by Anne Bishop
The door closed behind the prisoner and guards. Liam leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.
“I’ll send out messengers to warn the Clans east of here,” Varden said. “Won’t be enough Fae to stand against an army, not alone, but if they can get down the shining road in time, they may be able to save the witches in the Old Places and make sure a few less men arrive at Willowsbrook.”
“What makes you think they’ll listen now when they never did before?” Liam asked.
“Your sister is entertaining the Huntress and you ask me that?” Varden smiled grimly. “I doubt there’s a Clan in Sylvalan that wants Lady Selena looking in their direction—even more so when they find out what happened here today.” The smile faded. He shifted uneasily. “Besides…we’re to blame for the Black Coats.”
Liam straightened up and stared at Varden.
“What are you talking about?” Donovan snapped.
“The Black Coat almost escaped. He was wounded but he got away and got caught by Squire Thurston and the men the squire had gathered to come here to help you.”
“How could a wounded man get away from a group of armed men?” Liam asked, wondering why Varden looked so sick.
“He’d almost persuaded them to let him go when some of my men rode up. The Inquisitor’s Gift of persuasion works well on humans, but it doesn’t work on the Fae. We’ve the same gift, you see.”
Donovan sank into the chair in front of the desk. “Inquisitor’s Gift of persuasion? They can persuade someone to believe what they want them to believe?”
“They can. But since the gift comes from the Fae, we’re better at it—and we persuaded the Black Coat to tell us a few things.”
“Varden, you make no sense.” A sick feeling churned in Liam’s belly.
“He makes a great deal of sense,” Donovan said slowly, his eyes fixed on Varden. “He’s talking about magic, Liam. The Fae’s kind of magic. Which means the Inquisitors…”
“Are part Fae,” Varden said bitterly. He shook his head. “I never left a child in the human world, but I know plenty of men who enjoyed a girl until he’d filled her belly and then left her and never looked back. Among the Fae, a man sires a child, but it’s the woman’s Clan who raises it. But that’s not the way in the human world, and we understood that once—at least, understood it enough to provide gifts and bestow favors on the woman’s family so that having a child by a Fae Lord wasn’t something to be ashamed of. But things changed, and the Fae started abandoning the woman and child, making both outcasts among their own people. Outcast children, unwanted by either race, until someone recognized they had a power that could be shaped into a weapon.”
“Mother be merciful,” Donovan said. “And some of those children would have been born of witches.”
Varden nodded. “Fae Lords always found the women who lived in the Old Places appealing, even if we never understood who those women were.”
“You provided the vessels for the Master Inquisitor to fill with his own fever of destruction,” Liam said. “Your people can shoulder the blame for abandoning the children and the women who bore them, Varden, but you didn’t shape them into what they’ve become.”
“Which begs the question,” Donovan said. “If the Master Inquisitor was able to recognize a power he could shape to his will, what, exactly, is he?”
Silence.
Liam stared at Donovan.
Do no harm.
Varden swore under his breath and turned away.
“Witch’s Hammer,” Liam said quietly. “Does he hate what he once loved?”
“Or what he once wanted to love him?” Donovan countered. “The son of a witch whose bloodline also carried the magic of the Fae?”
“Whatever he is, he’s not just a human,” Varden said, turning back to look at them.
“No,” Donovan agreed, “he’s not just a human.”
Do no harm.
Liam suddenly stood up, unable to stay in that room anymore. He wanted, needed, to see Breanna, to feel grounded again in that blend of practicality and power, that promise that being something more than just a human wouldn’t turn him into something monstrous.
“I’d better see to my guest,” he said as he restrained himself from bolting for the door.
As he opened the door, he heard Donovan ask, “What happened to the Black Coat?”
And Varden’s heavy reply, “Baron, your people and mine are just getting to know each other and neither side feels easy yet. It’s better not to ask about some things.”
Out of the study and down the hall to stand at the parlor’s closed door. Liam took a couple of deep breaths to steady himself.
