Shadows and Light

Chapter Twelve

With Aiden beside her, Lyrra rode toward the mist at the edge of the world. Rolling hills, sparkling streams— they vanished into that wall of white that defined the borders of each Clan’s territory. Islands of land that had been created out of dreams and will, according to the entries the Crones in Ari’s family had written in their journals. Islands that were anchored to the human world by threads of magic the Fae called the shining roads—and anchored to each other by shining threads of magic they called bridges.

She’d never wondered how the bridges could shorten the distance between one Clan’s territory and another, how it was possible to cover the same distance in a few minutes that would require a half-day’s ride in the human world. It was part of the magic of her world that she’d simply accepted, like the rest of Tir Alainn.

She looked at the mist and the two shining arches that indicated the two bridges that connected this Clan to others.

Aiden reined in, studied the two arches, then looked at her. “We can still change our minds.”

Lyrra pressed her lips together. They’d talked about this last night. Both bridges led to Clans that were northeast of here. One bridge connected with the Clan that was a good day’s ride from this place; the other connected to the Clan that would be a two-day journey in the human world.

She didn’t like the longer bridges. Never had liked them.

It took a few minutes to ride the shining road to the human world. It took thrice that long to cross even the shortest bridge, when all you had beneath you was a wide, shining path that created a tunnel through the mist. It took thrice again that long to cross one of the longer bridges. It felt so much longer when you were riding through that tunnel in the mist, watching for that archway on the other side. She didn’t want to take that long bridge, but even using those shining threads as much as possible, it was still a long journey to the west, and the days were bleeding by so fast. The Summer Moon had come and gone last night, and every day it took them to find the Hunter was another day when more witches—and more Clans—might be lost.

“We need to swing around the Mother’s Hills as quickly as possible in order to head southwest. We’re of one mind in that.” She waited for Aiden’s nod of agreement. “Lucian took the bridge to the neighboring Clan early this morning. If we ride in after him, it will just be the same scene as yesterday. Since we’re both heading north to go around the hills, we’ll continue having the same scene. The long bridge will cut two days off the journey—and put us ahead of Lucian. Last night that seemed like the best choice. It still does.”

“All right, then,” Aiden said, still studying the shining arches. “Let’s not waste the time by sitting here.” He gave his horse the signal to move on, the packhorse obediently following behind him.

When he reached the arch to the long bridge, his horse snorted, danced a little.

“Easy boy,” Aiden soothed. “Easy. It’s just another bridge. You’ve seen hundreds by now.” Coaxing but firm, he urged the horse forward, rode into that tunnel through the mist.

Lyrra followed. Her hands tightened on the reins when her mare tensed and planted its feet as soon as it was on the bridge, refusing to go forward.

“Follow Aiden,” Lyrra said quietly. “Follow the others. You don’t want to be left behind, do you?”

After another moment’s hesitation, the mare trotted forward, expressing its unhappiness about being on the bridge with a gait so rough Lyrra clenched her teeth to keep from biting her tongue.

They hadn’t gone that far when they caught up to Aiden and the packhorse. In fact—she looked back over her shoulder—she could still see the archway that led to the Clan territory they’d just left.

The animals shifted uneasily, as if they didn’t like what was under their feet. Aiden stared at the tunnel ahead of them, frowning.

He handed the packhorse’s lead to Lyrra. “Stay here. I want to ride up ahead just a bit.”

“I’ll go with you,” Lyrra said quickly.

Aiden gave her a look that silenced further protests. “Stay here.”

She watched him trot away from her, then became occupied with getting her mare to stand. When she looked up again, tendrils of mist drifted across the shining bridge.

Her mouth went dry, making it impossible to swallow. Her heart began beating fast and hard.

Then...

“Lyrra! Go back, Lyrra! Go back!”

Aiden’s voice sounded oddly muted, but she heard fear in it—and something close to panic.

She turned her mare, aimed the animal for the archway, and dug her heels into the mare’s sides.

The mare leaped forward into a headlong gallop, the packhorse matching the pace.

Lyrra glanced back, almost lost her balance.

Stay ahead of him. Stay ahead of him. He’ll hesitate if you start flagging.

She screamed. In terror. In defiance. She wasn’t sure. But the sound of her voice, so raw and primal, produced another burst of speed from the mare and the packhorse.

