by Anne Bishop
She recognized it now. Thousands of feet marching, striking the ground at the same time, making it tremble.
Turning around, she saw the small waterfall and pool that was in one of the gardens at the school where the Grandmothers taught young witches. Now a small willow tree grew beside it. As she watched the play of sunlight and shadow on the leaves, she noticed a pink tinge to the water falling over stone. A pink tinge that deepened into bright red. The water thickened, splashing the willow’s leaves. Staining them red. Clots plopped on stone, slithered to the edge and clung there before falling into the pool that looked so dark it was almost black, hiding the things she sensed floating just beneath the surface.
And the ground trembled.
Stumbling out of bed, Selena half fell across the other narrow bed in the room, and gave Gwynith a hard shake.
“Wha’?” Gwynith mumbled.
“Get up,” Selena said. She held a finger near the bedside candle. Fire leaped to the wick. Satisfied, she pulled off her nightgown, rolled it into a ball, then stuffed it into her saddlebags. Cursing softly, she pulled it out again to reach the clean underclothes.
After pulling on her underclothes, she paused long enough to give Gwynith another hard shake. “Get up. Now.”
Gwynith raised her head off the pillow. “Still dark,” she complained.
“Fine. Then I’ll ride out without you. You can catch up when you can.”
That roused Gwynith enough to prop herself on one elbow. “What’s wrong?”
“I had a dream.” Out loud, it sounded foolish, but being thought foolish wasn’t going to stop her from packing, rousing the inn’s landlord to provide whatever food could be hastily assembled, and riding out now.
“What kind of dream?”
Selena paused, then finished pulling her tunic over her head. “A bloody one.”
Gwynith shot out of bed. “I’ll tell the men we’re leaving.” She was out the door and pounding on the door across the hall before Selena had time to reply.
A murmured conversation. The other door closing with more haste than courtesy, loud enough to wake the rest of the inn’s guests.
As Gwynith rushed back into their room to start her own frenzy of dressing and packing, Selena continued stuffing her belongings into the saddlebags.
Another day of hard riding to reach the village where Skelly, the storyteller, lived. How long to reach Willowsbrook after that? Skelly would know. Wasn’t he kin to the Willowsbrook witches? Surely he’d know the fastest way from his village to that Old Place.
So. Two days at the least. She couldn’t do it in less time. Fae horses had endurance far beyond ordinary horses, but even Mist-runner was wearing down after so many days of hard riding. Reaching Skelly’s village was as much as she could do today.
She closed her eyes and thought of the willow tree in her dream, stained with blood.
Two days.
Would she get to Willowsbrook in time—or get there too late?
Chapter 25
waxing moon
Aiden hurried toward the Clan house, anxious to locate the Clan’s bard or minstrel and find out if there was any news or messages. Once the Fae here realized the Hunter had arrived in their piece of Tir Alainn, it would take hours to get a coherent sentence out of anyone who could provide information. The Clan house would be in an uproar while people scrambled to figure out how to feed and provide beds for Ashk, her companions, and the hundred men who now rode with her.
Ashk’s ultimatum to the Fae had raced ahead of her, and the Clans had offered a wary welcome when she arrived in their territory to rest for a few hours before moving on again. Among the Clans who had already been staggered by the Huntress’s ultimatum, the Hunter was considered the lesser threat. At least Ashk was one of them, even if she did come from a western Clan. The new Lady of the Moon, a witch from the Mother’s Hills, was so far outside their experience they didn’t know what to do—except fear her and, out of fear, obey.
So the ranks of Ashk’s fighting men had swelled as the Clans, anxious to prove their sincere intentions of helping drive the Black Coats out of Sylvalan, simply sent the required number of men with her. After all, the Huntress couldn’t fault the Clans if the men were in the Hunter’s company and obeying her orders.
Privately, Aiden suspected the Fae were hoping a conflict between the Hunter and the Huntress would end with the death of one or both of them. Regardless of the outcome, the meeting of this Hunter and Huntress would be sung by every bard and minstrel for years to come.
