by Anne Bishop
“Not just for me,” Lyrra protested.
“So I’m not doing anything ... special... to show my appreciation for Dianna’s sacrifice. And she resents that the other Fae in the Clan ask me what Ari was like. They want to know anything I can remember about her and about the night we were at the cottage to celebrate the Summer Solstice. I’m not a bard,” he added quickly, “and I’m not trying to tell a tale. Truly I’m not. But...”
“But everyone is so unhappy because Dianna is acting like a selfish fool that they’ve begun to wonder about the witches, about Ari, about how things might have been if they’d tried to know her before it was too late,” Lyrra finished for him. And that’s exactly the kind of wondering that could change the Fae’s attitude about truly helping the witches. If Lucian and Dianna are determined to have the rest of the Fae continue to believe that the witches are supposed to be some kind of servants to us, they’d be especially displeased about a shift in attitude in their home Clan.
Falco nodded. “And Lucian is furious because Dianna gave him a cold welcome when he came back to Brightwood to see her. He can go anywhere he pleases. He isn’t chained to the human world. So Dianna resents her twin for all the things he can still do, and Lucian is bitter about her reaction to him as well as losing Ari.”
A twinge of guilt pushed at Lyrra. She couldn’t give Lucian any hint that she knew what really happened to Ari. She couldn’t. But if his heart ached for the loss of someone dear to him... “Did he truly care so much for Ari?”
“Don’t waste your sympathy on Lucian,” Falco said harshly. “I’ve heard the Lightbringer rarely sleeps alone, and rarely spends more than two nights in the same bed. The only reason he still thinks about Ari at all is because he didn’t have her until he was ready to walk away—and because she’d chosen to wed a human instead of being his mistress until he tired of her. Well, she would have wed the man if the Inquisitors hadn’t gotten to her first,” he added in a sad voice.
Lyrra sighed. An hour spent talking to her own kind made her feel as weary as spending a day traveling over a hard road in the human world.
“They both resent you and Aiden,” Falco said. “You know that, don’t you?”
“Because I chose to go with Aiden instead of remaining at the Old Place so that Dianna wouldn’t be inconvenienced. Yes, I know.”
“Because of that, yes. But more because you supported Morag when she refused to bring Ari back from the Summerland instead of siding with them. That’s really why both of them will deny anything you say about the witches.”
“Morag is the Gatherer,” Lyrra said angrily. “She did what she had to do.”
“I know. But they exiled her because of it, Lyrra, and if you’re not careful, they’ll do the same to Aiden and you.”
Would it make any difference? Lyrra wondered. We’re hardly welcome as it is.
“What can I do?” Falco asked.
Lyrra shook her head. “You’ve done all that you could, Falco.”
Now he shook his head. “I believe you and Aiden. I believe the witches deserve whatever help the Fae can give them. What can I do?”
“The Fae are already keeping watch over the Old Place this Clan’s territory is anchored to,” Lyrra said carefully.
Falco snorted. “They go down the shining road, find one of the Small Folk, and demand to know what the witches are doing. That’s hardly keeping watch. They never actually go close enough to see anything.”
Something in his voice. Something beneath the annoyance. Wistfulness?
Suddenly, Lyrra understood exactly what Falco was asking—and why. He wanted a way to justify getting close enough to become acquainted with the witches who lived at Willowsbrook.
“Well,” she said cautiously, “the witches who live at that Old Place aren’t very pleased with the Fae upsetting the Small Folk.” And Breanna threatened to shoot any Fae she found trespassing on her family’s land. Having met Breanna, she didn’t think it was so idle a threat as it might have been coming from someone else.
“You’ve met them?” Falco asked eagerly.
Lyrra winced. Mother’s tits. Today she was as bad as Falco usually was about speaking without thinking. But she had to say something now, and she simply couldn’t he to him. “Yes, they gave us shelter last night.”
