by Anne Bishop
“Hush, Merle,” Ari said. The smile she gave Dianna was considerably warmer than the initial greeting. “He’s my protector. He protects me from butterflies, bugs, twigs, leaves, and anything else that moves—as long as it’s smaller than he is. Or close enough in size.”
“And if it’s bigger?” Dianna asked.
Laughing, Ari got to her feet and brushed dirt off her trousers. “Then he bravely stands behind me and tries to warn off the intruder.”
In a few months, he won’t stand behind you, Dianna thought, studying the puppy. And any intruders will find out how savage an animal who’s even part shadow hound can be.
“I’m glad you’re doing well with each other. I won’t keep you from your work.” She turned to mount her pale mare.
“Dianna . . .”
Dianna looked over her shoulder.
“I am sorry I was rude. And I could use a rest if you want to stay for a bit. I could offer you—” She huffed out a breath. “Well, there’s water. Or tea, if you’d like something warm.”
“Some water would be welcome.” Following Ari to the back of the cottage, Dianna stopped long enough to slip off the mare’s bridle to let her graze. She watched Ari fill a bucket and set it beside the well for the mare, then go into the cottage. Bringing out two mugs, Ari filled another bucket, poured water into both mugs, then poured the rest of the water back into the well.
“At this time of year, the water in the well is a bit cooler than what I get from the pump in the kitchen,” Ari explained, handing Dianna a mug.
Dianna sat on the bench. Ari remained standing, staring out at the meadow.
“What’s troubling you?” Dianna asked.
“I’ve had my share of bullies for the day.”
“In that case, who has been troubling you?” Dianna the Huntress asked.
“What makes men think they have the right to use anger to intimidate someone into giving them what they want?” Ari demanded, whirling around. “How can ‘yes’ have any meaning if you’re afraid to say ‘no’?”
“What did he want?”
“He wanted sex. What else could he want?” She was almost shouting now. “And then Odella shows up and wants a spell or potion because she’s afraid she’s with child and obviously doesn’t like whoever she ended up with during the Summer Moon enough to consider wedding him. And when I told her I didn’t know anything that would help her, she threatened me.”
Dianna dismissed Odella as insignificant. But this male . . . What was his name? Ah, yes. “So this . . . Neall . . . threatened you because you wouldn’t give him sex? What right does he have to expect such a thing from you?”
“Not Neall,” Ari snapped. “Lucian.”
Dianna choked. “A F—” She choked again.
“Drink some water,” Ari said, coming over to give Dianna a couple hard thumps on the back.
Dianna drank some water, swallowed wrong, then coughed until her eyes watered and Ari thumped her back again.
“A Fae Lord threatened you because you refused him?”
Ari looked at her warily. “How did you know he was a Fae Lord?”
“Your conversation isn’t sprinkled with male names,” Dianna replied testily. “Since it wasn’t this Neall, it was easy to figure out it was the Fae Lord.”
“Yes, it was him.”
Dianna watched Ari pace in front of the bench. Lucian, you fool, what have you done? “Sometimes men are stupid,” she said, offering it as a sop to a bruised female ego.
“I’ll drink to that.” Ari raised her mug in a salute, not breaking stride.
Worried that Ari hadn’t taken the words as they had been meant and shrugged off her annoyance with a smile of agreement, Dianna sipped the water. This was no girl who could be led. This was a young woman who was steaming mad. “Maybe he misunderstood something you said?”
“He greeted me, I returned the greeting. If that’s all it takes to be misunderstood, I simply won’t speak to him again.”
Groping for something to say, Dianna blurted out the first thing that occurred to her. “I’m surprised you didn’t turn him into a large stone or something.”
“I couldn’t do that even if I wanted to,” Ari said. “My magic doesn’t work that way.” She paused, narrowed her eyes. “Although stuffing him down the privy is an appealing thought.”
Dianna felt her jaw drop. Mother’s mercy. She studied Ari more closely. Oh, there was plenty of anger there that belonged on Lucian’s shoulders, but not all of it was because of him. He simply had become the focus for it. And that wasn’t good.
“Perhaps if you started from the beginning and explained . . .”
Those words seemed to loosen the pebble that was holding up the dam. As all of Ari’s pent-up anger and frustration and doubts about dealing with the villagers of Ridgeley, men in general, and Lucian in particular spilled out, Dianna thought over and over, She isn’t like us. She may not be like other humans, but she also isn’t like us. And not even the Lightbringer can afford to forget that.
Dianna paced her sitting room, waiting for Lyrra and Aiden to answer her summons. Lucian’s blunder wasn’t as bad as it had sounded, but she also knew that, as much as Ari had said, some things had been left out. It was clear that the girl’s reasons for refusing Lucian had something to do with that Neall, but Ari hadn’t said exactly why she’d refused. Still, there had been other things that had been said that had given her an idea of how to ease Ari toward thinking well of the Fae.
A quick rap on the door was the only warning before Lyrra and Aiden slipped into the room.
“Forgive the haste,” Lyrra said, “but Lucian was heading for his suite, and we didn’t think you wanted anyone to know we were meeting with you here.”