“You won’t find out anything until you open the door,” Donovan said, coming up beside him.
Bracing himself for another encounter, Liam opened the door, took two steps inside the room, and stopped. The table was strewn with tea things and a large bowl of water.
“Look,” Breanna said, giving him a sloppy smile. “It’s Liam. And he’s wearing his baron’s face.”
Selena looked blearily at the men. “How can you tell?”
“I’m his sister. I can tell. And if you don’t believe me, I will phoof you.” Breanna struggled into an upright position. “Phoof.”
A gust of wind lifted Selena’s hair.
“Well,” Selena said. “I’ll phoof you back. Phoof.”
A gust of wind blew Breanna’s hair around her face.
They both collapsed in their seats, giggling.
Gwenn stared sadly at the bowl of water. “I can’t phoof. I just burble.”
The water in the bowl rose in the center, creating a small fountain that…burbled.
Donovan just shook his head as he walked around the couch to get a good look at his wife. “What have you been drinking?”
“Tea,” Gwenn said, spoiling the prim tone with a hiccup.
Donovan picked up the cup and sniffed. “This isn’t tea.”
“It’s in a teacup. Therefore, it is tea.”
Donovan put the cup down, kissed his wife’s forehead, and picked her up. “Come on, Gwenny, you need to take a little nap now.”
“Don’t want any chicken soup,” Gwenn said, pouting.
“Just a little nap.” Donovan carried her out of the room.
Liam looked at the two women who were staring rather owlishly back at him and raked his fingers through his hair. If anyone had asked him what he’d expected to find when he walked into the room, three tipsy witches wasn’t it. What was he supposed to do with these two?
“Well,” Breanna said, slowly getting to her feet. “I’d better get home and give Gran a hand with things.” She took a step forward and teetered.
Liam caught her, wrapping one arm around her waist.
Selena stood up. “And I’d better…do something, too.” She took a couple of tottering steps and fell against him, almost sending the three of them to the floor.
“The only thing either of you is going to do is take a nap,” Liam said sternly, trying to turn them around to head them toward the door.
“Oh, phoof,” Breanna said.
“No more phoofing,” Liam said.
“Do you have children?” Selena asked.
When he turned to look at her, he realized all it would take was bending his head just a little to indulge in a kiss. Heat washed through him. “No, I don’t have children.”
“Funny. You sound just like my father.”
Liam sighed. “Come along, you two.”
He’d finally gotten them into the hall when someone pounded on the front door. Suddenly, Varden was there, an arrow nocked in his bow before Sloane could reach for the door.
As soon as Sloane opened the door, a Fae woman rushed inside. The man with her, seeing Varden, grabbed her and pulled her behind him, shielding her from the arrow.
“It’s Gwynith,” Selena said. “You missed tea,” she added—and hiccuped.
“Lady Selena?” Gwynith stepped away from her escort. “Ar
e you all right? I waited for you at the Old Place, but when you didn’t return…” She frowned. “Selena?”
“She needs a nap,” Liam said.
“Yes, I can see that.” Gwynith hurried over to slip Selena’s arm across her shoulders. “I’ll help you—” She looked at Liam.
“She’s using my mother’s room. Upstairs.”
Gwynith sighed. “Stairs. All right then. Up we go.”
Selena balked at the foot of the stairs. “I won’t take a nap unless you promise to do something.”
“Whatever I can,” Gwynith replied.
“Tell the Sleep Sister I don’t want to dream tonight.”
“I’ll tell her, Selena.”
“Do you know where she is?”
“No, but I’ll tell her anyway.”
Hoping that wasn’t supposed to make sense, Liam half carried Breanna up the stairs, paused long enough to point out his mother’s room to Gwynith, then led his tipsy witch to Brooke’s room.
He dumped her on the bed and knelt down to remove her boots.
“It hurts, Liam,” Breanna said quietly.
He looked up, wondering how undoing her boot laces could hurt. Then he looked into her eyes and realized she wasn’t quite as tipsy as he’d thought.