“You stayed with them? What was it like? Did you tell them you were Fae? Would they really be upset about having another visitor if the Small Folk weren’t bothered?”
How was she supposed to answer when she could see anticipation instead of unhappiness in his eyes?
“I think if approached cautiously, and respectfully, it might be possible to become acquainted with them.”
He smiled at her. “I’ll be careful, Lyrra. I promise.”
She pictured a careful Falco—or as careful as Falco ever was—meeting Breanna. If the Lord of the Hawks expected every witch to be like Ari... Poor Falco. She couldn’t turn down what he was offering since she and Aiden had gotten so little help from the Fae, but at least she could send him down to the human world with one important piece of advice.
Placing a hand on one side of his face, she said, “Falco, if you do decide to make the acquaintance of the witches in this Old Place, don’t let Breanna talk you into taking the dog.”
Well, Lyrra thought a few minutes later as she left the common room and made her way back to the room she and Aiden shared, at least I’ve made one man I care about happier. Let’s see what I can do for the one who is dearest to me.
When she slipped into the room, she saw Aiden on the bed, one arm flung over his face to hide his eyes. He gave no indication he knew she was there until she lay on her side next to him.
“Perhaps...,” Aiden said. He swallowed hard. “Perhaps it would be better if you went back to your home Clan for a while.”
She wanted to ask him if he’d tired of her already, but the sharp tease would only bruise them both. So she said, quietly but firmly, “We’re in this together, husband.”
He moved his arm so that it rested behind his head. His blue eyes didn’t hold the passionate anger they would have at another time. Instead, she saw determination and ... fear?
“What are we going to do?” she asked.
“We’ve been forbidden to do anything useful in Tir Alainn, and nothing we’ve done in the human world has made any difference.”
“You’re backing down because Lu— the Lightbringer demands it? You’re giving up?” She couldn’t believe that of him. Wouldn’t believe that. But when he turned his head and stared up at the ceiling instead of continuing to look at her, she felt a ball of sickness grow inside her.
“The Lightbringer has managed to silence the Bard,” Aiden said. “There’s no point in wasting time or words here, so I’m not going to waste either of them.”
“Then what are we going to do?”
He took a deep breath. Let it out slowly. “How did the Lord of the Sun and the Lady of the Moon become the leaders of the Fae? He doesn’t command the sun; she doesn’t command the moon. How did they become the ones to whom the rest of us yield?”
Lyrra frowned, wondering where he was going with this. “The Lord of the Sun is also the Lord of Fire, which is a powerful thing to command.”
“An elemental thing, you could say.”
“And the Lady of the Moon commands the Wild Hunt.”
“Which must have had more of a purpose at one time than simply riding over the countryside with a pack of shadow hounds.”
She sighed in frustration, still unable to follow his thinking.
“Fire is a branch of the Great Mother. If it burns long enough and hot enough, it can sweep away anything on land, which is good reason to yield to the one who wields that power. And no living creature can stand against the Wild Hunt if it’s the chosen prey.”
“Which brings us where?” Lyrra asked, frustration making her voice sharp.
“Which brings us to finding the only one among the Fae who commands enough power to defy the Li
ghtbringer and the Huntress and walk away from the encounter intact.”
Lyrra stared at him for several seconds. An odd chill went through her, a shiver of fear that she had no rational reason to feel. “You want to find the Lord of the Woods? The Lord of the Woods?”
“The Hunter,” Aiden said quietly. “Yes.”
“But... Aiden ... no one has seen the Hunter in years. No one’s even heard anything about him in years.”
“I know.”
“Then why do you think he would help us protect the witches, even if we can find him?”
Aiden said nothing for a long moment. Then, “The day came when the old Lord of the Woods felt his power waning and knew the time had come for another to ascend to the full power of the gift and become the Green Lord and the Hunter. And so it was, at the full moon nearest Harvest’s Eve, that he went to a clearing in an old woods and waited for the young Lords to test their strength against him to see who would ascend and become the new Lord of the Woods.”
