturbed you.”

“You will not tell me. I command you to speak. This is my domain, my hospitality.” He paused, looking at her again, more closely. “You have no Family, do you? I can see it in your bearing, your countenance. You must be a wretched.” He looked genuinely startled. “He elevated a wretched?” he murmured to himself. “Is that the new fad in Muirwood these days? Anyone who can kindle a gargouelle spark can take the test? I should have known. Cunning old fool.”

If Lia’s temper was not already smoldering, it suddenly blazed white hot. She said nothing, for any words out of her mouth would have been insulting.

The Aldermaston took another drink, regarding her closely. “So why are you bound for Doviur, my dear? Did Gideon Penman suspect that I would fail to warn the port cities about his imagined dangers? That I would not see through his ploy to legitimate Demont as usurper and king? Flee to Muirwood, there is danger! Leave your homes or you will all be destroyed! Bah! Does he truly think I am that naïve?”

A cold feeling ran down Lia’s back. “You have not warned them?” she asked, aghast.

“Warn them of what? You are a wretched, so what can you possibly know about the ways of the world.” He turned away from her, cradling his goblet, then turned on her fiercely, his dark eyes smoldering with anger. “Let me educate you, child. Your Aldermaston conspired to murder the king. An anointed king! Why? Because the king had threatened to revoke his tax immunity. The king’s tax can only be collected in the jurisdiction of the king’s sheriffs. Poor Almaguer was murdered too. Child, do you not understand that Muirwood is the richest Abbey in the realm? Did you not know that this cider, this Muirwood cider that everyone craves, has tripled in price over the last three years? I am sure his coffers are fit to burst with the wealth he has earned from the cider trade. Enough wealth to lure Demont back from overseas and pay for his army of pretended mastons.” He reached out and handled the smoke-stained fabric of her cloak. “One would think he could afford to attire his wretcheds more appropriately.”

Lia grit her teeth, furious at the accusations. “I can assure you that the Aldermaston of Muirwood is not as wealthy as you presume. The Blight is real. Manifestations of it are ravaging the woods in our Hundred. Have you not heard of Sempringfall Abbey? It was burned.”

The man snorted. “It is a lie. It is a story you have been told because you trust an old man who cannot stand to lose his power and influence. Word of the king’s murder has reached our ears. I have it on good authority that the High Seer of Avinion has sent instructions for him to be arrested and brought to trial here, at Augustin. The wild tale of a great Blight coming is just a distraction. Every time the earth shudders, or a storm ravages a crop, or a new pestilence kills the grain, there is a quick opinion that we are being wicked and that it is the Blight. The Medium would not destroy the inhabitants of seven kingdoms. It is blasphemy even to suggest it.”

Lia shook her head. “You must warn the people. Even if you do not believe it is real, it is your duty to warn them. You are an Aldermaston…”

“I know very well who I am, child.” He gave her a look of condescending smugness. “Gideon will not be the Aldermaston of Muirwood for much longer. When the High Seer’s missive arrives, I will be taking it personally to deliver. I have it on good authority, you understand, that the post will be given to me.” There was something in his eyes, a look of glee that was nearly incoherent. He raised the goblet to his mouth and frowned to learn it was empty. He thrust it angrily into the older maston’s hand with a nod to go fill it again.

He looked at her and his voice was a little slurred as he spoke. “You are sixteen, you say? What position do you serve? I see a weapon – a girl with a weapon. Is that a bow on your shoulder? It is. You are a hunter then?”

Lia nodded, clenching her teeth.

“I should like to see how well you hunt. In the morning, you will bring me a pheasant for my afternoon meal. Or a pig. You are no doubt used to hunting the pig that root amidst the oaks of Muirwood. I hear they are especially delicious. Pig and cider.”

“I have duties to perform in Doviur. I beg you excuse me.”