The Blight of Muirwood by Jeff Wheeler Read Free Book Online Page A

hard. It made her stifle a giggle.
    He heard the laughter and turned sharply. The expression on his face was pure annoyance and hostility – she had seen that look a hundred times in her mind. Impatient. Demanding. Wary. Petulant. The look melted when he recognized her. He sheathed his knight-maston sword in the scabbard and approached her.
    She stared at him, clutching the basket to her stomach, and wondered if the mist meant it was only a dream. It seemed she noticed every detail. The silver starburst studs on his scabbard belt, the buckles holding the dark leather jerkin closed. The long pale sleeves matching the cuff emerging from his neck. His face, his hands. The scar. Yes, the scar at the corner of his eyebrow. He was close enough now she could see its tiny little pucker and she remembered mopping blood from it.
    “Were you laughing at me?” was all he said in greeting. His voice was warm.
    It had been a long year – a year of pain and worry and sadness. All of that vanished like a drop of sizzling water on a hot skillet. The look he gave her bespoke friendship and admiration. He was glad to see her, not nervous. He wanted to see her. That made all the difference in the world.
    Lia flung down the basket and gave him a fierce hug to prove once and for all that he was real and that she was not stained by poisoned sap any longer. She was nearly as tall as him and could feel his cheek against her hair. He smelled of leather and sweat, but also himself. She had forgotten what he smelled like. That sort of memory was too much like smoke to grasp.
    “Yes, you idiot,” she said, squeezing him hard and then pulled back, embarrassed a little at herself for hugging him, but unrepentant. She looked at his face. “I was laughing at a memory. There are many of you that make me laugh. Others that have made me cry. You did not come when you promised. I am upset with you about that. But here you are now, and I am told you are staying a season or two, so I suppose I could learn to forgive you.”
    His expression was thoughtful. He seemed a little uncomfortable by her hug, but not displeased by it. “Contrive your best punishment, Lia. I submit to it. But I must be allowed to explain myself.”
    “Of course you can explain yourself, but not right now.” She reached to pick up the basket, but he got to it first and she almost touched his hand. He handed it to her.
    “Why not?” he asked, scrutinizing her.
    “Because the Aldermaston has instructions I must hear, and he hates repeating himself. I am a hunter now, not a kitchen girl, so I have duties to attend to.”
    “When can I see you today?” he asked, taking up the bunch of purple mint from her basket. He smelled it then set it back down.
    “When I am free,” she answered stiffly, looking down at the flowers in the basket. “Where can I find you?”
    “I have been anxious to read Maderos’ tomes and there is little else I am allowed to do apparently while the learners study.”
    “Ah, the forbidden part of the grounds! As the hunter, I could forbid you to wander there. But as the rule is only to prevent other people from finding it, I will give you permission. So, I will bring the apples when we meet?” Lia offered. “The blotchy ones are the sweetest.”
    He gazed at her face, seeing the blotches there. “I remember. I have craved those apples since I left. I remember this place differently now.” He looked around at the mist-shrouded trees. “There is no sign of Blight here yet,” he whispered. “I am glad of that.”
     
     

* * *
     
    “We should live as if we were in public view, and think, too, as if someone could peer into the inmost recesses of our hearts. The Blight which assails us is not in the localities we inhabit but in ourselves. We are more wicked together than separately. If you are ever forced to be in a crowd, then most of all you should withdraw into yourself. Never trust another to do your thinking. Even a maston.”
     
    - Gideon