“And the young Lords came,” Lyrra said, taking up the story both of them knew so well, “but none of them were strong enough. None of them could match the waning strength of the one who commanded all of them.”
“Then another Lord stepped into the clearing, a stranger the others had never seen before. The stranger walked to the center of the clearing and faced the old Lord of the Woods, and all those who had gathered there felt the power rising— a fierce, joyful power that burned like a hot sun compared to a waning moon—and they knew this stranger was the new Lord of the Woods. The old Lord changed into the mighty stag that was his other form, and waited for the young Hunter to shape an arrow of magic, fit it to the bow, and send it into his heart, stripping him of his magic as was the custom.”
“And the stranger did shape an arrow of magic and fit it to the bow. Then the new Lord of the Woods shot the arrow into the ground in front of the old Lord’s feet, and said, ‘I will take the burden of your duties with a glad heart, but I will not take from you the power that made you what you are. For you have walked in the shadows and the light for all these long years, and your strength, your experience, your wisdom are still needed in the world. Go in peace. Merry meet, and merry part, and merry meet again.’ ”
“The stag lowered his head, then turned and walked away from the clearing. When he was gone, the other Lords of the Woods came, one by one, to kneel before the Hunter and offer their loyalty, swearing to obey the commands of the new Lord of the Woods. And so it was, that night near Harvest’s Eve, and he who came into power that night still rules the shadows and light of the woods and all things in it.”
Lyrra said nothing, feeling the echo of Aiden’s last words whispering through her.
“He changed things, Lyrra,” Aiden said. “Before that night, every time a Lord or Lady ascended to rule over all the others who had that same gift, the one whose power had waned was stripped of all of it, if not killed outright, in order to ensure that there would be no rivalry between the old and the new. By letting the old Lord walk away, the Hunter changed the waning and waxing of power from a battle between rivals to a ritual where the duties of power were passed on to the one best able to take up the task. When I ascended to become the Bard, I didn’t strip the old Bard of his gift of song. You didn’t strip the old Muse when your time came to command that power. And we would have, because it was the custom, if it hadn’t been for the story of how the Hunter came into his power.”
“Some still strip the power from the old to prevent any rivalry,” Lyrra said.
“And some always will. But many no longer do. If the Hunter could show compassion that night, he might be willing to hear what we have to say about the witches and why they need the Fae’s help.”
Hopeful. Doubtful. Lyrra wasn’t sure which was the strongest feeling pulsing through her. “Where would we even begin to look?”
“Where no one has thought to look.”
She puzzled over that for a moment. Then her eyes widened. She sat up on the bed and stared down at him, wondering if he was feverish. “The west? You want to go to the western Clans?”
“Think about it, Lyrra.” Aiden sat up to face her. “He hasn’t been seen in years. But we know he’s still the Lord of the Woods because if he wasn’t, another would have ascended to become the Hunter. No one knew who he was that night. No one knew what Clan he came from, and I don’t think he ever said where he came from, even during the time when he did travel to the other Clans so that the other Lords and Ladies of the Woods would have no doubt about who ruled them. Then he disappeared again. Where else could he be?”
“Perhaps ... in the human world, living there the same way Ahern did?”
“Even if that’s so, it still has to be in the west. All of us who ruled a gift knew where the Lord of the Horse was, even if few approached him. But no one knows how to locate the Hunter, and maybe that’s because we avoid the western Clans. If we approached one of those Clans and asked for him, I wonder how long it would really take to find him.”
What was it about the Fae from the western Clans that made the rest of them so uneasy?
“There’s another reason why the Hunter might be willing to help us,” Aiden said softly. “ ‘Merry meet, and merry part, and merry meet again.’ ”
Lyrra frowned. “I’ve always wondered about that. It’s such an odd saying, and it’s only in that story because the Hunter said it.”
