It was her turn now to focus her thoughts on reaching him. The desire to find a ship to Dahomey consumed her. She had to hurry for something was going to happen if she did not. The Blight would start at Dochte Abbey and more than anything else, she wanted to protect him from it. She worried about him, so far away. What was he doing at that moment? Asleep and dreaming? What were his dreams? Was he awake at that moment, staring out some window at a night sky, sharing the scene of the moon high above that painted everything silver? Or was he in a dungeon as Marciana suggested, cold and miserable and terrified of the dark confined space.
Meeting the Aldermaston of Augustin had shoved her inside a new cauldron of worries. She could still see the naked ambition in his eyes, his craving to inherit Muirwood. So much of what he had said was utter nonsense. She had worked closely with the Aldermaston and had never seen even the remotest shadow of opulence that she had witnessed in Augustin. Instinctively, she realized the Queen Dowager’s hand. Augustin was subverted by the hetaera. Some of his words had brought thoughts to her mind, memories of the past. She recalled the sheriff, Almaguer, and his threats to destroy the Aldermaston. It was as if he had known that a change in leadership would happen and was looking forward to it. She shuddered to think of what life at Muirwood would have become under the direction of someone like the Aldermaston of Augustin. Had he not said that the price of cider had tripled in three years? Another memory nagged at her – it was the Queen Dowager’s age. She had been fifteen when she married the old king and come from Dahomey. Three years ago. The webs of spider thread were nearly invisible, but Lia could make them out. Subtle – calculating – coldblooded. She had not succeeded at first in toppling the most ancient Abbey in the realm. But Lia could tell clearly it was her aim.
A fresh breeze brought the telltale musk of seawater. Lia looked up, inhaling the smell. She withdrew the orb again and summoned its power, asking it to find her shelter where she might sleep safely until dawn. She needed a cave, a warren, fallen tree – something that would hide her from sight and allow her a chance to rest before searching for a ship at Doviur. The orb responded to her need, the spindles pointing clearly towards the seashore.
Lia followed the trail it offered, weaving through the last vestiges of forest until it opened into a sweeping range of lush hills. In the distance, she could hear the foam and churning of the surf as the ocean collided with it. The sky was ablaze with myriads of stars and a moon as bright as a torch. The air was cooler and she tugged her cloak around her throat to fend off the chill. She descended the hill, seeing the flat slate of sea in the distance, the moonlight rippling off the crests. The land pitched down lower and she slowed her walk, glancing at the orb to guide her to a safe path. The hill ended abruptly, revealing a jagged cliff down to the thrashing surf below. The orb guided her to a small, steep path down the edge of the rocks. There was enough light to see, but her heart spasmed with worry and she moved stealthily down the edge. The cliffs were made of chalk and flint and crushed easily against her hand and boots. Noises from the ocean echoed off the slabs of stone, filling her with the apprehension of falling. Partway down the hillside, she noticed the giant maw of a cave – black against the silvery cliff. She stumbled slightly in the wet grass and went down but skidded to a halt, her heart thudding in her throat. Carefully she scooted down the hillside towards the exposed cave. The Cruciger orb affirmed it was her destination. The ocean reached the mouth of it on one side, rushing in, swirling, slinking back. A large moss-covered boulder was mired in the thick grassy growth higher up. It was singular seeing the massive boulder there, apart from the cave, apart from the rock. As she approached, she felt the Medium emanating from it and realized, with fascination, that there was a Leering carved into the rock, hidden by the moss.
The ground leveled out in front of her and she approached the hidden glen quickly. The boulder was taller than her, rounded on one side and flat on the other. Cautiously, she lifted her hand and touched it. To her relief, it was pure – untainted by the Blight. In her mind, through her Gift of Seering, she could see other mastons who had used the cave for shelter. The Leering had been there for hundreds of years, protecting the entrance to the cave which water had hollowed out. Using her thoughts and will, she activated the Leering’s protection and set it to guard the entrance by frightening away anyone who wandered nearby. In her blood, she felt the Medium churn awake and the cave emptied of seawater. The Leering repelled the salty water as it did intruders and she noticed the entrance dry out. The waves crashed further away, against the cliffside instead of at the breach. She was grateful to the Leering and thanked it in her mind before stepping off the grassy hill and into the sand and pebbles of the wash.