“It hurts,” she said again. She pressed a fist over her heart. “In here. What Selena did, she did knowingly, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt her to break our creed. We’re all going to dance on a knife’s edge until this war is over, and some of us will be cut to the bone. We needed to forget that for a little while. Selena most of all.”
“I understand.” He got her settled, tucked a quilt around her, and kissed her the same way he would have kissed Brooke—comfort and love. “Get some sleep.”
When he stepped back into the hallway, he saw Donovan leaning against the wall, waiting for him.
“At least they’re cheerful when they’re tipsy,” Donovan said.
Liam rubbed his hands over his face. “I wish we’d joined them.”
“Are you going to tell them what Varden said?”
Tell the Huntress. That’s what Donovan really meant.
“Tomorrow,” Liam said. “We’ve all dealt with enough today.” He walked to the stairs, feeling much older than he’d felt that morning.
Chapter 28
waxing moon
Stop, Minstrel.”
The horse has more brains than I do today, Aiden thought as Minstrel moved out of the line of horses to avoid bringing all the huntsmen behind him to a stop.
“Aiden?”
It was worry that made Lyrra’s voice sound sharp as she maneuvered her horse out of the line to join him. Or, perhaps, it was his own fretfulness and embarrassment that made him hear sharpness where there was none. It wasn’t easy for a man to be dependent on someone else to feed him and help him take care of natural functions.
He couldn’t use his hands. The Clan healer had lightly wrapped them in gauze that morning to protect them, but now the bandages felt too tight.
“Aiden?” Lyrra said as she brought her mare alongside Minstrel. “What’s wrong?”
“The bandages are too tight. I have to get them off. Please, Lyrra.”
Sheridan and Morphia rode back to join them.
“What’s wrong?” Sheridan demanded.
“Aiden says the bandages are too tight,” Lyrra replied. “I think he needs to rest.”
I’m not a child. I can speak for myself. But he felt like a child for whom the adults had to slow their pace. Wasn’t that why Ashk had left with some of the huntsmen early that morning? She planned to pass through two Clan territories before going down a shining road and riding on to deliver Padrick’s letter to one of the midland barons whose county bordered the southern part of Sylvalan. The rest of them, led by Sheridan, were to travel at an easier pace, go down the same shining road, and find a place to camp in the Old Place that anchored that road.
He knew she was riding extra miles so that he wouldn’t have to, doubling back to join them after delivering Padrick’s letter instead of going on to reach the next Old Place. She hadn’t suggested that he remain at a Clan house until he healed, and he was grateful for that. But if he slowed her down too much, she would never reach Willowsbrook by the full moon.
Sheridan studied Aiden’s hands and frowned. “The bandages do look tighter than they did this morning. Can you ride on a bit further, Aiden? Some of the men have scouted up ahead. There’s a good stream and pasture for the horses. We can set up camp there.”
“I can ride awhile longer,” Aiden said.
Sheridan and Morphia rode back to the head of the line. Huntsmen reined in to let Lyrra and Aiden slip into the line.
Aiden slumped in the saddle, his hands crossed over his chest. He couldn’t even rest them lightly on the saddle for balance as he’d done that morning.
He wasn’t sure how long they continued to ride. He’d begun worrying about his harp, carefully secured to one of the pack-horses. He craved the feel of it as a thirsty man craved water. Would his fingers ever dance over the strings again? That morning, his hands hadn’t looked that bad. The skin was red and more blisters had formed, but they hadn’t looked bad. Lyrra had been so relieved by the healer’s brisk assurance that he would be fine in a few days that he hadn’t told her the look of his hands was a lie. He knew Lucian’s fire had damaged him under the skin. He could feel it. And now his hands seemed to be straining against the confinement of the gauze bandages.
Finally they reached the place where Sheridan had decided to set up camp. After praising Minstrel for keeping him safe in the saddle, Aiden stood out of the way, pushing aside impatience while the others took care of the necessary chores.
