by Anne Bishop
For a full minute, Ari just stood there. When she took the first step, the small man began to beat the drum. The other drummer joined him. When she’d taken half a dozen steps, Ari made a quarter turn so that she faced the brazier. She raised her arms, her hands curling as if she were clasping two other dancers’ hands on either side of her. Crossover step, crossover step, turn to face forward, step one, two, three, then turn back to face the center of the circle. Crossover step, crossover step, turn to face forward, step one, two, three, then turn back to face the center of the circle.
Not a circle, Dianna decided when Ari reached the point where she had started. A spiral dance that will end right at that brazier. And then what will happen?
Her feet tingled. At first, she ignored it. When she saw Lyrra jerk her feet off the ground, she pulled her attention away from Ari to look at the rest of the Fae. Lucian was pale and had his hands clenched. Aiden was holding his harp so tightly his knuckles were white. Falco looked scared. And Lyrra kept shifting around in her chair, as if she could no longer sit still.
The tingling got worse, as if her feet were in some odd kind of river.
It is a river, Dianna thought, focusing on the dance that spiraled closer and closer to its end. A river of magic. She’s drawing all the magic in Brightwood into that spiral.
There was no wind, but the air seemed to be in motion—and she would swear that something in the air sparkled as it moved toward the dance.
She glanced at the Small Folk. They weren’t alarmed by what was happening while Ari danced.
By the time Ari reached the brazier and stood quietly before it, everything felt like it was in motion.
Ari pointed at the brazier. The kindling inside it burst into flames. “We give thanks for the branch of fire. It is the Mother’s heart, and like all passions, it can warm or it can burn.” She picked up a goblet beside the fire pit and slowly poured the water inside it onto the ground. “We give thanks for the branch of water. It is the Mother’s tears, shed in laughter and in pain.” She raised her arms until they formed curves over her head. “We give thanks for the branch of air. It is the Mother’s breath.” She moved her arms closer until her fingertips touched. “We give thanks for the branch of earth. It is the Mother’s body and gives us life. May Her blessings be bountiful.”
As Ari slowly opened her arms, Dianna felt the surge of released power. It rose high in the air, arced, then flowed in ripples that spread and spread and spread until they would reach every stone, every tree, every nook and cranny within the boundaries of Brightwood.
The drumming stopped.
The Small Folk were smiling.
Looking weary but content, Ari smiled back at them. “May the Mother bless your days,” she said.
“And yours, Mistress Ari,” one of the small men said. Giving the Fae a wary glance, he and the others walked across the meadow and disappeared into the woods.
Dianna sat there, knowing she would have to say something—the right something—when Ari rejoined them. She had no idea what that might be. Only one thought kept circling in her head: she hadn’t realized just how powerful the witches truly were, hadn’t realized how much power Ari had. If the girl gathered that much magic and released it toward a target . . .
Was that what had happened to the roads through the Veil? That much power would certainly tear it away from whatever anchored it to the human world. They had known the witches were somehow connected to losing pieces of Tir Alainn. But Ari had seemed harmless, ineffective.
She wasn’t harmless. Now they had proof of just how powerful a witch could be. Had Lucian known that?
Dianna slanted a look at her brother.
No, Lucian hadn’t known.
Now, more than ever, they needed to make sure Ari was a friend to the Fae—or they needed to make sure she could do no harm.
She didn’t want to think about that possibility. Not right now.
When Ari sank into the chair beside hers, Dianna still didn’t know what to say.
“You probably want to start back now while there’s still some daylight left,” Ari said, not looking at any of them.
“Yes,” Dianna said faintly, “that would be best.”
“I’ll saddle the horses,” Falco said.
“I’ll help him, if you’ll pack the harp,” Aiden said, glancing at Lyrra, who nodded.
Since the saddlebags had already been repacked, it didn’t take much time before they were ready to leave.
“It was a lovely evening, Ari,” Lyrra said. “Thank you for sharing it with us.”
“Blessings of the day to you,” Ari replied quietly.
Dianna reached for Ari’s hand, gave it a light squeeze. “I’ll see you again soon.”
“Yes.”
Dianna joined Lyrra, Aiden, and Falco by the horses. She looked back in time to see Lucian kiss Ari’s hand. Was he being that circumspect because he had an audience or because he didn’t dare do more?
With one hot glance at her, Lucian changed form and galloped across the meadow. Since the rest of them still had to pretend they’d come from somewhere in the human world and had to circle around out of sight in order to reach the shining road, he would be back in Tir Alainn well before the rest of them.
That was for the best. She might be able to slip by him and avoid any discussions until the morning.
As they rode away, Lyrra asked quietly, “Did we do harm or good here tonight?”
“I wish I knew,” Dianna replied.
* * *
Ari poured the last of the pale-tasting wine Lucian had brought, drank it down in two swallows, then sat on the bench. Hearing a soft whine coming from the open kitchen door, she said, “It’s all right. They’re gone now.”
Merle crept out of the cottage. He pressed himself against her leg, shivering.
Ari picked him up and set him on her lap.