Aiden was behind her, his horse galloping flat out. And behind him ...

A silent avalanche of mist filling the tunnel, rushing toward them. The shining bridge disappearing under it. And Aiden barely a length ahead of it.

She felt the difference in the mare’s pace, felt how the animal was suddenly working for each stride, as if they’d hit a patch of boggy ground.

She emptied her mind of everything but the archway, so close now but still just out of reach.

Closer. Closer.

The mare and packhorse shot through the archway into the perfect morning light that bathed Tir Alainn.

Lyrra reined in hard a few lengths away from the bridge, then twisted around in her saddle.

The tunnel started collapsing near the archway, but she could make out the dark shape of a horse and rider.

Almost there. Almost there. Aiden Aiden Aiden.

She saw the horse gather itself to leap for the firm safe ground ahead. She heard Aiden’s cry, as raw and primal as hers had been. She saw the shine that had been the bridge vanish just as the horse leaped.

The horse’s forelegs landed solidly on the ground of Tir Alainn. But the hind legs ...

One back hoof touched the edge of the world. Slipped as the edge crumbled.

Nothing under those back hooves now. Nothing but mist.

Aiden kicked out of the stirrups, dove for the land in front of him. He hit the edge at his waist, dug his fingers into the ground to find something, anything, to hold on to as the edge crumbled and he slid back into the mist.

The horse flailed for another moment before it fell into the mist, screaming in terror.

Lyrra tumbled out of the saddle in her haste to dismount and reach Aiden. She dropped the mare’s reins and the pack-horse’s rope and ran toward him.

More of the ground beneath Aiden suddenly crumbled. He kept fighting to find a hold in Tir Alainn while the weight of his own body pulled him down, until only his head, shoulders, and arms were visible.

“Lyrra... don’t,” he gasped when she dropped to her knees in front of him and reached out to grab one of his wrists. “You can’t... hold me.”

“I can. I will.”

“You ...” He looked beyond her.

She twisted around.

Two riders cantering toward them. Two Fae males.

“Help us!” she shouted, waving her arms to get their attention. “Help!”

The riders stopped. Stared at Aiden for a moment. Turned around and cantered back the way they’d come.

Lyrra stared at them. They’d seen her and Aiden. They’d seen.

“I love you,” Aiden gasped. “Remember that.”

“I’m not going to lose you.” Lyrra surged to her feet. Ran to the horses. Grabbing the reins and the lead rope, she pulled the horses as close as she dared. She made a hasty knot in the end of the lead rope, hoping it would be enough. There wasn’t time to make a loop.

She saw Aiden slip a little more.

Getting as close as she could, fearing that any moment more of the edge would crumble, she held out the lead rope, dangling it next to his left hand.

“Grab the rope, Aiden. Grab the rope.” When he hesitated, she screamed at him, “If you go over the edge, I’ll leap with you!”

He grabbed the rope with his left hand.

“Hold on,” Lyrra panted. “Hold on.” She forced herself to move quietly toward the nervous horses, her own nerves shrieking to move move move.

She grabbed the mare’s reins. Tied them to the rope. Closed her hands over the knot. “Back up now. Back!”

Aiden’s face was contorted with pain, fear, and the effort to hold the rope as the horses slowly pulled him out of the mist.

His left hand started to slip. Letting go of his tenuous hold of the ground, he grabbed the rope with his right hand. The move turned him on his side.

More of the edge crumbled beneath him.

“Back!” Lyrra cried, pulling with the horses. “Back! Back!”

His chest now rested on solid ground. His hips. His knees.

Lyrra pulled with the horses. Pulled and pulled until Aiden’s feet were an arm’s length from the edge.

He let go of the rope. Rolled onto his belly and crawled a bit farther before he collapsed.

It took her a moment to open her hands and let go of the reins and the rope. Once she did, she ran to him, tears streaming down her face.

“Aiden. Aiden.” She touched his shoulder.

With a moan that was almost a sob, he rolled over.

A hawk screamed.

Looking up, Lyrra saw it dive toward them, then back-wing until it landed on the ground and changed shape.

Falco ran over to them, dropped to his knees beside Aiden.

