by Anne Bishop
Tears stung her eyes as she gathered up the simple gown that had been left for her and slipped into the adjoining room to dress. The house was much finer, but the feel of the place reminded her of Ari’s cottage.
She hoped that Ari and Neall had found a good place, a safe place.
Pushing away thoughts of Ari that would lead to other, more painful, thoughts of the things she and Aiden had seen, Lyrra found her way downstairs. She hesitated at the kitchen door, reluctant to face the sharp-tongued woman again. The kitchen was empty, so she hurried out the door and headed for the flower beds where Breanna was working.
Breanna saw her coming and rose.
When Lyrra got close enough to see the cool look in the witch’s eyes, she hesitated. “I just came out to admire the flowers. I don’t mean to interrupt your work.”
“I was finished here,” Breanna replied. “Why don’t we sit on the bench under the tree. I could use the shade now.”
What had happened, Lyrra wondered, to put that coolness in Breanna’s voice and eyes?
“You slept well?” Breanna asked.
Lyrra made the effort to smile. “Better than I have in quite some time.”
“Where will you be going when you leave here?”
“Oh —”To Tir Alainn, now that we’ve finally found an Old Place that has a shining road open. “I’m not sure.”
“If you take the trail that leads into the woods,” Breanna said, pointing in the general direction, “and keep heading for the Mother’s Hills, you’ll find the road you’re looking for.”
A chill went through Lyrra, but she wasn’t sure if it was caused by Breanna mentioning a road or mentioning the Mother’s Hills. “What road is that?”
“The shining road.” There was anger mixed with the coolness in Breanna’s voice now. “Isn’t that where you’re headed?”
Lyrra looked away. The prudent thing would be to feign ignorance, but she was suddenly tired of half-truths that were no better than lies. “You spoke to the water sprite.”
“It’s an odd thing, that. We live here. The Small Folk live here. We talk to each other and help each other. Unlike the Fair Folk, who come by whenever they want something but don’t even have the courtesy to acknowledge the presence of those who live here. So you can tell your kin that I’m a good shot with a bow, and if they keep bullying and badgering the Small Folk, I’m going to start shooting them for trespassing.”
Lyrra gripped the bench so hard her hands ached. “Do you want us to leave?” she asked, not sure how she’d explain to Aiden why they were no longer welcome.
“Don’t be foolish,” Breanna snapped. “The way the two of you looked when you rode in, it was obvious you wouldn’t have stayed in the saddle for another mile.”
“Then what do you want?”
“The courtesy of honesty.”
With sharp relief, Lyrra released the glamour that hid her true face behind a human mask. She turned to look at Breanna. “Is this honest enough?”
Breanna studied her for a moment. “You’re lovely. Why do you hide what you are?”
“Why?” Lyrra replied softly. “Habit. Perhaps arrogance is the reason we show our true faces only when we choose to show them. Or perhaps we’re like the hares that exchange their brown coats for white when the seasons change. We hide the most obvious means of recognizing what we are so that we don’t stand out.” She paused. “I’m sorry the Clan here has been discourteous. That wasn’t our intention when we tried to get the Fae to pay more attention to the witches.”
Breanna stared at her. “Why would you want to? Why would we want that attention?”
“The shining roads are anchored to the Old Places. And it is the presence of the Mother’s Daughters, the witches, in the Old Places that keeps those roads anchored to the human world, that keeps Tir Alainn existing.”
“So this sudden interest in us is just to make sure we don’t bolt and leave you gasping like a fish thrown up on the bank.”
Lyrra winced. “That’s part of it. But the other part was to protect you, to keep you safe.” “From what?”
“From the Black Coats, the Inquisitors. That’s why Aiden and I are traveling. To gather news, gossip, any information we can find to keep the Clans informed — and to warn the witches.”
“So you’ve been to other Old Places? You’ve given your warnings elsewhere?”
Lyrra shuddered. “We’ve been to other Old Places. We didn’t reach them in time to give any warnings. The witches were already gone — or dead.” She closed her eyes, felt the warmth of Breanna’s hand on her arm.
“I think what you have to tell us will be hard enough to say once,” Breanna said quietly. “Let it go for now. After the evening meal, you and Aiden can tell us what needs to be told.”
Lyrra nodded, grateful for the reprieve. The dog barked.
Breanna made a sound that might have been a growl.
Opening her eyes, Lyrra saw the black dog racing toward them, having left the company of a short-haired woman and a young girl, who waved at them before disappearing into the house.
The dog stopped a few feet in front of the bench and barked as if determined to let the whole county know there were strangers at his house.
“Oh, shut up, Idjit,” Breanna muttered.
The dog barked and danced in front of them, paying no attention to the command.
“Sit, Idjit,” Breanna said firmly.
The dog stopped barking, ran a couple of steps, then leaped as if someone were holding a hoop for him to jump through. He turned and leaped again.
Breanna sighed. Then she looked at Lyrra and smiled.
Lyrra was always suspicious of merchants who smiled like that.
“Wouldn’t you like to have a dog on your travels?” Breanna said brightly. “He’d be a good companion, and he could warn you when strangers approached.”
“Like he warned you?”