“They don’t know anything about witches,” she told him. “If they did, they would have known their glamour magic wouldn’t hide them during the dance. They must all know each other, maybe they’re all from the same Clan, and yet they pretended Lucian was a stranger. I may be young, but I’m not blind.” She laughed. There was a hint of bitterness in it. “Well, Dianna did tell me she had had dealings with the Fae. She’d just forgotten to mention that she was one herself. I wonder which one.” She rubbed her nose against Merle’s soft fur. “Perhaps that’s a question best left unanswered.” She studied the puppy’s coloring. “You’re a shadow hound, aren’t you? But your mother mated with a less-than-desirable male, and that made you worthless in their eyes. No wonder you’re so afraid of them. No wonder you can recognize them. But if you’re undesirable because you’re not a pure blood, what does that make me? I can’t even claim that much of their world. What do they want? I’m certain now they want something. But they’re keeping it hidden, just as they hide their real faces.”
Setting Merle down, she walked over to the chopping block.
“Since you were hiding, you didn’t see how often Falco looked at this chopping block and tried not to smile. I wonder if we’ll be getting any more rabbits after today.”
She walked over to the brazier and sat down. The kindling had burned quickly, but there were still a few hot embers. They never doused this fire. It always quietly burned out on its own. It had been a dry summer, so she would sit there for a while to make sure no puff of wind blew a spark into the meadow.
No, the Fae didn’t know about witches, didn’t understand the dance. Strong pockets and pools of magic would form over time. The cottage was one of them because that’s where she lived. But there were other places around Brightwood that drew magic to them, making it harder for Small Folk who didn’t live near one of those pockets or pools to keep their own magic balanced. And sometimes those pools became strong enough to trap a being who didn’t have much magic. So the dance drew all the magic that came from the Mother’s branches into one place so that it could flow through the witches and be sent out again to
cover the Old Place.
It drew magic that came from the Mother’s branches. But no other kind of magic. So the Small Folk always appeared as bright spots of magic standing in a world that looked a little pale. And she’d expected to see Lucian as another bright spot. She hadn’t expected to see the rest of her guests shine as well.
“In one way, they did me a kindness tonight,” Ari told Merle. “Now I have an answer to give Neall the next time I see him.”
Lucian was waiting for her when she got to her rooms at the Clan house.
“As we live and breathe, Dianna, what were you thinking of?” he shouted.
Already worried, Dianna put spurs to her temper and let it run. As she slammed the door, she shouted back, “I could say the same about you!”
“I didn’t know she was a witch when I accepted the promise she made at the Summer Moon. And if I remember right, you were the one who encouraged me to accept it.”
“You still wouldn’t have known if I hadn’t been visiting and found out.”
Lucian’s voice got quiet and deadly. “But you knew before tonight. You knew before the rest of us. Oh, yes, I figured out where Aiden got his information about the pentagram. So tell me, sister, just why have you been visiting Ari?”
“Because I was concerned about you!” Dianna stopped, paced, made some effort to rein in her temper. “You’ve never shown that much interest in a human female before. I wanted to see for myself what kind of person she was.”
“That explains the first time you went there. It doesn’t explain the rest.”
“What rest?” Dianna snapped, feeling more and more cornered.
“You kept going back,” Lucian said, his hands curling into fists. “Why? And why give her a useless puppy? Did you think I wouldn’t recognize the little mongrel? Especially when I’d seen it right here in our own gardens?”
“It has no value to us, but it’s not useless to her!” Dianna pressed her lips together.
“It’s easy to give away something that has no meaning, isn’t it?”
You should talk, Dianna thought furiously. And then realized that was exactly where some of Lucian’s anger was coming from. “I did no harm.”
“No harm?” Lucian stared at her. “No harm? She’s a witch!. You felt, and saw, the way she drew the magic out of the land. If she hadn’t released it again, would we have had a home to come back to tonight?”
“You can’t lay this all on my shoulders, Lucian. You can’t.”
“Why were you there tonight?” he roared.
The truth burst out of her. “Because I like her!” She tried to stop . . . and couldn’t. Tears filled her eyes, spilled over. “I like her. I didn’t want to, had never intended to go there more than once. I went the first time because I was concerned about you. I went back the second time because I was curious about her. But I kept going back because I like her.” She brushed the tears off her face. “Tonight I just wanted her to have a little fun. She told me there’s a Midsummer celebration in the village, with music and dancing, but she’s not welcome there because she’s a witch. And we would be celebrating the Solstice here, with music and dancing and a feast. And she would have been alone. I didn’t want her to be alone.”
Lucian sat on the window seat. His shoulders sagged. He sighed. “I know. That’s why I went to Brightwood tonight.” He smiled wryly. “Poor Aiden. No wonder he was so tense when he told me you had already engaged him and Lyrra to perform at a special celebration.”
Hopeful that the storm between them had passed, Dianna took a couple of steps toward her brother. “Aiden wasn’t nearly as upset as Falco. He’d threatened to tell you we were going to Brightwood unless we took him with us—and then you showed up.”
Lucian chuckled. “Served him right.”
As amusement and anger faded, she saw the hurt and confusion underneath. “You care about her, don’t you?”
