The gleam of the taper was enough to illuminate his face. There was the scar at his eyebrow. The pucker of concentration, of barely controlled anger rumbling under the surface of his expression. He set the candle stick on the ledge by the window, next to the cup and the apple.

She watched his eyes glance away and then slowly, his face turned back to the ledge and he stared at the apple. He blinked quickly, seeing it, his expression turning more intense, more focused. Reaching slowly, hesitantly, he extended his hand until it closed around the fruit, his expression all astonishment and shock, as if he expected it to be nothing more than smoke.

He took the apple and brought it to his nose, smelling it deeply. His eyes were shut in intense concentration.

“Lia?” he whispered in the blackness.

* * *

“Marciana once told me of something that Ovidius wrote. Happy is the one who has broken the chains which hurt the mind, and has given up worrying once and for all. It is true. I feel free at last to act as I desire to act. To be bolder with my feelings than I have been before. When the king taunts and teases me, instead of blushing, I confront him. Today he stammered with surprise and looked genuinely pleased at my rebuke. There was something in his eyes that was not there yesterday. A genuine interest instead of a duty. Even Colvin began to change his attitude towards me today. I am acting more like Lia did, with more courage and determination. We spoke for a long time and I told him how much I longed to dance. He said he did not wish to dance the way that is acceptable in Dahomey. Here every man gives his partner a kiss when the dance is done. I think that is what troubles him. I said I did not expect him to change his customs or beliefs. That seemed to satisfy him. We did not dance tonight, but I am satisfied that he will change his mind. The king dances with me often. It is but a small kiss on the cheek. There is no harm in that.”

- Ellowyn Demont of Dochte Abbey

* * *

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN:

A Cemetery Ring

Lia answered Colvin’s whisper by pulling open the wall and revealing herself to the light of his taper. He stood there, staring at her, his eyes growing wider and wider. He seemed not to breathe, as if one more word would make her vanish.

“Is this is a dream?” he said. “You are truly here, Lia? This is no conjuring from my mind? Say something. Let me hear your voice.”

A smile spread across her mouth, one she could not withhold if she had wanted to. “What would you have me say then?” she answered, stepping into the room and leaving the stone doorway ajar.

“How is it you are even walking?” he demanded incredulously. “Show me your hand.”

She offered the hand where an arrow had transfixed her palm. There was a puckered scar there, but it was healing and rarely pained her.

“Not that hand – the one with the maston scar,” he said.

She offered the other, which was but a pink little blemish against her skin. “Now are you satisfied?”

He stared at her with a mixture of emotions on his face. They were conflicted. She could see part of him was overjoyed at seeing her, yet there was also the look of blatant panic that she was in such a place as Dochte Abbey. He took her hand tentatively. His hand was warm, it had not succumbed to the chill of the room yet. His eyes continued to stare at her face, a battle of emotions going through his expressions, two warring sides that collided and struck and raged inside him of how he should react to her presence.

“You are here,” he whispered again, struck with amazement.

“I am here. I am hale. And your sister is safe.”

Her words were like crumbs to a starving man. He reacted to them instantly, pulling her into an embrace so tight she nearly squealed with surprise and shock from its violence. His body shuddered as he clutched her, and she held him just as tightly, burying her tears against the velvet jerkin at his throat. His chin rested against her hair at first and then she felt his mouth pressed against her hair, as if reverently blessing her head. The room had been so cold and now he was there, all warmth and softness. The velvet jerkin smelled of incense smoke. So did his skin, but she could still make out his own scent, the one she remembered so well.

His voice was just a whisper. “Several days ago there was a storm, a brutal storm that raged in the sea. The storm ended abruptly and then there was a ship. I saw it from my window. It was a massive ship that sailed towards this accursed place. I could see it from that window and when I saw it, the Medium whispered to me that you were coming.” He pulled back slightly and took her face in his hands. “I have worried for you in recent days. I have been desperate with worry. Something was happening to you. There was danger. It brooded over me like the storm clouds had. I have held vigil for you for several nights now, focusing my thoughts on your safety and protection.” His eyes drooped wearily. “I am so tired, Lia. I have never been this weary before. Was that your ship? Was that you…coming?”