“I wonder if Breanna or Nuala would find it an odd saying.”
Could the Hunter have taken those words to himself the same way she and Falco had taken Ari’s ritual greeting to themselves?
“If that is a witch’s saying ...,” Lyrra said carefully.
“Then the Hunter might already be acquainted with a witch or two.”
Lyrra didn’t bother to remind him that plenty of Fae males had been acquainted with witches—for as long as it took to bed them and breed them—but they hadn’t actually understood anything about the women they were mating with.
“When do we leave?” Lyrra asked.
“Tomorrow. Early. Even using the bridges between the Clan territories, it will still take a couple of days to reach the north end of the Mother’s Hills and then head west.”
“And what will we do today?”
“We’ll rest.” Aiden brushed a finger gently down her cheek. “Lyrra, this won’t be easy, even going through Tir Alainn as much as we can. Are you sure you—”
“Do you think the Fae in the western Clans have any stories we haven’t heard before?” Lyrra asked, deliberately cutting him off. “Maybe a song or two that even you haven’t heard?”
“It’s possible,” he said cautiously.
“And if I stay behind, you would promise to listen to any new stories as carefully as you listen to the songs and tell them to me when you got back.”
“Yes, of course I would.” He smiled at her, looking regretful and relieved.
“Ha!” She rolled off the bed so that she could stand with her hands on her hips. “You’d listen to them well enough to snip them here and nip them there so that they’d fit into a melody that suddenly came into your head, and the only thing I’d get is your version of the story instead of the story itself.”
“But—”
“Why don’t I go instead, and you stay here? I’ll listen to the songs and bring them back to you.”
His mouth slowly opened, but no sound came out. “Lyrra... You know I love you, and you have a lovely voice, but, darling, you never catch all of a song when you only hear it once. Most of the lyrics, yes, but never the tune.”
“Well, I can turn the song into a story so that I remember all of the words.”
He looked scandalized.
“You don’t approve?” she asked sweetly.
He rolled off the other side of the bed to stand and face her. “No, I don’t approve! A story and a song are not the same thing!”
“In that case, Bard, it would seem we have to go together. You to hear the songs, and I t
o hear the stories. And we’ll find some way to convince the Hunter to help us. Together.”
His breath came out in a huff that turned into a laugh.
“Very well, Muse. Together.” He came around the bed and held out his hand. “Shall we stroll through the gardens for a little while? I think my wife could use a little courting.”
Smiling, she slipped her hand into his. “I think my husband could use a little of the same.” A thought occurred to her, and she voiced it before she could change her mind. “What made you think of the west?”
He studied her for a moment in a way that made her sure her guess was correct.
“Morphia,” he said. “She was going to the western Clans to find Morag since there was nowhere else to look. It made me wonder if the Hunter might not be there, too.”
“Do you think Morphia has found Morag?”
“When we reach the western Clans, perhaps we’ll find out.” Aiden kissed her gently. “Let it go now. There are miles between us and any answers. For today, just let it go.”
Lyrra leaned toward him. “When we come back from our stroll through the gardens, will you play for me?”
“On the harp?”
“If you insist.”
He grinned, hesitated, then opened the door. “After our stroll, I’ll play you any tune you care to name.”
“I don’t catch all of a tune with only one hearing. You said so yourself.”
He burst out laughing, and was still laughing when he pulled her through the open door. “Come along, then. I want a bit of romancing before you have your way with me.”
And that, Lyrra decided when they reached the gardens, was one of the reasons she’d fallen in love with him. The Bard would never leave the romance out of passion—which suited the Muse perfectly.
Chapter Eleven
Liam shifted in his chair as another eastern baron droned on about how about his county’s prosperity had increased since he’d destroyed the vile creatures in the Old Places who had caused his people so much harm and how important it was for all the barons to take strong action to protect the people in Sylvalan’s towns and villages from the Evil One’s lures.