He couldn’t honestly say he was looking forward to witnessing it.
Preoccupied with his thoughts, he hurried across a courtyard—then stopped abruptly as a door opened and the last person he wanted to meet walked toward him.
“Lightbringer,” Aiden said uneasily.
Lucian smiled. “Aiden! Well met!”
Wary now, Aiden approached Lucian. “That’s not what you said the last time we guested at the same Clan house.”
Lucian’s smile faded. “I know. That was not well done on my part. I was angry and—” He stiffened.
Hearing the quiet scuff of feet on stone, Aiden knew who now claimed the Lightbringer’s attention.
Turning toward him, Lucian said softly, hurriedly, “We need to talk privately before you leave here.”
“I’m not sure—”
“Please, Aiden.”
There was an eloquent plea in Lucian’s gray eyes that Aiden couldn’t refuse. Despite their clashes over the past year, they were still kin on their fathers’ side. “All right. After the evening meal. Things should be settled down by then.” Or as settled as they are going to be, he added silently as he turned toward Ashk and the others. He noted Lyrra’s apprehension as she glanced from Morag to Lucian.
Mother’s mercy. Morag, with her unpredictable moods of late, wasn’t someone he wanted near Lucian any longer than necessary.
“Hunter,” Aiden said quickly, “may I present Lucian, the Lightbringer. Lucian, this is Ashk.”
Lucian made a slight bow, keeping his eyes on Ashk. “Well met, Hunter. I’ve heard a great deal about you lately. After so many years of silence, you’ve made your presence felt in Tir Alainn.”
“As you have made your presence felt, Lightbringer,” Ashk replied. “Your denial of what’s happening in Sylvalan has cost so many people suffering and sorrow, if not outright death. Because you are the Lord of the Sun, more witches have died since last summer, more Clans have been lost. That’s what your presence has done for the Fae and the other peoples of Sylvalan.”
Lucian stared at her. “You’re blaming me for what the Black Coats have done?”
“I’m blaming you for not protecting, not defending, not doing anything while the Inquisitors have continued their slaughter of witches and their mutilation of other women’s bodies and spirits. I’m blaming you for being so blindly selfish that even when you understood the cost, you chose to ignore that the Fae have a duty to the world. We’ve always had a duty to the world. Now, instead of fighting against a few barons and Inquisitors, we have armies marching toward us, intent on snuffing out all magic in the world. And that means the Fae as well as the witches and Small Folk. So, yes, Lightbringer, I do blame you for what the Black Coats have done. Without your willful insistence that the Fae didn’t have to do anything to protect Sylvalan, the Inquisitors couldn’t have destroyed so much, couldn’t have killed so many.”
Lucian paled. “How dare you!”
“Look at the bodies of those who have died, and you won’t have to ask how I dare,” Ashk said. “Look at the women whose lives have been crushed by the Inquisitors’ words and a physician’s knife, and you won’t have to ask. Look at the Old Places that are gone—and the Clans that are gone with them.”
“So your solution is to threaten your own kind.”
“The world was not made to supply the Fae with amusements and treats. It’s time they were reminded of that. It’s time they remembered the world is made o
f shadows as well as light.”
Lucian and Ashk stared at each other. Aiden held his breath. Lucian had challenged the new Huntress—and lost that confrontation. He couldn’t be foolish enough to push Ashk into a challenge, could he?
Finally, Lucian said, “I hope you’re right, Hunter. I hope forcing the Fae into this conflict truly is the right thing to do. If it’s not, the only thing the surviving Fae will remember about you is that you destroyed us.” He turned and walked back into the Clan house.
Aiden let out a gusty sigh of relief. One evening. One uncomfortable evening in the same Clan house. Surely they could get through a few hours without fighting with each other.
Then he looked at Morag, saw a bleak fury in her dark eyes, and felt something wash through him that was so cold it bit down to the bone. Before he could decide if he should say something, Ashk linked arms with the Gatherer and walked toward the Clan house.
Someone touched his arm.