Breanna waved that aside. “And he can do tricks.”
“He’s … interesting.” Was that noncommittal enough?
“I’ll give you twelve coppers to take him.”
“He’s not that interesting.”
Breanna huffed. Lyrra looked toward the house.
“I’ve already been warned not to offer him to young girls,” Breanna said sourly.
Lyrra laughed. It felt good to laugh, felt good to talk with another woman, felt good not to hide what she was.
She was still chuckling when she noticed Aiden walking toward them. The dog watched him, too, and didn’t let out a single yip.
“Some guard dog,” Lyrra muttered.
“You’ll never be surprised by a squirrel,” Breanna replied with a straight-faced sincerity that made Lyrra laugh again.
That’s how Aiden found them, laughing over something neither was willing to explain. Lyrra saw his surprise when he got close enough to see that she’d released the glamour. After a moment’s hesitation, he released the glamour, as well, then bowed to Breanna.
She studied both of them, then asked, rather wistfully, “Are you really the Bard and the Muse?”
“Yes, we are,” Aiden replied.
“I don’t suppose…” Breanna shook her head.
Lyrra frowned. “You get little entertainment here?” It was hard not to remember Ari, and how she wasn’t welcome in the nearby village and was excluded from any amusements that might have been available.
“Oh, there are entertainers who come by, and we’ll go into Willowsbrook from time to time when a minstrel stops for a day or two. But they don’t know any new songs.”
Aiden grinned as he looked at Lyrra. “We have a new song or two.”
The wretch. He was going to trot out that mouse song.
“And we’d be pleased to do a song or two for all of you,” Lyrra said. She gave Aiden a clench-toothed smile.
“That’s wonderful,” Breanna said. “I’ll see if Elinore and Brooke want to stay for the evening meal so that they can hear you, too.” She hesitated, lo
oked at both of them.
“Perhaps your other guests would find so much honesty disconcerting?” Lyrra asked, guessing that Breanna was wondering if the gentry would feel easy dining with the Fae.
“Perhaps,” Breanna said a bit ruefully.
Lyrra glanced at Aiden. They resumed the glamour that gave them human masks.
Breanna gave Aiden a speculative look as the three of them walked back to the house. “How would you like —?”
“No,” Lyrra said firmly, “he would not.”
“I wouldn’t?” Aiden asked, sounding confused.
“No, you wouldn’t.”
“You didn’t even give me a chance to offer the twelve coppers,” Breanna protested. “He wouldn’t take them.”
“I wouldn’t?” Aiden said.
“No,” Lyrra replied, “you wouldn’t.” She looked at Breanna. “And if you don’t mention it again, we’ll play an extra song.”
Breanna grinned. “That’s the best offer I’ve had.”
“It’s the only offer you’ve had.”
“That, too.”
Two women in charity with each other and one confused man walked into the house to wash up for the evening meal.
Aiden tuned his harp. It had been a good decision to talk after the evening meal and save the songs for last. He could give the ladies here something sweet to sleep on after he and Lyrra had told them about the things that were happening in eastern villages — and in the Old Places. And it had been wise of Nuala and Breanna to cut up a couple of apples and send Keely and Brooke out to the stables to give the horses a treat. He wasn’t sure what had happened to Keely that had kept her a child in a woman’s body, but neither she nor Brooke were emotionally old enough to hear the things he’d had to say.
And he wasn’t sure what was causing the undercurrents between Elinore, Nuala, and Breanna. They weren’t newly acquainted; there was too much familiarity for that. But something new had been added recently that had changed things between them. The baron, perhaps? Elinore had mentioned that she was the mother of the Baron of Willowsbrook, so the man was probably in his twenties. Had his attentions suddenly turned toward Breanna? Her face was strong rather than pretty, but it was the kind of face that any but the shallowest man would find attractive.
Wasn’t his business, but he found himself wanting to find a way to tell Breanna not to settle for less than she deserved. So he ended up singing “Love’s Jewels” as the first song, wondering if she would understand the message.
Then, giving Lyrra a wicked grin, he sang the mouse song. His lady was in fine form, singing her part with just enough pique he could tell she was itching to smack him with the tambourine.
During that song, he learned what it felt like to have an audience die on him, despite his best efforts. Clay and Edgar, who had been invited to listen to the singing, sat with their arms across their chests and their heads down. Keely and Brooke grinned a little, but neither of them could appreciate all the lyrics. Nuala, Elinore, and Breanna just stared at him. The two older women sat with a hand lightly circling their throats. Breanna had her fingers pressed against her mouth.
He got to the end of the song, wondering if he’d just convinced them all that he really couldn’t earn enough coppers to pay his way, when the laughter started. Coughing chuckles from Clay and Edgar as they glanced at the ladies. Then a sputtering from the ladies that ended with all three women holding their sides because they’d laughed so hard and the men guffawing and slapping their thighs.
“Oh, my,” Elinore said when she finally caught her breath. “Oh, my.” She dabbed her streaming eyes with a handkerchief, then grinned at Lyrra. “I’m sure there must be compensations for him singing that song in public.”
That produced another round of laughter when Lyrra’s cheeks flamed with color.
