by Anne Bishop
“It’s beautiful,” Lyrra said quietly. So easy to imagine the Fae gathering here at the end of the day to talk and laugh. So easy to picture the Clan’s bard or minstrel sitting on one of the wooden benches and playing for his own pleasure or to entertain whoever happened to be nearby. So easy to remember the cottage in Brightwood and Fae huddled together in the available beds or on thin mattresses on the floor because there hadn’t been room for all of them. So easy to remember the smaller, rougher cottages that Clan had built after so many of them had to come down to the human world in order to keep enough magic in the Old Place to hold the shining road open and their piece of Tir Alainn intact. Given enough time, would they eventually build a Clan house in the human world? Or would they continue to live a mean existence in Brightwood, doing only what they had to do to survive? “You’ve done so much work here.”
The man gave her an odd look. “We live here.”
“What about Tir Alainn?” Aiden asked.
“There’s a Clan house there, as well. The elders usually stay there during the winter months since the damp weather can be hard on old bones, and there are others who stay there much of the time to tend to things. The rest of us go there for a few days each season to rest. It’s a simpler place. It was meant to be.” He hesitated, looked a little puzzled. “I’ve heard it said that the Fae in other parts of Sylvalan live in Tir Alainn all the time. Is that true?”
“Yes,” Aiden said. “It’s true. Most of the Fae only come down to the human world to ... visit.”
The man shook his head. “Foolish thing to do, becoming a stranger to your own land.”
“If this is the Clan’s land, where do the witches live?” Lyrra asked. She saw the man’s expression, which had slowly warmed a little toward curious friendliness, change back instantly to wariness and suspicion. She felt the way Aiden suddenly gripped her hand in warning, and realized why he hadn’t asked if there were witches living in the Old Place. He’d intended to keep some things between themselves and the bard of this Clan, and she, caught up in comparing this place with memories of the Fae struggling through their first winter in Brightwood, had blurted out their interest in witches.
“That I can’t tell you,” the man said sharply. “The bard’s suite is this way.” He led them up a set of stairs to another archway that opened on the second floor of the building. A wide walkway stretched between one building and the next, ending at a rooftop courtyard.
A door at the opposite end of that courtyard took them down into a communal room for that part of the Clan house. The room was empty, which didn’t surprise her. If these Fae lived in the Old Place, there was plenty of work to be done in the daylight hours.
A brisk knock on an inner door a few doors down from the communal room. A muffled grumble behind it.
The man opened the door and gestured for them to go inside. “Taihg,” he said. “You’ve got visitors.”
She saw a man who looked a little older than Aiden hunched over a slant-top desk, busily scratching notations on a sheet of paper.
“I don’t have visitors until I’ve got this line down,” Taihg said irritably.
Before the man could speak again, Aiden just smiled and shook his head.
Lyrra saw a hint of warmth return to the man’s eyes. Apparently, he approved of the Bard showing that much courtesy to the Clan bard.
Raising two fingers to his temple in a salute, the man left, closing the door quietly behind him.
Silently, Aiden crossed the room and moved to a place where he could read the notations over Taihg’s shoulder.
“Stand back,” Taihg snapped. “I said I’d get to you in a moment. Pest.”
Aiden obediently returned to a place across the room. He picked up a small harp, settled on a padded bench that stood against one wall, and waited.
Lyrra sat on the bench with him, stifling the urge to wince—or give Aiden a hard poke in the ribs. Those blue eyes of his had that blend of interest and fire that meant something musical now had his full attention. Having seen Aiden when he was intensely focused on music, she felt a little sorry for the hapless bard who was about to be pounced on by the Lord of Song.
Taihg set his quill carefully back in its holder, stretched his back, then turned to his visitors. His mouth fell open when Aiden set his fingers on the harp strings and played the tune Taihg had just written.
