“A clever verse,” Lia said.

“It is a clever verse. It talks about three of the things that keep us from letting the Medium master us. Jealousy, fear, and pride. You do not seem a jealous girl.”

“I am,” Lia said. “Sometimes.”

“No,” he said. “I have not seen even a spark of that in you. Trust me – I have seen jealous girls. They speak with venom. They claw each other over trifles. You are ambitious, to be sure, but not proud. As a wretched, how could you be proud? You are in a forced state of humility. But even so, your attitude rises above it. Your demeanor is confident, not sullen. So it is fear. That is what is holding you back from the Medium. It is your fear.”

At such a moment, she wished she had a sturdy pan she could clench and crack his head with. Rather than screech at him, she kept her voice calm. “Colvin, I am away from my home in the middle of a swamp with the sheriff’s men chasing after us. Yes…I am afraid. I am terrified! I am cold. Above even those, I am thirsty. If it rained, at least I could wring water from my dress and drink. We have eaten nothing but apples. This is by far the most miserable moment of my life. I am afraid. But nothing you taught me today helps me be unafraid.”

“It begins with a thought,” Colvin said. “As I told you…”

“You do not understand!” she said, cutting him off. “I do not want to feel this way. But I do. You taught me that I need to focus my thoughts, that thoughts create feelings. Why can you not understand that all I have are memories of Muirwood? There is nothing else! Being cold reminds me of being warm. Being hungry reminds me of being fed. Being lonely…”

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them, for they brought tears gushing. She hated crying, especially in front of him. He crouched near her, helpless as a dolt. He looked pole axed, impotent, and it made her all the angrier. The tears were hot on her lashes. Why could he never see that she needed someone to comfort her, not gawk at her? Sobs shook her for several minutes, but finally she controlled them again. She would not look at him. Burying her wet cheek against her arm, she looked another way, ashamed and hurting, wishing he would curl up against the saddle and just go to sleep.

His voice was soft, almost a whisper. “When I left Forshee for the first time, I was about your age. I left to be a learner. My pride would never admit it, but I did miss home very much. I missed my sister. I missed my father and his wisdom. I even missed my mother, who I scarcely remember now, since she died when my sister was born. I was five, I think. Billerbeck Hundred is lonely country. I felt it keenly.”

Still, she did not look at him or say anything.

“I cannot say the feelings ever left me, but they did diminish over time. That, I can promise you. Muirwood is a beautiful abbey. I went there once with my father when I was very young. I think we went to the Whitsun Fair. I was only a boy, but I remember watching the maypole dance.”

The Whitsun Fair – the event every wretched in the abbey longed for out of the year. The time when the gates were opened and the villagers and abbey mingled. Visitors from all over the country descended on Muirwood to buy kegs of cider, to trade leather for silk, or to taste the famous dishes that could only be found there. And then when the sun had set, the torches and lanterns would bring a second dawn as the young men and women gathered around the maypole, clasped hands, and danced, weaving colorful sashes down the length of it.

Lia lifted her head, her heart nearly breaking with sorrow. “Colvin, this Whitsunday was to be my first in the dancing circle. My very first. There was a learner…a first-year…I promised…” She blinked away fresh tears. “I promised him I would dance with him. I have broken that promise now, and I will never get that chance again to dance around the maypole.”

Colvin said nothing after that, but his eyes were downcast with sympathy. There really was nothing he could say.

* * *

The crunch of a twig woke her, woke them both. The moon was beyond the horizon. It was dark, and Lia shivered, her body huddled up as tight as a walnut. The horse nickered from the far side of the hill, but the cracking sound had come much closer.

Colvin’s voice was a pale whisper. “Did you hear that?”

“Yes,” she answered, her heart bulging in her throat.

“Lay still.” In the darkness, she heard the faint sound of Colvin’s sword dragging clear its scabbard.

Her heart beat frantically. The sherrif’s men had found them. Or was is Almaguer alone, as in her dream? Was the dream a shadow of what would happen? Was it a vision? The helplessness of not being able to awaken made her want to run, to flee from the presence sneaking up on them.