by Anne Bishop
Stung, Morag made an effort to sit up straighter in the saddle. “You can’t speak to me that way.”
“I can and I will, just as I’d speak that way to Ari or Caitlin if they were being too stubborn to show some sense. Ashk, too, for that matter—although she’d change into her other form long enough to nip me for it.”
Wish I could do that, Morag thought sourly.
“Damn fool of a woman,” Padrick muttered. “She was trying to ground the whole fire. Did you realize that? Not just the meadow. Not just keeping that stunted excuse of a man from burning her home down around her or killing the man she loves. No, she was trying to hold the whole thing back.”
Alarmed that Ari would even think of trying to do that much, Padrick’s tone nevertheless compelled her to defend the decision. “Did it occur to you that Ari was trying to protect the Clan?”
“Of course it occurred to me,” Padrick roared. “The Clan house would have been lost before the witches who had come up from Wiccandale could do anything about it.”
“Witches from Wiccandale?”
Padrick waved that away. “They had business with me. Two of them had the gift of water, and when they saw the fire, they summoned the rain.”
“Did you yell at them, too?”
“No, I did not.”
“Then why are you yelling at me?” Morag blinked, furious with Padrick because tears were filling her eyes.
Since they were riding Fae horses, there wasn’t even the clip-clop of hooves to interrupt the sudden silence.
Finally, Padrick said quietly, “Because I was scared to the bone today. Because I know what could have happened here. Because I know what did happen here. Because I was helpless to stop it. Because I’m just a foolish man who was so relieved at finding you’re both all right that I yelled at you.”
“Did you yell at Neall?” Morag asked, wiping the tears off her cheeks.
Padrick chuckled. “Couldn’t. My physician took one look at Neall’s hip and dosed him with something that put him to sleep before he could finish arguing that he didn’t want it.”
“But he’ll be all right?”
“Yes, he’ll be all right. So will Ari. The physician and midwife agree that she needs bed rest. The babe’s not due for another week or so, but they were concerned that the strain of channeling so much magic might have brought her to childbed early. However, the babe is content to stay where it is a while longer, and Ari will be recovered before she brings her son or daughter into the world.”
Morag tried to stay alert, but after Padrick’s assurance that Ari and Neall were all right, her attention drifted. The next thing she knew, he was helping her out of the saddle, assuring her that the dark horse would be well taken care of, and leading her into the house. From there, the housekeeper and the lady’s maid to Ashk took over, helping her take a quick bath and wash the stink of smoke out of her hair, bundling her into a borrowed nightgown, and feeding her a bowl of stew and bread. She resisted their attempts to put her to bed, insisting that she had to see Ari first.
Ari gave her a tired smile when she entered the guest room and settled on the edge of the bed.
“I’m glad I’m not gentry,” Ari said. “Lady’s maids are very intimidating. Seems every time I twitch, the bed covers get straightened, the pillows get fluffed, and I spend five minutes arguing that the physician and midwife don’t need to come back.”
Morag nodded. “I kept trying to picture how Ashk and her maid deal with each other—and decided I didn’t want to know.”
Ari plucked the bedcovers. “He’s gone? Really gone?”
“Yes, Lucian is really gone.”
“I keep thinking I should be sorry for what happened. But I’m not. That hurts almost as much as knowing he would have killed Neall without a second thought. And for what?”
“Because he was the Lightbringer, and the Fae have catered to the Lord of Fire and Lady of the Moon for so long, he believed he should have what he wanted whenever he wanted for as long as he wanted.”
“People’s lives as trinkets?” Ari’s eyes filled with tears until one slipped down her face. “Did that make him any different from the Inquisitors, Morag? They think of people as trinkets, too—things they can reshape to suit themselves…or destroy if it suits them better.”
“I think he did care about you,” Morag said. “I think he wanted you for himself as much as for Brightwood.”
“I cared about him, too, but not enough to stay, even if the Black Coats hadn’t come to Brightwood.” Ari hesitated. “I wanted to remember him kindly, as a lover I’d had for a little while. A small romance that was outside the world in many ways. Now I’ll remember him as the man who tried to destroy the people I love. As the man I killed.”
There it was, the festering pain Morag had been waiting to lance. “You didn’t kill him, Ari,” she said, resting her hand over Ari’s to stop the nervous plucking. “I did.”
Ari shook her head. “I’m the one who used my gift from the Mother to send the fire back to him, knowing he would burn.”
“And I’m the one who gathered him while he lived.”
“The fire would have killed him anyway.”
“He was the Lord of Fire. He might have controlled it enough to escape it. I didn’t give him the chance.”
Ari looked at her for a long time, then said softly, “As you will, so mote it be.”
Morag leaned over and kissed Ari’s forehead. “Get some rest.”
As she reached the bedroom door and opened it, Ari said, “Morag?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
Morag stepped into the hallway and found Padrick leaning against the wall, waiting for her.
“Is she all right?” Padrick asked quietly.
“I’m the one who killed Lucian. I took a spirit from a body that still lived.”
“From what Glenn told me, the fire would have killed him anyway. You’re standing on one side of a line that’s no more than a hair’s width of difference.”