“A few chords could be adjusted to give a little more to the song, but it’s a lovely piece,” Aiden said, quietly playing a few measures of the song again. “The contrast between the melody line and the chords you’re using gives it a bittersweet feel. Have you written the lyrics yet?”
“A couple of verses,” Taihg said, stammering slightly. “You’re—”
“Aiden.”
“—the Bard.”
“Yes.”
Taihg glanced at Lyrra. She gave him a bright smile, and said, “I’m Lyrra, the Muse.”
Taihg half rose from the stool he’d been sitting on, then sank back down. “The Bard and the Muse. To what do I owe the pleasure of—?”
Lyrra saw the moment when surprise stopped overpowering Taihg’s ability to think. And he was thinking hard now.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” Taihg said, but there was no pleasure in his eyes, only wariness.
Aiden continued to quietly pluck chords on the harp. “I’m seeking some information.”
Taihg spread his hands. “I’m just a simple bard from a western Clan. I doubt there’s anything I can tell you.”
“It occurred to me that, when I sent out word last summer that I was looking for information about witches, or the wiccanfae as they’re sometimes called, I never heard back from any of the bards or minstrels in the west.” Aiden set the harp aside and looked directly at the Clan bard, smiling gently. “I know I didn’t hear from you. Why is that?”
“I had nothing to tell you.”
Aiden’s smile turned sharp and feral. “Which isn’t the same thing as not having information. So you’ll tell me now.”
Taihg’s face hardened. “Why should I tell you anything?”
“Because I’m the Lord of Song. I’m the one who commands everyone with your gift. And I am commanding now.”
Taihg leaped up from the stool, came halfway across the room.
Aiden stood up to meet him.
“Who are you to come here and threaten me?” Taihg demanded. “The Bard? When have you, or any of the Bards before you, come to the west to listen to the traditional songs we know or the new ones we’ve written? When have you shown any interest in us? You haven’t. Because we’re the western Fae, the strange ones who are looked down on and dismissed as having nothing to offer. And now, when you want something, you come here and snap your fingers and expect me to dance to your tune? I don’t think so, Bard. You have no power here.”
“No power?” Aiden said with deadly softness. “I can strip you of your gift, leave you with nothing but an ache to shape a song with no ability to do it. I can strip your gift down so far you’ll never do more than fumble through someone else’s songs while sounding like a braying ass. That’s what I can do.”
“I can’t tell you anything,” Taihg said through gritted teeth.
“Won’t tell me anything.”
“I can’t.”
Taihg spun away. Took a turn around the room. Came back. “This is my home. These are my people. If I’m no longer welcome here—or anywhere else in the west—because I’ve given in to your demands, where am I supposed to go? To one of the Clans in the midlands? I’ve been to a few of them. I know well enough what sort of welcome I could expect from the Fae there. So I won’t bend to your demands in order to keep my music when it means giving up everything else. Take my gift, if that’s the kind of man you are. When you’re done with me, I may fumble through playing a song and sing like a braying ass, but the Fae here will still do me the courtesy of listening because they’ll know I lost the gift in order to protect something more important.”
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Taihg was trembling, almost close to tears. But it was the shock and pain in Aiden’s eyes that made Lyrra’s heart ache.
“They would shun you for talking to me?” Aiden asked softly. “Truly?”
“Why is this so important?” Taihg cried.
Aiden closed his eyes. “Because the witches are being slaughtered. They’re dying, and without the Fae’s help, more of them will die. I—” He opened his eyes and looked at her. Haunted eyes now, full of memories of things he’d rather not remember—and would never forget. “We were with one of them when she died. There was nothing we could do for her except give her whatever comfort she found in not being alone at the end. You didn’t see what the Black Coats, the Inquisitors, did to her. You didn’t hear the screams of her mother’s and sister’s ghosts when the nighthunters devoured them.” He looked at Taihg. “We’re here to find help, whatever help we can to stop the slaughter.”
