Anne Bishop - Shadows and Light

But that was tomorrow. Tonight, all she wanted was a hot, deep bath so that she could scrub her hair and skin clean. A hot bath, a bowl of that soup with some bread and cheese, and settling into bed early with a favorite book that she knew had a happy ending. In real life, one couldn’t count on happy endings. Tonight she needed one.

She wasn’t going to get any of those things until she dealt with the other male who had wedged his way into her life.

At least he wasn’t going to make her look for him, Breanna thought sourly as she spotted the hawk perched on one of the poles that supported the clotheslines.

“You!” she shouted, pointing a finger at the hawk. She swung that finger until it pointed to the bench under the tree where they would have a little privacy for this discussion. “Get over there!”

She saw several of the men gathered around the stables take a half step to follow her command before realizing she wasn’t talking to them. Deciding to save her temper for dealing with the Fae featherhead, she ignored the men’s grins as she strode to the tree.

The hawk fluffed its feathers and stayed where it was.

Breanna’s temper soared. The nearby trees bowed to the sudden gust of wind.

“Get over here, or I’ll summon a wind that will pluck every feather you’ve got!”

She clenched her fists and made the effort to ground the power her temper had summoned. The wind eased, releasing the trees.

The hawk turned his head, stared at the trees for a moment, then flew over to the bench, landing as far away from Breanna as he could while still obeying her order.

It was tempting to take the couple of steps between them and smack him right on the top of his feathered head. But the anger and fear that she’d held at bay were now churning nastily in her belly, and since she hadn’t smacked Keely or Liam, who had both contributed to those feelings, she couldn’t, in all fairness, shovel all of it on a hawk who was staring at his feet, waiting to get yelled at.

So who said she had to be fair?

“Those were nighthunters, you featherhead,” she said through clenched teeth. “Did you know that? Do you have any idea what those things could have done to you if they’d bitten you? Just one bite? Mother’s tits! What were you thinking of to go flying at them like that?”

Her. He’d been thinking of her. She’d known that the moment she saw him diving toward the swarm. What she didn’t understand was why he’d do that.

“I can’t talk to you like this. I can, but the discussion is a little one-sided. I would appreciate it if you would change to your other form.” And if he didn’t, she’d call up a little wind and knock him right off the bench.

She turned her head to give him some privacy—and found herself staring at the men who were still gathered near the stables, watching with unfeigned interest. She stared harder. They quickly moved out of sight.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement. When she turned her head, the hawk was gone and a young man dressed in a brown coat and trousers sat on the bench, his shoulders slightly hunched, his eyes focused on his boots. He was about her age—a pleasant-looking young man whose clothes looked as if he’d been living rough for a while.

With effort, Breanna swallowed her temper. He was afraid. No, not quite afraid, but... heart-bruised in some way.

“I brought you a rabbit,” he said softly.

“And a salmon,” she replied just as softly.

He blushed, shifted on the bench as if it had suddenly become uncomfortable.

Breanna sat down on the bench, near enough that she could touch him if she reached out but not so close that she would inadvertently brush against him. “What’s your name?”

“Falco.”

“You’re a Lord of the Hawks?”

“The Lord of the Hawks.” A touch of arrogance filled his voice—enough to have him raise his head, but not enough for him to look at her.

The Lord of the Hawks had brought her rabbits to pay for a clothes-peg. If someone else had told her that, she would have dismissed it as a funny story.

“Why?”

Frowning, he glanced at her—then looked away just as quickly. “Why am I the Lord of the Hawks?”

Breanna shook her head. She lifted a hand in a gesture that encompassed the Old Place. “Why are you here? The Fae haven’t wanted anything to do with us before now.”

“You’re the Mother’s Daughters, the House of Gaian.”

“We always were. Why does that make a difference now?”

He shifted again. “Aiden says—” He stopped, his eyes widening.

“I know Aiden and Lyrra are Fae.”

The relief on his face made her want to smile, so she pressed her lips together.

“Aiden says the witches need to be protected. There’s not much I can do, except... maybe if I gave a warning soon enough, you—your family—would be able to escape before the Inquisitors ...”

He knew someone who wasn’t warned in time, Breanna thought. “There are other Fae keeping watch over the Old Place.” But none of them had tried to help her against the nighthunters.

“Them.”

The anger in his voice surprised her.

“They aren’t watching to help you. They just want to be sure you don’t do anything that might endanger them.”

“What could we do that would endanger the Fae?”

Falco finally looked at her. “You could leave. You could run away to escape the Black Coats. If a witch doesn’t live in an Old Place, the shining road closes, and that piece of Tir Alainn disappears unless enough of the Fae can get down the shining road fast enough to keep the road open. But they have to stay and live in the Old Place.”

“I see.” Making sure her family stayed so they wouldn’t have to fit what she’d heard of the Fae’s self-interest—but it didn’t fit the Fae she’d actually met. “That explains the Fae skulking about in the woods. It doesn’t explain you.”

He looked unhappy. “You’re interesting.” He winced, but pushed on. “I wanted to know how witches lived.”

“And how do we live?”

His eyes were too shiny. “You’re real, and the world you live in is real.” He shook his head. “Aiden could explain it. The Bard would have the words. And ... I like you, even when you yell at me.”

Breanna felt a tightness in her chest. Curiosity may have brought him that first day, but he had come back for other reasons. She wasn’t sure she wanted to examine too closely the reasons why she’d found herself looking for him each day—or why she’d felt so frightened for him when he tried to attack the nighthunters. Maybe, now that she could talk to him, they could find out whether they truly liked each other.

“So,” Breanna said, “you come down to the Old Place in the morning and go back to Tir Alainn each night?” His face tightened, and she realized she’d touched the heart-bruise. “Falco?”

“The Clan who lives in this piece of Tir Alainn didn’t like me coming here, didn’t like that you could see me. Didn’t like that I was helping you at all. They got angry over a rabbit. Just a rabbit. They said—” He paused. “They told me if I continued to visit you, I wasn’t welcome in their Clan’s territory.”

“You weren’t—?” Breanna stared at him. “You haven’t been going back to Tir Alainn?”

He shook his head.

“Then ... where have you been staying?”

“My horse is in a small clearing, and the Small Folk... They’ve been kind. They helped me store my saddle and other gear where it would be safe.”

“You’ve been staying out in the woods?”

Falco shrugged. “As a hawk, it isn’t difficult.”