He wouldn’t look at her. “Yes, I care. I don’t want to. At least, not this much. But I do care.” He hesitated. “I did have another reason for going there tonight.”
“I can think of one obvious one,” Dianna said dryly.
He shook his head. “One of those louts from the village has asked her to marry him, and she’s actually considering it. I couldn’t see any reason why she would do that unless she couldn’t stand being so lonely anymore. So I thought. . .” He raked his fingers through his hair. “I’ve visited most of the Clans here in Sylvalan—the eastern and midland ones, anyway. I even visited a couple of Clans in Arktos before they completely disappeared. And in learning how to deal with the human world, I’ve seen a good part of Sylvalan as well. The farthest she’s ever gone is a coastal town a day’s journey from Brightwood. She knows little of stories and music. She knows little of anything besides her weaving and her garden and her magic. I could show her the stories and the music, talk to her about other things.”
“Be a mentor as well as a lover?” Dianna asked softly.
“What’s wrong with that? Why should she settle for some rutting human who will roll on top of her, pump his hips a few times, then roll back off, when I can give her pleasure? Why should she grow old while she’s still so young because she’s always working?”
Dianna frowned. “Then why weren’t you there tonight to be a lover?”
Lucian sprang up from the window seat. “Because she won’t be with me until she’s decided what to do about him. Only a dog should have that kind of loyalty.”
The words hung in the air.
“If she chooses you, how long would this arrangement last?” Dianna asked cautiously.
“As long as it pleases both of us.”
“What if she wants children?”
He shuddered—and she quietly sighed in relief.
“My children, when I have them, will be Fae,” he said quietly. “I am the Lightbringer. I can accept no less.” He took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “I want to be with her because I care. But we also need to keep Ari away from anyone who might turn her against us.”
“Agreed. We need to protect her for her own sake as well as for ours.” She had a name for that lout who wanted to marry Ari. But that wasn’t something she was going to share with Lucian just yet. Not until she knew what Ari decided.
Chapter Twenty-five
After bedding down Darcy, Neall lingered in the stables.
Was there anything lonelier than being surrounded by people and still feeling alone? If he could have, he would have gone to Brightwood to celebrate the Solstice with Ari, to see the dance he vaguely remembered his mother performing, to feel the magic flowing to a living focal point and then spilling out over the land again.
It had been prudent to go with Baron Felston and the others to the village’s Midsummer feast; tomorrow he would ride over to Brightwood and see if Ari had reached a decision. Then, one way or another, he had plans to make.
Not much longer, Neall assured himself as he walked to the house. He would never again have to celebrate the Solstice in Ridgeley. The village’s Midsummer feast used to be a joyful time, a promising beginning for the young couples who chose to be wed that day. For the young men and women who willingly had clasped hands and pledged themselves to each other, it was still a golden day, and the way those women had looked at their new husbands had made him ache to hold Ari. But he’d noticed that none of the gentry couples had looked at their life partners with that same joy and anticipation. He suspected that, for them, the days between the full moon and the dark had been more than enough time for them to grow tired of each other. The ones who had pledged themselves in marriage had done so because a Summer Moon child was on the way—but it was status and property settlements that were the real enticements in accepting the “yoke of marriage.” Better to marry an heir than a second son you actually loved. Better to marry the daughter of a gentleman, even if she felt nothing but contempt for you because you were slightly beneath her own social status, than a merchant’s daughter who admired you.
Neall opened the front door and stepped into the hallway. Odella had been acting vile for the past several days, but at least they’d been spared—
“You slut!” Royce’s shout came from Baron Felston’s study.
Neall didn’t hesitate. He ran to the study and pushed the door open.
Baron Felston and Royce stood in front of the chair where Odella cringed yet still managed to look defiant. Felston’s wife stood to one side, looking at her daughter with undisguised contempt.
“You shame your family because you think you’re above custom and tradition?” Felston roared. “You had the chance to do what was proper. Even as late as this morning, something could have been arranged. A babe that comes early to a Midsummer marriage isn’t considered early at all. No one counts the months on their fingers or smirks behind their hands. Neither family has its reputation smeared or loses any of its standing in the community. But a marriage that takes place even a week later is quite a different thing.”
Odella’s lips trembled, but her voice was sharp enough. “I told you. I can’t marry him.”
“You lifted your skirts for a married man?” Royce yelled. “Have you lost all decency? What are you going to be? Ridgeley’s fancy whore?”
“Royce!” the baroness said sharply. “I won’t have such things said.”
“Why not?” Royce demanded, turning on his mother. “If that’s what she is now, she should at least get paid for it.”
“He isn’t married!” Odella said, straightening in the chair.
“Then what is he?” Baron Felston said. “Did you go on your back for some ill-bred lout who shovels out the stables?”
“He wasn’t ill-bred, he wasn’t a lout, and he wasn’t married!” Odella shouted. She paused, then said dramatically, “He was a Fae Lord.”
Silence.
Neall heard the clock in the hallway strike the quarter hour.
“A Fae Lord,” Baron Felston said heavily. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Are you telling me the truth, girl? You’re not just saying this?”