“Aiden?” Lyrra said, her eyes filled with concern.
He put his arms around her, needing her warmth. Would Ashk be angry with him for meeting privately with Lucian? Would Morag?
But this wasn’t about the Lightbringer and the Bard. This was a meeting between two men who were kin. Surely they would understand that—and appreciate the difference.
Nevertheless, he would keep his meeting with Lucian as private as possible—and hope Ashk and Morag didn’t find out about it until they were all long gone from this place.
“They’re bitches, both of them,” Lucian said, staring fiercely at the wood carefully arranged in the fireplace.
That was true enough, Aiden thought wearily, since Ashk and Selena were shadow hounds in their other form. At another time, he might have tried to play with words to make bitch mean other than what Lucian intended. But the truth was, he was exhausted. The Clan, taking courage from the Lightbringer’s presence, hadn’t quite told Ashk that they wouldn’t heed her command to send huntsmen down to Sylvalan to help in the fight that was coming; they’d simply insisted that they were keeping careful watch on the witches to make sure the women came to no harm. He would never know how Ashk would have responded because Morag had stood up then and said in a voice that was far too calm and too quiet that if anything happened to the witches, the Fae had better hope that the shining road closed quickly, because if there was any way for her to reach them, there would be no one left but the dead.
There was no argument Ashk could make after that, even after Morphia led her sister from the room. He didn’t know what was pushing Morag to the edge of sanity, but he was certain he didn’t want to be around her when she finally lost control.
And now, having pushed Lyrra out of their room with no more explanation than a request for an hour’s privacy, he was sitting on the bed listening to Lucian’s complaints.
“They’re going to destroy the Fae, you know that, don’t you?” Lucian said, still staring at the fireplace. “Maybe I am selfish, but I’ve never terrified my people into obedience. That’s what they’re doing, Aiden. One threatens our home, the other threatens an essential part of our nature. They’re ruthless, cruel bitches who used tricks to gain the power they have, and now the rest of us will have to pay for it.”
“You didn’t help matters by doing nothing this past year,” Aiden said quietly. “You not only gave the Clans the excuses they wanted to justify doing nothing to protect Sylvalan, you continued to encourage those excuses, even though you knew who the witches were. You were the one who insisted the Daughters of the House of Gaian were no more than servants whose purpose was to serve, and service, the Fae.”
“It’s so easy for you, isn’t it?” Lucian said bitterly as he turned to face Aiden. “You’re not alone, are you, Bard? You have the woman who matters to you. You can hold her, talk to her, feel the pleasure of her under you at night. You don’t have the anger of grief and the guilt of failure haunting your nights. Well, I do.” He turned back to the fireplace, his voice now filled with sorrow. “I do. When Morag offered me that damned bargain, I almost took it, almost offered my life in exchange. But I had a duty to the Fae.” He laughed grimly. “Look what my duty has brought me.”
Aiden stood up, a sick feeling rolling through him. “What are you talking about?”
“Ari.” Lucian put his hands on the mantel, letting his arms take his weight as he sagged in defeat. “I’m talking about Ari.”
Aiden took a step forward, unsure what to do. Lyrra held his heart, and if something happened to her because of something he hadn’t done, the grief would crush him. He knew that. But…“I know you cared for Ari,” he said carefully, “but I never suspected it was more than you’ve felt for any other lover.”
“Why should you have suspected anything?” Lucian’s voice broke. “She sent me away. Did you know that? I was no longer welcome at her cottage because she had decided to marry that…human. So I wasn’t close enough when the Black Coats came. I wasn’t fast enough to save her.”
Aiden raked a hand through his hair. Something wasn’t right. Couldn’t be right. “If you cared for her, why have you fought against helping other witches?”
“Because I couldn’t stand knowing that Ari died because I had failed. And there you were with your eloquent pleas and demands to protect the witches, constantly reminding me of the woman I had lost, shoving it down my throat until I was sure I would choke on it. So I dismissed their importance, denied what they are. I couldn’t seem to do anything else.”