“What happened?” he said. “Are you hurt, Lyrra? Aiden, can you speak? How bad is it?”

“The— The bridge collapsed,” Lyrra said.

Falco frowned, looked over at the place where the archway had been. “Why were you attempting to use the long bridge when you knew it was unstable?”

Fear changed to anger in a heartbeat. “How could we know it was unstable?” Lyrra snapped.

“We were told,” Falco said, staring at her in confusion. “Something started weakening the bridge about a fortnight ago, and the Clan has been warning guests not to use it to travel to the other Clan territories. The Clan matriarchs mentioned it when I arrived.”

“They didn’t tell us,” Lyrra said. “They didn’t mention it when we arrived yesterday. They didn’t mention it this morning when they came into the common room where Aiden and I were having something to eat.”

“They didn’t—” Falco paled. “Why would they do that?”

“Because they’re Fae,” Aiden said softly, bitterly. He raised one arm to cover his closed eyes—but not before Lyrra saw the single tear escape. “If the Bard disappeared in the mist while using a bridge they’d warned him not to take, who would be inconvenienced? Another with the gift would ascend to become the Lord of Song, and perhaps the next one wouldn’t be so insistent about playing the same wearisome tune about protecting the witches.”

“But they didn’t tell you,” Falco said. “Lyrra just said they didn’t.”

“If we were both lost in the mist, they could claim they’d told us—and there would be no one who could call them liars,” Lyrra whispered.

“But...” Falco sat back on his heels. “But that seems like such a ... human ... thing to do.”

“Is it? If that’s the case, perhaps we’ve become more human than we want to believe.”

Falco winced. Lyrra didn’t blame him. The Fae had held the conceit of being superior to every other living thing for so long, it wasn’t easy to consider that the worst flaws in their nature might be something they had in common with humans.

Aiden tried to sit up. When he started to fall back, groaning, Lyrra and Falco supported his shoulders to help him.

“We have to keep going,” Aiden said.

Red streaks on the side of his torn shirt caught Lyrra’s attention. Blood. “You are hurt!”

“I’m all right. I can travel. We need to travel.”

“First you need to have the Clan healer take a look at your hands,” Falco said, helping Aiden stand up.

His hands? Lyrra gasped when she looked at Aiden’s scratched, abraded hands. “Mother’s mercy, Aiden.”

Aiden looked at Falco. His blue eyes were so filled with bitter despair Lyrra wanted to cry out from the pain of just seeing it.

“Do you really think I’d trust this Clan’s healer with my hands?” Aiden asked. “I could end up crippled from a few scratches.” He turned, stumbled on the first step. Catching his balance, he started walking toward the Clan house in the distance.

Lyrra stared at him, not sure what to do with him or for him. His frustration with the rest of the Fae had been turning bitter for a while now, but she didn’t know what would happen to either of them if he continued down that road. She wouldn’t leave him. She knew that much. Not just because, as a woman, she loved the man, but also because, as the Muse, she believed in what he was trying to do as the Bard.

“Can you get the horses?” Falco asked quietly. When she nodded, he ran to catch up to Aiden.

As Lyrra untied her mare’s reins from the packhorse’s lead rope, she saw the two men stop. Their voices were too low to hear the words, but it was obvious they were arguing about something. Gathering the reins and lead rope, she hurried to catch up to them.

“Don’t be a fool, Aiden,” Falco said heatedly. “Do you think they’ll care if you harm yourself to spite them?”

Harm himself? Lyrra’s heart leaped in her chest.

“I’ll ask no favors,” Aiden snarled. “Not from them.”

“Then don’t. But you can get back to the Clan house faster and use what you need to clean those wounds if you ride the mare instead of walking.”

Aiden winced as his hands began to ball into fists. His shoulders sagged. Then he smiled ruefully. “If I can lose an argument to the Lord of the Hawks, I suppose I’m really not fit enough for a long walk.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that sharp tongue of yours,” Falco muttered before adding, “Then be sensible and get on the horse.”

Lyrra mounted the mare, wincing when she heard Aiden’s grunt of pain as he mounted behind her. After accepting the packhorse’s lead rope from Falco, she urged the mare into an easy canter.

A moment later, a shadow passed over them. She glanced up, saw the hawk flying just ahead of them. Falco, keeping watch.

