She approached the Aldermaston’s door and opened it without knocking first. She regretted it instantly. The Aldermaston looked haggard at his desk, his eyes red with veins and swollen with lack of sleep. His left hand trembled on the desk, a sign of his age and the strain he had endured. He was talking to Garen Demont, her uncle.

“I am sorry,” she offered as their heads turned towards her.

“Is something the matter, Lia?” the Aldermaston said.

“I am sorry for interrupting you,” she said, nodding respectfully at Demont. Her eyes blazed as she stared at the Aldermaston. “I must speak with you.”

“Come in then, child.” His eyes became wary, seeing the flush on her cheeks and the brooding anger in her eyes. “Shut the door. Have you met our hunter, Earl Demont?”

Garen Demont was younger than the Aldermaston, but he was much older than Lia. He was not excessively tall, but he was fit and trim for a man nearly fifty. He had survived the battle of Maseve as a young man, escaped the kingdom and fought for foreign kings in turn. But he had returned at last to challenge the king for his family’s birthright and defeated him at the battle of Winterrowd. Lia had been there and recalled seeing him there, perched on a wagon the evening of the battle, all blood-spattered and filthy as he announced their victory in a humble manner. She had not seen him since then until he had arrived at Muirwood to defeat their enemies. His knights had traveled through the Apse Veil, the barrier within each Abbey that allowed someone to pass from one location to another.

His hair was dark and unruly. A maston sword hung from a scuffed leather belt at his hip. He did not have a beard, though the bristles had reformed already and he looked ready for a shave again. He looked at her curiously and bowed his head towards her.

“We have, Aldermaston. Briefly.” He gave her a sympathetic look. “I hope you are recovering from your injuries?”

Her heart burned inside of her. He was the only family she had left. He was her uncle, in blood, and he did not know it. She started to tremble.

“What is it you wanted to tell me?” the Aldermaston asked pointedly.

She glanced at him, seeing his eyebrows fold with intensity. He sat back in his chair, wincing with pain as he moved.

“You wish me to speak it now?” she asked, nodding towards Demont.

He gave her a shrewd smile. “Please do.”

Her heart throbbed in her chest. What would Demont think of her? How would he react to her news? As she began to speak, her mouth would not open. The force of the Medium slammed into her, cleaving her tongue. She could say nothing. Even breathing was difficult. Her mind whirled.

“Lia?” the Aldermaston asked mildly, but she could see knowledge in his eyes. He knew exactly what was happening to her. Was he doing it to her? Or was the Medium preventing her because it did not want Demont knowing?

She shook her head violently, feeling tears prick her eyes. The thought of something else to say loosed her tongue. “Do you have…any word from Colvin?”

“No,” the earl said, startling her. “Not directly. But we do have word of him and of my niece.” He looked at the Aldermaston, who nodded curtly. “The king of Dahomey sends us word demanding the release of his sister, Pareigis, into his custody. He has informed us that he will keep my niece and the Earl of Forshee as hostages at Dochte Abbey until we relent.” His face hardened with anger. “Our attempts to…contact…the earl have all been thwarted. If the news you brought from Pry-Ree is true, my dear, that the Blight is coming and it will strike soon, then we must make a decision now on how to save them.”

“I agree that we must do something,” the Aldermaston said, then paused as a racking cough exploded from his lips. It took several moments to regain his composure. He slammed his elbow on the table and leaned forward, expelling his breath roughly. “But releasing the Queen Dowager will do more harm than good. It is a ploy. If what your allies in Hautland have said is true, there is an invasion army assembling. The negotiations are an attempt to distract us from their true aim. We must send word through every village in the kingdom. We must forsake these shores before it is too late.”

Demont’s brow furrowed with consternation. “Is there nothing then that can halt the Blight?”

The reply came as a deep chuckle, wet with phlegm. “Certainly there is. We must abandon all pride. Share our food with the poor. We must act, in a word, with one heart and one mind. But as you well know that has not happened since the days of King Zedakah. Too many mastons have been killed. Too many Abbeys have fallen. How does one stop a rockslide, my lord Earl? We must flee from it before it engulfs us. Lia can guide us to the safe haven in Pry-Ree. There is an Abbey there. They know the way.”