Anne Bishop - Shadows and Light

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.”

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.”