He was ready to use his teeth on the bandages’ knots when Ashk and her escorts rode into camp. Seeing her so grim and exhausted shamed him into patience. Her brusque “Later” when Sheridan asked if there was news warned everyone that whatever Ashk had to tell them wasn’t good.
“Now, then,” Lyrra said with a brisk cheerfulness that struck Aiden as being off-key, “let’s unwrap the bandages and let your hands breathe for a bit.”
He tried not to flinch as she tugged at the knots. He tried not to see the worry in her eyes as she realized how large his hands looked. And he tried to deny the stab of fear when she got the bandages off his left hand—and she screamed.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” Ashk demanded, rushing up to them. She stared at Aiden’s left hand before quickly unwrapping the bandages on his right. “Mother’s mercy.”
They were so swollen, they didn’t look like hands anymore. The skin was stretched so tight, he thought it would split open if he tried to move a finger.
I’m going to lose my hands. What kind of Bard can I be without my hands?
“Sit down, Aiden,” Ashk said, leading him to hollowed log. “Sit down.”
Blind to everything but his hands, he paid no attention to the crows cawing a warning until Ashk’s snarl startled him.
“Riders coming,” Sheridan said, reaching for his bow and arrows.
“Our men,” Ashk replied, moving forward. “And someone with them.”
The huntsmen rode up casually, reining in a few feet from Ashk. The dark-haired woman with them placed a soothing hand on the neck of her dark horse, who pawed the ground and laid his ears back. The gold pentagram around the woman’s neck flashed in the sun.
“Blessings of the day to you,” Ashk said.
“Blessings of the day,” the woman replied.
“The lady has been traveling,” one of the huntsmen said. “Alone.” He packed all of his disapproval into that word.
The dark horse snorted.
The woman’s lips twitched. “Not quite alone.”
“We suggested that she camp with us tonight,” the huntsmen said.
Ashk studied the woman. “You’re most welcome to share our camp. You really shouldn’t be traveling alone. Not anymore. And not any farther south.”
The woman closed her eyes. “I know. Blood stains the land. The Mother drinks it and weeps bitter tears.” She shook her head and opened her eyes. “I would be pleased to share your camp tonight.”
“Come and be welcome,” Ashk said.
When the woman dismounted and took a step toward Ashk, the dark horse nipped her sleeve and tried to tug her back.
“Fox, behave. We’re guests.” She untied her saddlebags, slung them over one shoulder, then grabbed the horse’s ear when he tugged at the saddlebags. “Let the Fae Lords take off your saddle and bridle so you can have a nice roll and play with the other horses. I’m staying right here.”
Snorting with every step to let them all know he wasn’t happy, Fox allowed the men to lead him away.
“I’m Ashk, from Bretonwood.”
“I am Rhyann.”
Before Ashk could continue the introductions, Rhyann dropped her saddlebags, walked over to Aiden, and knelt in front of him, studying his hands.
“Do you have any healing skills?” Ashk asked.
Rhyann’s fingers hovered over his hands. “Fire trapped in earth. Water seeks to quench it, but is trapped between its banks and presses on the earth it seeks to protect.” She paused a moment. “How did this happen?”
“The Lord of Fire did this to him.”
The cold anger in Ashk’s voice didn’t chill Aiden as much as what he saw in Rhyann’s woodland eyes before she turned to look at Ashk.
“One of the wiccanfae did this?” Rhyann asked softly.
“I doubt Lucian wants to think of himself as wiccanfae,” Ashk said.
“It doesn’t matter what he wants to think. What matters is what he is,” Rhyann replied sharply. She looked toward the stream. “Sweet, flowing water. Come with me.” She rose, gripped Aiden’s arm, and pulled him to his feet.
With Ashk, Sheridan, Morphia, and a silently weeping Lyrra trailing behind them, she led Aiden to the stream. She took off her boots and stockings, waded into the stream, and knelt down facing the bank.
“Kneel there.” She pointed to the bank in front of her.