“I…I didn’t know, Lucian. I didn’t know.” Would a man deny so much to diminish grief? Yes. Oh, yes. And looking at it that way changed Lucian’s actions into something Aiden understood. But he was too tired and couldn’t quite get his brain to think past his heart even though he sensed something was off-key about the conversation. Still, he said hesitantly, “She would have left Brightwood anyway. She couldn’t have a decent life there.”
“She would have had us instead of those paltry humans,” Lucian said fiercely, regrets giving way to anger as he faced Aiden again. “We would have dealt with the villagers, and they wouldn’t have dared slight her.”
“You didn’t do that while you were her lover. She wouldn’t have any reason to think you’d do it when you were no longer lovers.”
“We would have been lovers. The Fae would have been her companions. She would have wanted for nothing.”
Except love, Aiden thought bleakly. Except respect and loyalty. But was that true? Had he misunderstood the depth of Lucian’s feelings for Ari? “You wouldn’t have been faithful to her, Lucian. You know that.”
“Faithful.” Lucian spat out the word. “That’s a human word. I cared for her. But if what I offered wasn’t enough to convince her to stay, I would have let her go with that fool. Despite the problems it would have caused for my Clan, despite my own feelings, despite everything, I would have let her go.” His voice broke. He put his hands over his face.
Aiden couldn’t stand seeing a man who had once been a friend and was still kin break under a year’s guilt and grief.
“Lucian…” He stepped forward, rested a hand on Lucian’s arm. “Do you mean that? You really would have let her go?”
Lucian lowered his hands away from his face, and said wearily, “If it had been Lyrra, wouldn’t you rather know she was living somewhere without you than to have died under the Black Coats’ hands?”
“She survived.” Aiden tried to stop the words, tried to think it through, but he couldn’t think anymore, could only feel. “She got away from the Black Coats.”
He watched all emotion drain from Lucian’s face.
“Morag lied to me?” Lucian said in a queer voice.
“No,” Aiden said quickly. “No. She told you Ari was gone, and that was true.”
“She knew what I’d think. What Dianna and I both thought.” Lucian stared at Aiden. “You knew, didn’t you? You knew Ari wasn’t dead.”
Aiden shook his head. “I suspected. I hoped. But I didn’t know for sure
.”
Lucian took a step to the side. “You knew. All this time, you knew.”
“I didn’t know.”
“Then how can you be certain now?” Lucian demanded. “Just because she got away from the Black Coats doesn’t mean she survived.”
“We saw her when—” Uneasy now as he watched anger fill Lucian’s eyes, Aiden finished clumsily, “We saw her when we were traveling in the west.”
“You saw her, and yet you said nothing until now, sent no messages to me or Dianna.”
“There was no reason to say anything, no reason to send any messages. Ari is happy where she is. She’ll never come back to Brightwood.”
“My sister was challenged and lost to that cold-blooded bitch because her power was being drained by having to be the anchor for our Clan’s territory—something Ari should have been doing.”
“No,” Aiden said. “You said you would have let her go.”
“Where would she have gone?” Lucian said furiously. “If Morag had gathered that human when Dianna asked her to, Ari would have stayed.”
“And she would have died! Neall got her away from the Inquisitors. That’s the reason she survived.” This wasn’t right. Where was the grief, the guilt, the regrets that had filled the room a few moments ago? Where was the relief that the woman Lucian cared about had survived?
“So he survived as well. That’s something that can be changed, and once Ari is back at Brightwood—”
“Lucian, no.” Aiden grabbed Lucian’s arms. “They’re in love, and they’re happy, and she’s growing fat with their first child. You can’t take her away from her husband and home. You said you cared for her. Be glad she’s well, Lucian, and let her go.”
“Be glad of what?” Lucian snapped, jerking his arms to break Aiden’s hold. “That she let a human fill her belly?”
Was that what the anger was about? That Ari had chosen a human over the Lightbringer? “Not a human, Lucian. Neall is Fae. A Lord of the Woods. He has a human face, true enough, but he’s Fae.”
“No!”