“We’re trying to find the Hunter,” Lyrra said. “The Lightbringer and the Lady of the Moon have refused to acknowledge that the witches are the House of Gaian. They’ve refused to help. The Hunter is the only one who might be able to persuade the Fae to act before it’s too late. We’re not only losing the witches, we’re losing Tir Alainn. Is there nothing you can say that might help us?”
Taihg turned away, walked to the window, and looked out. After a long moment, he turned back to them. “Go up to Bretonwood. It’s northwest of here. Talk to Lady Ashk. No one else will tell you anything about witches or the wiccanfae.”
“How far?”
“Since the days are longer now, a couple of days of hard riding would get you there.”
A couple more days, Lyrra thought. How much more might happen in the eastern part of Sylvalan in a couple more days? Who else might die?
“What about the Hunter?” Aiden asked. “Have you heard anything that would indicate he’s somewhere in the west?”
Taihg gave them a strange smile. “Bard, if the Hunter wants to meet you, then you’ll meet.” He walked back to stand close to them. “But don’t ask anyone else about the witches or the wiccanfae. And don’t use the glamour to create a human mask. Your true face will be safer here.”
“Safer?” Lyrra said, alarmed.
“Some of those Inquisitors you spoke of came into the west. Warnings have gone out to be watchful of strangers coming into the west—especially strangers who start asking about witches and wiccanfae.”
“What happened to the Black Coats?” Aiden asked.
“One escaped. Might have gotten out of the west by now. That’s why it could go hard for anyone who makes the Clans or the barons’ guards uneasy. The others . . .” Taihg shrugged. “They didn’t escape.”
Lyrra shivered, regretting even more her careless remark about witches.
“Go to Bretonwood,” Taihg said. “Talk to Ashk.”
Aiden nodded, held out a hand to Lyrra. She wondered how he knew her legs were shaking enough that she appreciated the help to stand.
“Thank you for your time, Taihg,” Aiden said.
“Bard,” Taihg said. “I know you’re both anxious to be on your way, but there are times when haste makes for a longer journey. Stay the night with us. Give yourself and your horses some rest. Then you’ll be able to start fresh in the morning.”
Impatience shimmered around Aiden, but he nodded. “Since we’re going to be guesting at this Clan tonight, perhaps you’d be willing to let me hear some of your songs.”
“That isn’t why I suggested that you stay,” Taihg protested.
“I know,” Aiden replied. “That’s why I offered.”
Aiden stared out the window of the guest room he and Lyrra had been given for the night. He hadn’t missed the fact that Taihg had shown no surprise when Lyrra had said the witches were the House of Gaian. No surprise at all.
Which confirmed, for him, that the Fae of this Clan, at the very least, weren’t ignorant of who the women who lived in the Old Places were. They’d known a year ago, and had said nothing. Would things have happened differently last summer if he, along with Lucian and Dianna, had found out sooner who the witches were? Or would the Lightbringer and the Lady of the Moon have denied it, just as they denied it when Morag discovered what was written in the journals left by the women in Ari’s family?
Perhaps it made no difference. Perhaps what happened at Brightwood would have happened anyway.
“At least we know we’re looking in the right place for the Hunter,” Lyrra said, coming up behind him and wrapping her arms around his waist. “That’s something.”
“There’s a lot of land, and a lot of Clans, in the west,” Aiden replied. He turned so that he could wrap his arms around her, giving comfort as well as accepting it. “The longer this takes ...”
“I know. But there’s nothing else we can do.” She leaned back enough to look at him. “And we have a direction, a specific place to go and a specific person to ask in order to get some answers.” She frowned. “But I did wonder why Taihg thought this Lady Ashk would help us when he was equally certain no one else would.”
Aiden had wondered the same thing. But he wasn’t going to tell Lyrra that, when he’d taken Taihg aside and asked about it, the reply he’d gotten was, “Ashk doesn’t like the Lightbringer.”