When they reached the grounds of the Clan house, Aiden pointed to a fountain. “Over there.”

She slowed the mare to a walk, guiding the animals to the fountain.

Aiden dismounted. He pulled off his shirt and dropped it in the fountain. He sat on the fountain’s edge, pulled the shirt out of the water, and used it to wash the bloody scrapes on his side.

Falco landed near the fountain, gave Lyrra a worried look.

Dismounting, Lyrra approached Aiden. He ignored her and continued to use the shirt to wash his right side. Then he dunked his hands in the fountain, gritting his teeth as he scrubbed as much dirt as he could out of the cuts and scrapes.

Lyrra turned back to the mare, trying not to let her exasperation show. Stubborn, foolish ... man. Did he really think a quick wash in a fountain was going to be sufficient?

Fine, Lyrra thought irritably as she opened one of her saddlebags and took out a linen shift. That’s just fine. If he wants to pretend we’re in the middle of nowhere in the human world instead of at a Clan house and we need to make do with whatever we’ve got, that’s just fine. She drew the small knife out of its sheath in her boot and cut the linen shift into bandages.

Aiden stood up, shivering and definitely unsteady on his feet. He dropped the ruined shirt beside the fountain.

“Are you done?” Lyrra asked tartly. She bit her tongue. Now you’re sounding like one of those wives who starts all the trouble in certain stories.

Aiden just nodded.

She saw nothing but weariness in his face, as if all the emotional fire in him had been quenched. She wrapped his hands, then made a pad to cover the worst of the scrapes on his side, securing it with more strips of linen that she tied around him. When she was done, she studied her makeshift bandages and suppressed a sigh. They would serve until she could find something better.

“You need a shirt,” she said, turning toward the horses. Then she froze for a moment. Almost all his clothing was in his saddlebags. Gone now. Well, there was still the fine garb he wore for special occasions. That was on the packhorse. At least he still had that much—and his instruments. Those would have been a cruder loss than the clothing. Clothes could be replaced, and the only other thing in the saddlebags ...

It hit her like a blow. She absorbed the emotional punch, then pushed it aside.

She reached for the bag that held his fine garb.

“No,” Aiden said. “I won’t wear that. Not here.”

Knowing her emotions were too raw and anything she said would be regretted later, she just glared at him. “You need a shirt.”

“No, I don’t.”

There was a hint of pleading in his voice that almost broke her heart.

“Let’s ride, Lyrra.” Aiden closed his eyes for a moment. “Let’s just ride.”

Where? But she didn’t ask. She mounted the mare and waited for him to mount behind her.

Falco handed her the packhorse’s lead rope. “You’re going to try the other bridge?” he asked worriedly.

“No,” Aiden said. “We’re taking the shining road back to Sylvalan.”

She couldn’t see how that was going to help them, but she didn’t argue. She smiled at Falco, hoping to convey some of her gratitude for his friendship and help. “Blessings of the day to you, Falco,” she said softly.

“And to you, Lyrra. Aiden.” Falco stepped back.

Suddenly aware of the Fae who were watching from the terraces on this side of the Clan house, Lyrra sat up straight in the saddle. “Be careful, Falco,” she whispered.

She guided the horses around the fountain, keeping them to a walk until they were past the grounds of the Clan house and she saw the stones that marked the shining road. She urged the horses to a canter, tried to prepare herself for any reluctance they might have after being terrified on the bridge. But both horses pricked their ears and increased their speed, as if the safety and reassurance they wanted was at the other end of the road.

Maybe it is, Lyrra thought.

She heard Aiden’s soft moan as they reached the shining road. She felt him shudder and press his head against her shoulder.

With her mouth pressed in a grim line, she kept the horses in the center of the shining road.

Not much longer, Aiden, love, she thought. And once they returned to the human world? Then what? She couldn’t answer that. Didn’t want to think about it. Right now, she needed to find some help for Aiden.

When they reached the end of the shining road, Lyrra tried to rein in the mare, but the animal fought the bit, swerving toward a wide game trail. Not in the mood to argue with a horse, Lyrra let the mare canter along the trail and wondered if the animal had any sense of where it was going.