“You both have plans for the Solstice,” Dianna said abruptly.
They looked at each other, then at her.
“The Muse and the Bard usually do,” Aiden said, amused. “It is one of our feast days.”
“This year you’re going to be absent from the feast in Tir Alainn. The three of us will be celebrating the Solstice at the cottage.”
“With the witch,” Aiden said, no longer amused.
“With Ari,” Dianna said.
“Who is a witch,” Lyrra said.
Looking at their grim faces, Dianna tried to find a way to explain without really explaining. “The humans also celebrate Midsummer. There’s feasting and music and dancing. But Ari isn’t welcome among them and will be alone. I thought . . .” She trailed off, not sure how to finish.
“You thought that bringing a couple of musicians and a bit of a feast would take the sting out of not being welcome elsewhere,” Lyrra said.
“Yes.”
Lyrra and Aiden looked at each other.
“Does she know you’re Fae?” Aiden asked.
Dianna shook her head. “But I think I should tell her soon, so she won’t feel that I’ve deceived her.”
“We’re both used to appearing as humans, so holding the glamour for an evening won’t be a problem,”
Aiden said. “Slipping away from Tir Alainn unnoticed will be more of a challenge.”
Dianna smiled. “We’ll find a way. Besides, the only one we really have to avoid is Lucian.”
“Aiden.”
Lucian wondered why the Bard tensed so much before turning away from the stairs to speak with him, then dismissed it. He’d spent most of the afternoon prowling the gardens while trying to figure out how to placate Ari enough for her to overlook his blunder that morning. He needed to offer something that would please her more than his other gifts had—and Aiden was his answer.
“I’m going to need you on the Solstice.”
Aiden paled. “Lucian . . . as much as I regret refusing you, I must. The Huntress has already requested my services for a special performance that evening.”
Disappointment weighed heavily on his shoulders. “I see. Perhaps the Muse—”
Aiden shook his head. “She’s also engaged that ev
ening.” He hesitated. “There are a couple of other bards here. Perhaps one of them could—”
“No.” Needing air and open ground, Lucian quickly went down the stairs. Then, remembering courtesy, he turned and looked up at Aiden, who was still looking pale. “I thank you for the suggestion, but I wanted the best.”
“Perhaps another night?” Aiden said faintly.
“Perhaps.”
Lucian prowled the gardens until well after dark. Finally, weary enough to rest, he returned to the Clan house.
He had no voice for songs and no skill with an instrument, so there would be no music. And he didn’t have the Muse’s gift, either, but he could tell a story fairly well. Enough to amuse and provide a little pleasure.
It wouldn’t be the entertainment he had wanted, but at least Ari wouldn’t spend the Solstice alone.
Chapter Twenty-two
Adolfo dipped his pen in the ink pot and made another X on the map spread out on the desk. Two more witches would no longer foul the world with their magic. After glancing at his courier to make sure the young man was still too busy wolfing down the meal that had been ordered for him, Adolfo studied the map and smiled.
His Inquisitors were making good progress in this part of Sylvalan now that they weren’t spending the time needed to convince the common people that witches were evil and simply could get on with the job of eliminating the vile creatures. The barons supported the purge since the witches’ land came to them. For now, their support was enough. The minstrels he had hired to travel through the villages, singing the songs that revealed the witches’ foul deeds, would prepare the ground for the ideas he would plant later, after those who had magic running through their veins—the Small Folk and the Fae—were driven off by the death of magic in the land. After it was safe to linger in one place long enough to teach men how to be the masters of their lives.
His Inquisitors also reported that several Old Places had been abandoned recently, and in each there had been signs that the women who had lived there had fled in haste. They had fled him in Wolfram and Arktos, too. It hadn’t done them any good. He’d found them in the end.
He read the next letter the courier had brought him—and frowned. He hastily read the others, then stared at the courier. The young man, glancing over at that moment, abandoned his meal and hurried to stand beside the desk.
“Why are all of my Inquisitors asking me to replenish their purses?” Adolfo asked softly. “I gave each of you sufficient coin to cover ordinary expenses.” He continued to stare at the courier, only now considering that the young man’s hunger had been more than a day’s riding would warrant. “Is your purse empty as well?”
The courier licked his dry lips and looked at the desk. “Yes, Master Adolfo,” he whispered.
“What did you do with the money? Were you gambling? Drinking?” He paused, then added with rapier delicacy, “Whoring?”
“N-No, Master,” the courier said, stammering in his haste to get the words out. “It’s just—”
The courier bit his lip so hard Adolfo waited to see if it bled.
“The gentry have refused to pay for the food and lodging,” he blurted out. “They said that since we hadn’t been invited and had done nothing to prove our worth, there was no reason why they should pick up the tab at the inn.”
“Did any of you explain that it was customary—and an honor—to provide for an Inquisitor’s well-being while he is in a village?”
“They said it wasn’t their custom!” The courier sounded outraged and shocked and so very young.
Adolfo sat back in his chair. Yes, most of the men he had brought with him would be shocked by such a lack of respect. They were used to the deference tinged with fear that they received in Wolfram and Arktos. They were too young to remember a time when that had not been so. But he had slept in many barns and had felt the keen edge of hunger many times when he’d first begun his quest to annihilate the witches.