Opposing Lucian had cost him his ties to his own Clan, had thwarted every effort he had made to convince the Fae to help the witches. He appreciated the irony that his break with the Lightbringer could assist him in winning over the Fae whose help he needed the most now.
And he’d had a moment to feel bitterly angry with himself when he realized his demands for information might have cost another man all the things he, himself, had already lost.
“What do you think?” Lyrra asked.
He didn’t want to think about anything for a little while. Brushing his lips against her forehead, he said, “We’ll find out in a couple of days.”
Chapter Twenty-six
Liam rode through the arch at a gallop, but reined in quickly. Too many people about the Old Place these days to ride into the midst of them so recklessly. But taking care of the people who were his responsibility had taken time, and the day was making that long, soft slide into twilight. Still plenty of daylight left at this time of year, so close to the Solstice, but it wasn’t bright, burning sunlight.
“Where are the children?” Liam snapped as soon as Clay approached to take his horse. “Where’s Breanna?”
“The children are about here and there, same as they’ve been for the past few days. Breanna and Keely walked to the far pasture. That stallion of yours has been spooked all day, and he’s got all the other horses stirred up. Even I couldn’t get close enough to him to do anything. He likes Keely, so she and Breanna went out to see if they could lead him in.”
A chill went through Liam, swiftly followed by a shimmer of heat beneath his skin. He’d been fighting that heat all afternoon, ever since one of his tenant farmers had come running to the manor house to report a heavy smell of something rotting near a tree the man swore hadn’t been dead a couple of days ago.
“Where’s your far pasture?” Liam asked, fairly sure he already knew. He’d noticed some horses grazing when he and Squire Thurston had ridden out to see what his tenant had found.
Clay jerked a thumb in a northerly direction. “Borders your land. We don’t use it much—at least, we haven’t until now. So if you’re worried about your cows straying across the creek to graze—”
“We found signs of nighthunters a little while ago,” Liam said abruptly. “On my land, but near that pasture. I’m going after Breanna and Keely. You alert the other men. Make sure the children stay close enough to the house that they can get to shelter quickly if they have to.”
“We’ll see to it,” Clay said, looking pale. “A few of us will follow after you to bring in the horses.”
Nodding, Liam urged his gelding forward. He heard Clay shout at someone and saw an adolescent boy dash for the gate that ope
ned into the near pasture, not more than a couple of acres of land that was used for grazing and exercising the horses that were usually here. With all the horses that had come with Breanna’s kin, they’d needed to use the other pastures.
But why that one? Liam asked silently as he galloped toward the gate at the other end of the pasture. And why today? Why hadn’t anyone paid attention to Oakdancer’s uneasiness and brought the horses in sooner? The stallion might have the habit of leaping a fence and going visiting whenever it suited him—which is why, with Nuala’s permission, he’d left Oakdancer at the Old Place since trying to keep him at the estate had been pointless—but he was a fairly easy-tempered animal when approached the right way. Clay should have realized there was a reason for the horse being spooked. He shouldn’t have allowed Keely and Breanna to go out to that pasture.
Liam smiled wryly as he reined in and maneuvered his gelding so that he could open the pasture gate without dismounting. With the informality and the way everyone at the Old Place worked together, it was easy to forget that Clay actually worked for Breanna’s family and wasn’t a male relative who was entitled to strongly voice an opinion about what his female relatives did or didn’t do. Not that those females would pay any attention, but he would have been entitled to voice an opinion. Which, come to think of it, Clay tended to do anyway.
The earth in the next pasture had been turned and now held planted fields, except for the wide green stretch of grass that served as a road between the fields. Winter feed for the animals, Liam noted as his horse galloped over the grass road. It hadn’t been planted that many days ago, but the plants looked as big as the ones in his own fields that his tenants had planted in the spring. Earth magic. A calling to the land to yield what was needed. Were there other witches here now to help Keely draw out that branch of the Mother? Breanna’s kin were wary of him because he was a baron, so he hadn’t asked many questions. But his mother would know.