Anne Bishop - Shadows and Light

Since there was only a dull knife to spread the butter, Aiden decided the cloths and water were to be used to clean fingers that had gotten messy. He swirled his hands in the water, reluctant to pick up food with hands soiled from traveling. He dried his hands on one of the cloths, then buttered a piece of bread for Lyrra while she washed her hands.

Ashk tipped her head. “Do you like chicken? Most of the Fae here find it too bland, but I’ve acquired a taste for it, and the cooks indulge me on occasion.”

“Oh, we’ve had chicken before,” Lyrra said. “But not often since they’re mostly kept for the eggs.”

“There’s only so many eggs that can be used,” Ashk said blandly. “And some of those eggs that are laid become little chickens that grow up to be big chickens that lay more eggs. Or they become cocks eager to announce the dawn. And, really, how many cocks does a woman need first thing in the morning?”

Aiden choked on the mouthful of ale he’d just tried to swallow. Lyrra’s mouth dropped open before she burst into laughter. Aiden glanced at the men standing near the table. The younger ones were blushing. The older ones just returned his glance and shrugged.

No help there.

“You have a different opinion about cocks in the morning?” Ashk asked.

“Oh, Aiden doesn’t— I mean, he— This looks delicious.” Lyrra turned her attention to her meal.

Aiden was tempted to give his lover and wife a hard kick under the table, but it wouldn’t have done him any good, so he applied himself to his meal.

When they’d eaten their fill and the plates were taken away, Ashk said, “What brings you to Bretonwood?”

“We came to talk to you,” Aiden replied.

“Why?”

“We’re hoping you can tell us how to find the Hunter.”

“Why?”

Irritated by that bland voice that didn’t match the something almost hidden in her eyes, Aiden got up, walked a few paces to stretch his legs. He turned back to look at her. She just watched him, her expression bland. Too bland.

“Since you know the greeting used by witches, it seems reasonable to assume you’ve known a witch at some time,” Aiden said carefully.

“I know, and have known, several witches,” Ashk replied.

“They aren’t servants for the Fae to order about.”

“Whoever said they were?” Ashk’s expression was still bland, but her voice had an edge to it.

Had they finally found an ally, someone who wouldn’t dismiss what he’d been trying to tell the Fae for the past year? The edge in her voice lifted his spirits while warning him that he needed to be very careful to explain this in just the right way.

He took a step toward Ashk, held out his hands in appeal, and put everything he had into his words. “Witches are the Mother’s Daughters. They are the House of Gaian.”

No change in her face. No change in her eyes. Nothing.

“They’re being killed, brutally, by men called Inquisitors. And when they die, the shining roads that lead to Tir Alainn die with them, trapping the Fae whose territories were connected to those roads. Maybe destroying those Clans.”

“So this is about the Clans.”

His temper flared. His hands curled into fists. “This is about the witches. They’re dying. Can’t you understand that? They’re gentle people who have a powerful kind of magic, but they’re not fighters. The Fae have to come down from Tir Alainn and protect the witches and the Old Places. Mother’s mercy! These women are the House of Gaian. They should be protected for that alone. We’ve seen what the Inquisitors do to them. We’ve buried the bodies—and we’ve listened to the ghosts scream when the nighthunters found them. This isn’t about the Fae. This is about the Mother’s Daughters. Are the Fae just going to sit back and watch until the last one is slaughtered? If we do, then we deserve whatever happens to us.”

Ashk tipped her head to one side. “What is it you want from the Hunter?”

He wanted to grab her, shake her, do anything to erase that bland expression. “The Lightbringer and the Lady of the Moon will do nothing to help. They’ve decided that the witches have a duty to remain in the Old Places to provide the magic that keeps the shining roads open, and most of the Fae agree with them because of who Lucian and Dianna are and because they don’t have to do anything more than they’ve ever done—which is nothing. The Hunter is the only one strong enough to command enough Fae to give the witches some protection from the Inquisitors. Without his help, the slaughter will continue.”

He felt movement behind him, saw Lyrra’s startled expression. He turned and saw the dark horse—and the woman riding it.

“Morag,” he said softly. She’d seen what the Inquisitors did. She was the one who had told him before he’d actually seen it for himself. She’d help him convince Ashk. She had to.

She just stared at him for a moment before the dark horse pivoted and raced away.

Confused and, yes, hurt by her reaction to seeing him, he turned back to Ashk.

Her expression was no longer bland, and her woodland eyes held something too dangerous to be called simply feral. His throat tightened until it was hard to breathe. He didn’t know what was wrong with Morag, but he and Lyrra needed to get away from this place now.

“We thank you for the meal and your time, Lady Ashk,” he said formally. “If you would ask someone to bring our horses, we’ll be on our way.”

“And go where?”

“That is not your concern.”

“Bard,” Ashk said gently, “do you really think you’ll get out of the woods?”

He almost made a stinging reply about the road being easy enough to follow. Then he looked into those eyes and knew what she was telling him: If he and Lyrra tried to leave, she would kill them—or have them killed. They couldn’t run fast enough or far enough to get out of the Old Place or away from the Fae Ashk controlled.

She would kill them to prevent them from leaving. He just didn’t know why.

“What about the Hunter?” he asked hoarsely.

“The Summer Solstice is a few days away. You’ll have your answer about the Hunter after the Solstice.” She raised her voice slightly. “Show our guests to a room they can use during their visit with our Clan. I’m sure they’re tired after their long journey.”

Lyrra got up slowly, moved toward him with fear-stiffened legs. Her hands clamped on his left arm, as if that was the only thing that would keep her standing.

Aiden placed his other hand over hers. They were ice cold.

Several of the men who had remained near the table now came around behind them, blocking any chance to run, if either of them had been so foolish as to try. In front of them Ashk still sat quietly, watching them.

One of the men stepped up beside him. “If you’ll follow me.”

What choice did they have? Saying nothing, he and Lyrra followed the man to the Clan house.

Ashk waited until she was sure Aiden and Lyrra were in the Clan house before lowering her forehead to rest on her knees.

Mother’s mercy. No wonder Aiden had ascended to become the Bard. When his passion rode behind his words, the result could hum in a person’s bones until they vibrated to his tune. How had the Fae beyond the west managed to ignore him? Some had heard him and acted. She was sure of that. But not enough. His words had been hamstrung by the Lightbringer and the Lady of the Moon, and from what she knew about the rest of the Fae, she knew he was right—he was telling them a passionate but unpalatable truth while Lucian and Dianna were telling them what they wanted to hear.

The House of Gaian meant something to him. She’d heard the plea under the passion for her to acknowledge that the witches were the Mother’s Daughters. How could she deny what she knew to be true?