“Perhaps,” Morag agreed. “But that hair’s width of difference is one Ari can live with.”
She stood beside the cradle, smiling at the babe who stared at her. As she leaned over, pudgy hands waved in the air, trying to catch strands of her black hair. The babe made gleeful sounds, kicking its feet against the blanket that covered it.
She raised her hand to brush her finger down one round little cheek…
…and saw another hand reaching to do the same thing. A dark hand with leathery skin and talons at the ends of its fingers.
The enemy’s hand. Right beside her.
No. No!
She threw herself to one side, intending to shove the enemy away from the cradle, to put herself between this destroyer and the babe. The hand lashed out and disappeared.
There was nobody to shove against, no enemy to fight.
However, the movement turned her toward the doorway. Ari sprawled there, her eyes Death-blind, her torn body empty of life and spirit.
Spinning around, she looked into the cradle and saw what those cruel talons could do to a small body. Empty of life. Empty of spirit.
It had taken everything. Everything!
But where was the enemy? Where?
A last exhalation, a death rattle from someone already gone as Ari said, “As you will—”
I don’t want this! I don’t will this!
“—so mote it be.”
NO!
Morag’s hands shook violently as she pulled on her clothes and boots. She had nothing else to take with her. Her tack was in the stable, along with the canteen for water.
She’d had one brief hope that the dreams would end now that Lucian was dead, that the dreams had been a nightmarish warning about his coming here. But he wasn’t the only enemy after Ari and Neall. There was another one. A far more deadly one.
And she understood now that it would find its way here because of her, that it was following her, and through her would destroy what she
held dear. So she had to leave, had to get away, tonight, right now. She had to lead it away from here until she found a way to fight it, destroy it.
She ran through the corridors and clattered down the stairs, too driven by the need to escape to care about the noise she made. The lock on the front door thwarted her until she almost screamed with frustration. Finally, she forced herself to slow down enough to look, to think. After that, it took mere seconds to deal with what was, after all, a simple lock.
She ran to the stables, pulled open one side of the double door. A chimney lamp with a candle burning low hung on the wall above a cot where a stablelad snored softly.
As she hurried down the aisle, the dark horse put his head over the stall’s half-door and snorted an inquiry. Ointment glistened on his neck and face where cinders had burned him. Not too many. Not too bad, considering what they’d run through. When she opened the bottom half of the door, he stepped forward, and she watched his legs, his feet. No lameness. No injuries. She was almost sorry she didn’t have a reason to leave him behind.
He snorted again, a bit more forcefully.
“I’m sorry, boy,” she whispered, resting a hand on his muzzle. “I am sorry I can’t let you rest, but we have to go now. We have to get away from here.”
“Huh? Wha’?” The stablelad sat up, rubbed sleep from his eyes, and blinked at her. “What are you doing with the horse?”
Morag spun around, desperation changing to fury. “Get out of here. Get out. Now.”
The lad stumbled away from the cot, his fear-widened eyes watching her as he backed toward the outer door. He tripped when his shoulder hit the edge of the door. He was up and running almost before he fell.
Morag barely had time to throw the saddle over the dark horse’s back before Padrick burst into the stable.
“Morag?” he said, striding toward her. “What’s happened? What’s wrong?”
She turned on him, her teeth bared, her hands curled like claws. “Stay away from me. Leave me be. I have to get away from here. Now.”
Padrick raised his hands and stopped moving toward her, but he didn’t back away. “Why?”
“I have to leave!”
“Why?”
The whip-crack demand in his voice doused her with cold reason. She couldn’t kill him because he was in her way, and he wouldn’t get out of her way without an explanation.
Raking her hands through her sleep-tangled hair, she tried to explain. “I’ve had dreams. On the journey east and all the way back here. Not always the same dream, but the same kind of dream.”
“About what?”
“Something is hunting here. Something evil. I can sense it, almost feel what it feels, know what it thinks. But I can’t find it, can’t stop it. It…kills Neall. And then hunts Ari and the babe. But this time, it was right in the cottage with them. I was standing right there, and it…still…killed them. I think it can find them through me. Somehow, it will find them through me. So I can’t stay here. If it’s following me, I have to lead it away. Once I’m gone, they’ll be safe.”
“Ashk?”
For a moment, she didn’t understand him. Then she let his voice, stripped of all emotion, all heart, sink in. She shook her head. “I’ve only dreamed of Ari, Neall, and the babe. Ashk…” She stopped, felt a swell of hope. “It wouldn’t go near the Hunter because Ashk could defeat it. She’s strong enough to win.”
Padrick slowly lowered his hands. “Then you have to head back east and join Ashk as quickly as you can.”
“Yes.” Morag sighed with relief before she turned to finish saddling the dark horse.
“You’re not leaving tonight, Morag.”
She gripped the saddle to keep from striking him as he stepped up behind her.
“Morag. You’re exhausted. The horse is exhausted. How far do you think you’ll get before one or both of you ends up injured or crippled? Listen to me. There’s another way. It’s only a few hours until sunrise. Do you know Sealand?”