“Master . . .” The courier hesitated. “Could these witches be different from the ones that were in Wolfram and Arktos? Could they be . . . good witches, and that’s why the villagers don’t want them caught?”
So very young, Adolfo thought sadly, and just weak enough to listen to strangers, and wonder. And once one man begins to wonder if what we do is right, that doubt can spread like a plague through the others. Something will have to be done. But not just yet. He has the stamina for the courier work and will be needed for a little while longer.
“There are no witches who are not the vessel of evil,” Adolfo said. “There are only fools who believe they are something else.”
“Yes, Master.”
“There is a cot in my dressing room. You may sleep there for the night. You should turn in now. You’ll have another long ride ahead of you tomorrow.”
“Yes, Master. Goodnight.”
Adolfo waited until the courier had retired before picking up the last letter. Expensive paper. A family crest pressed into the sealing wax. He opened it, scanned the evasive prose, and read between the lines.
Baron Prescott had made a deal to sell some fine timber, a deal that would replenish his family’s dwindling funds. But the land upon which the timber stood did not belong to the baron. However, a man of Adolfo’s skill would be able to rectify the matter quite easily.
Yes, Adolfo thought as he folded the letter, he could rectify the matter quite easily for two bags of gold paid in advance. The baron would protest the sum, but not for long. They never protested for long. All it usually took was explaining what a changeling child was and how witches often exchanged their own children for gentry children, sometimes for vengeance, sometimes simply to have their children raised in luxury. Gently suggesting that the children be examined to see if such a thing had befallen the family was usually sufficient persuasion for any gentleman.
So he would have the gold that would take care of his own expenses, the baron would have the timber that would more than make up for the price of services rendered, and the witch who now owned the land . . .
When the time came, he could decide what would be a fitting death for her.
Chapter Twenty-three
Hearing the mare’s pathetic whinny, Morag’s hands tightened on the dark horse’s reins. He shook his head, but slowed his pace, as if waiting for her to decide if he really had to stop.
She drew back on the reins, then twisted in the saddle to look behind her. The other mares walked past her but didn’t go far. The sun stallion turned, blocking the road.
The last mare kept coming toward them. She was sweating heavily from the effort to keep up. The dead hide around the nighthunters’ bites kept sloughing off, leaving more open sores for the flies to find.
If it wasn’t for the mare’s tenacity, Morag would have summoned Death to end the suffering. But anything that fought so hard to live should be given the chance to fight until there was no hope—and the mare didn’t know there was no hope.
The mare stopped before she was close enough for the sun stallion to lash out at her.
Morag faced forward, pressed her knees against the dark horse’s sides, and said, “Let’s go.”
She still didn’t understand why she had ended up with the sun stallion and his mares. After she had guided the witches’ spirits to the Shadowed Veil, she had returned to that meadow just to check on the horses Morphia and the others had left behind. Then she had set off on her own journey since there was nothing she could do for them. She’d been surprised when the sun stallion had rounded up his mares and come after her. Perhaps the horses felt some comfort in being close to one of the Fae; perhaps they recognized her and the dark horse as the only familiar things in a world that had gone strange. All she knew for certain was she was now traveling with a stallion and five mares, as well as the dark horse.
The dark horse snorted, stopped, looked toward the woods beyond the roadside field.
“Water?” Morag asked quietly, noticing that all the horses had flared nostrils and were loo
king in the same direction. Whatever they scented didn’t frighten them.
The dark horse pawed the road.
Water.
But was it safe to enter those trees in order to reach it?
Morag studied the land, looking for signs.
On the right-hand side of the woods was a cluster of dead trees.
She let her power drift over the land, feeling, listening.
Death whispered.
Death will whisper louder if we all don’t get water soon, Morag thought. Urging the dark horse to head for the woods, she said quietly, “Stay watchful. Be careful. Those . . . things . . . are nearby.”
The dark horse snorted softly. So did the sun stallion as he fell back far enough to guard the mare who had already been bitten by the nighthunters. Morag watched the trees as they approached the woods. There were no birds here, no squirrels. The small creatures had fled, another sign that the nighthunters had claimed this piece of land.
Mother’s mercy, but those things grew and bred unnaturally fast. And when they fed, they devoured blood and magic and a little bit of the creature’s spirit.
She lost track of the days since she and Morphia had parted company, each to give her own warnings. The traveling had been slow because she stopped whenever she came to an Old Place. She had found no witches. Sometimes the land simply felt abandoned; sometimes it felt like the magic was bleeding out of it. She had thought of going up the shining roads through the Veil to warn the Clans that their roads would soon be closing, but even the dark horse had refused to approach the roads, as if he sensed what was about to happen. And, in truth, she didn’t want to change to her other form and go up those roads herself since she didn’t know how fast those roads might close. She had been lucky once to have escaped before a shining road closed. She couldn’t trust that she would be as lucky again.
Besides, Death had summoned her in each of those places.
The Small Folk were suffering from the nighthunters’ attacks, and at each Old Place there were several who asked to be guided to the Shadowed Veil.