Aiden was feeling a bit warm, too, especially seeing the way Breanna grinned at him.
“I’m sure the next time they travel this way, there will be a poem to complement that song,” Breanna said sweetly. “‘Ode to a Bath,’ perhaps?”
Aiden choked.
Lyrra looked at him, then looked at Breanna. “Oh? Perhaps we should talk.”
“Perhaps we should,” Breanna agreed.
Perhaps he should just find a hole and hide in it.
Clearing his throat, he played a quiet tune that had no words since he wasn’t sure how well he could sing at the moment anyway. By the time Lyrra told a story and the two of them had sung another song, the daylight was waning and it was time for Elinore and Brooke to go home.
“I’ll saddle the horses and see you home,” Clay said.
“Oh, there’s no need for you to do that,” Elinore said. “There’s enough light. We’ll be fine.”
Aiden saw the grimness in Clay’s expression and knew the man wouldn’t forget what he’d said.
“I’ll see you home,” Clay said again before he left to saddle the horses.
That reminder sobered all of them, but not enough to spoil the evening. After Elinore and Brooke left, they all lingered in the parlor, talking about small things and politely hiding yawns. No one mentioned that they were waiting for Clay to return before closing the house and seeking their beds.
When he and Lyrra finally bid good night to the others and went up to their room, he loved her well before they both drifted off to sleep.
Chapter Nine
Liam stared with dismay at the empty spaces on the bookshelves. Nolan’s Book Salon was smaller than the other establishments in Durham that sold books, but Nolan was a man who clearly loved books, and there was almost nothing that couldn’t be found in his store.
Something’s happened here, he thought, feeling a chill run down his spine as he walked over to the shelves. He scanned titles for a few minutes, looking for Moira’s new book. He didn’t find her new book. He didn’t find any of her books.
He started scanning names instead of titles. All men. Where were the women authors? Was Nolan in the process of rearranging shelves? Why would he move the female novelists and leave the males here?
“Ah, Master Liam. Have you returned to add to your own library?”
Liam turned at the sound of Nolan’s voice. The man hastily closed the door that led to the small office and storeroom, then stepped up to one side of the counter.
Liam studied Nolan for a moment before walking over to stand on the other side of the counter. The man’s smile was forced, brittle. His eyes were grief-weary.
He’s been drinking, Liam thought.
“Perhaps I’ve come at a bad time,” Liam said.
Nolan waved a hand. “Not at all. What can I do for you, Master — I beg your pardon. It’s Baron Liam now, isn’t it?”
There was fear in Nolan’s eyes now as well as grief.
“I came to see if you had a copy of Moira Wythbrook’s new book.” Liam tried a smile. “My mother requested that I ask for it particularly.”
Nolan pulled himself up to his full height, which barely brought his head equal to Liam’s chin. Patrons of Nolan’s Book Salon good-naturedly teased the small man, saying the reason there were so many step stools for customers to sit on while they perused books was that Nolan wouldn’t be able to reach his beloved books without them.
“I am an upstanding citizen of our beautiful land,” Nolan said with chilled dignity. “As such, I obey the dictates of the baron in whose county I live.”
“What does that have to do with Moira Wythbrook’s books?” Liam asked.
“The barons have decreed that it is harmful to carry the work of female scribblers.”
“Female what?”
“Females are of weak intellect, and it is harmful to indulge them by publishing or selling their work, which is inferior to the books written by men. It produces immodest feelings in ladies that make it difficult for them to fill their place in society. Therefore, their books are no longer sold, and no further books by female scribblers will be published.”
Liam took a step back
from the counter. Maybe Nolan was drunker than he seemed. Why else would the man be spouting such horse muck?
“What happened to the books that were already published?” he asked. “You still have copies of those.”
Nolan shook his head. A sheen of tears filled his eyes. “They were collected by the magistrate’s guards …and burned.”
Burned.
As Master Liam, he could have staggered over to one of the step stools and collapsed to give himself time to absorb what Nolan had said. Baron Liam could not permit himself that kind of luxury.
“Just here in Durham?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Nolan shook his head. “The barons who rule the eastern counties have all made the same decree. If it is accepted at the next council of barons, that decree will hold true for all of Sylvalan.”
Not in the county I rule. Liam stepped up to the counter, put his hands on it, then leaned forward. “Forget I’ve become a baron,” he said with quiet urgency. “I’ve been buying books from you for years — for my mother and younger sister as well as for myself. You must have known the magistrate’s guards were coming. I’ve seen that warren you call a storeroom. If you wanted to hide some books in there, no one would be able to find them. You wouldn’t have let them burn all the copies. You wouldn’t.”
“Do you want me to lose everything?” Nolan cried, but he, too, kept his voice down.
“You would have kept at least one copy of each of those books so that the work wouldn’t be completely lost when the fools who made that decree came to their senses.”
“I have nothing. I swear to you —”
“Give the copies to me. I’ll make sure they get back to my estate safely. I’ll hide them until this … situation … is settled.”
Liam reined in impatience while Nolan studied him for too long.
“I have nothing,” Nolan finally said. “I — I already packed the copies and sent them away.”
“Where —?”