She nodded warily. “I went there with Ashk.”
“A day’s ride from here, even by carriage. The horse can follow behind.”
“A day’s ride in the wrong direction.”
“In the right direction,” Padrick countered. “To the sea. We’ll get a ship there that can take us all the way down to the bay near Selkie Island. Once we land, if you go up the closest shining road and ride through the Clan territories and cross between them on the bridges, you’re a day’s ride, a day and a half at most, from the Mother’s Hills. If you ask them, the House of Gaian will allow you to ride through their land. You’ll get to Willowsbrook just as fast, if not faster, and you’ll have the sea journey in which to rest.”
He had a point, especially when she wasn’t sure she could finish saddling her horse by herself. “If I agree to this, will you promise not to call me a damn fool of a woman for trying to leave?”
After a pause, he asked, “Can I think it?”
Morag rested her forehead against the saddle. “I can’t stop you from thinking, Padrick.”
“That’s settled, then. Take the saddle off the horse. We’ll all get a few hours sleep and be on our way at first light.”
Morag debated for a moment, then decided the horse was worth more than her pride. “I don’t think I’m strong enough to lift it off him.”
Padrick shouldered her out of the way. She chose not to hear what he muttered under his breath while he put the saddle on the nearest rack, made sure the dark horse had feed and water, and led her back to the house. He was still muttering when he pushed her into her room and closed the door with a firmness that was just short of unfriendly.
Morag stared at the door for a long time before she changed her clothes and climbed into bed.
Since Ashk often wore a pleased, lazy smile after spending time alone with Padrick, Morag suspected there were compensations for putting up with the man. But she also decided that every nip Ashk gave him was a nip well deserved.
Chapter 38
waxing moon
Jenny stood on the cliffs, staring out at the gentle sea. Fishing boats rode easy swells. She shuddered at the thought of what they might bring up in their nets.
“I thought I would find you here.”
She turned and watched Mihail walk toward her. “You shouldn’t be up yet. You need to rest.”
He smiled and shook his head. “My shoulder and back were burned, not my legs. I needed to move, needed the fresh air.”
Jenny turned back to the sea, felt the warmth of his hand when he rested it on her shoulder.
“If you’re going to brood and feel guilty, I can remind you of all the people who wouldn’t have survived if you hadn’t used the sea to defend us against the Inquisitors’ warships.”
“Will you also remind me of all the people who didn’t survive?” Jenny asked softly. “There are empty chairs around the tables in this village, Mihail. There are empty chairs around the tables in the other Clan houses.”
“That wasn’t your doing, Jenny.” Mihail squeezed her shoulder. “Murtagh made a point of telling me the Fae who were flying around those ships weren’t killed by the sea. Arrows killed them. Or fire if they were splashed when one of those pots of liquid fire struck a ship. They fought for themselves and their land and their way of life just as much as they fought to help us. Just as we would have fought to help them.”
The words washed against a different kind of pain, a different kind of grief, trying to break through and smooth the rough edges of emotion, like the sea’s relentless dance with stone.
“Murtagh said he tried to tell you this, but you weren’t ready to hear it, weren’t ready to accept it. Will you listen now, Jenny?”
Tears filled her eyes, blurring her vision. “The anger and the grief that swelled the sea and created that storm…They were mine. They came from me.”
“So did the love.”
She obeyed the pressure of his hand and shifted to face him. “I know what I gave to the sea. What I
chose to give to the sea. I didn’t choose love.”
“You didn’t have to choose. It’s part of who you are.” He released her shoulder to rub the back of his neck, and his voice ripened with frustration. “I know the sea, and I know you—and I know how the sea feels when you channel your gift through it. Mother’s mercy, we’ve sailed together enough times. How could I not recognize the feel of you in the water?” When she just stared at him, he swore. “Sometimes you can be as stubborn as stone. So tell me this, Jenny. If there wasn’t love in that storm, how do you explain the two children? A sister and brother. They were on the ship the Inquisitors burned. The children’s parents threw them off the ship while it burned and broke up around them. Threw them into the sea, doing the only thing they could to spare their children from burning.
“Those children were too young to survive in the sea. They were too far from land and any help, and they were in that storm with nothing but the sea around them. They should have drowned, Jenny. And yet, when the selkies swam out to look for survivors, they found those two children riding the swells. They said there were currents in that water like they’d never felt before—currents that constantly pushed upward, under those children, keeping them in that place where water meets air. The selkies used those currents, pushing the children to one of the boats that had come out to help. When the children were safely on board, the currents disappeared. The selkies didn’t know what to call it. I do. That was love.
“And what about the rest of us? We rode through that storm, too, and we came to no harm. Because the part of you that you never have to think about kept guiding the sea around our ships. Swells that would have destroyed a ship if they’d crested, never crested. We sailed through mountains of water that didn’t tumble in on themselves until the ships were past them. That wasn’t luck, Jenny. That was love. You have to know that. This fight isn’t over, and the day may come when you need to shape the sea into a weapon again to save those you hold dear. I’d take that burden from you if I could, and do it with a glad heart, but I don’t have your strength and I can’t command the sea the way you do.”