Apparently it did. A few minutes later, they reached the green lawn and gardens behind the manor house. Lyrra caught a glimpse of Keely and Breanna working in the garden before the mare swerved again, heading straight for the stable block.

Seeing them, Clay left the horse he was grooming and walked toward them quickly.

“Easy now,” Clay called. “Go easy now.”

The mare and packhorse slowed to a walk, blowing and sweating.

Clay held his hands out, palms up.

The horses walked right to him, lipped his empty palms.

“Looks like you’ve had a bit of trouble,” Clay said.

“Yes,” Lyrra replied. She felt Aiden shudder, felt that shudder travel from his body into hers.

“Lyrra. Aiden.” Breanna approached from the side, sounding a little breathless as she slowed to a walk to avoid startling the horses. “What’s—? Oh, Mother’s mercy. Come on now. Come on. We’ll get him into the house.”

Clay took the lead rope from Lyrra. “I’ll take care of the packhorse. Breanna, you lead the mare to the house; then let her go to come back to the stables.”

Breanna gripped the reins just under the bit and led the reluctant mare to the house. Nuala and Keely waited at the kitchen door.

Breathing heavily, Aiden dismounted. Nuala and Keely helped him into the house.

Lyrra dismounted, then grabbed the saddle, her legs suddenly feeling as if she had no bone in them. “Clay has a way with horses.”

“A gift from his father, which was the only thing his father ever gave him,” Breanna replied with enough of an edge that Lyrra flinched. “Mother’s tits. That wasn’t a thrust at you.” She released the mare and wrapped an arm around Lyrra’s waist when the horse trotted back to the stables. “Where’s Aiden’s horse?”

Tears filled Lyrra’s eyes, spilled over. “Gone.”

“Here, now.” Breanna led Lyrra to the bench beside the kitchen door. “Sit down and rest. There now. There you go.”

Shaking, Lyrra sank down on the bench.

“Are you hurt?” Breanna asked, resting a hand on Lyrra’s shoulder.

Lyrra shook her head. Her body wasn’t hurt, but her heart... She was certain her heart was sorely bruised.

“I’ll be right back. Just rest.”

Lyrra leaned back against the stone wall and closed her eyes. She heard quiet sounds, murmuring voices in the kitchen. But not Aiden’s. Why couldn’t she hear Aiden?

She stirred, almost too weary to make the effort. Wouldn’t have tried at all if she didn’t need to find out about Aiden.

She turned toward the kitchen door just as Breanna stepped out carrying two tankards and a plate of bread and cheese.

“Can you walk as far as the tree?” Breanna asked.

“Aiden?”

“Gran is taking care of things. She has the touch for it.” She smiled. “And she figures he’ll stay more docile if he doesn’t feel that he has to act manly for your benefit.”

Lyrra followed Breanna to the bench under the tree.

“Fresh cider?” Lyrra said after taking a sip from one of the tankards.

Breanna made a face. “Let’s just say there was an ... incident ... with Idjit and some of the stored apples. So there’s plenty of fresh cider and apple tarts.”

Lyrra started to smile, picturing Breanna dealing with the small black dog, but as she glanced back at the house, the smile faltered.

“What happened, Lyrra?” Breanna asked softly. “Were you attacked?”

“No.” Not in the way you mean.

“Where’s Aiden’s horse?”

The tears came again. “Gone.”

“Stolen?”

Lyrra shook her head. “It fell off the edge of the world.”

“Mother’s mercy.” Breanna paused. “And everything Aiden was carrying with him was lost with it?”

“His clothes and personal things, yes.”

“What about...” Breanna bit her lip. “I wasn’t trying to pry, and I truly didn’t look, but I noticed the papers when I emptied your saddlebags the other day to have the clothes washed. Those were his songs, weren’t they?”

“Yes.”

Breanna looked so sad, Lyrra wasn’t sure she could stand it.

“His songs are gone?” Breanna asked.

“He still has them. In his h-hands and his heart.” Lyrra gulped, trying to stop the sobs that were swelling in her throat.

Breanna took the tankard and set it at the end of the bench with her own and the plate. She slid over, gathered Lyrra in her arms. “Cry it out. Gran says sometimes tears are the only way to wash out the heart’s wounds.”

Lyrra let grief and the terror she’d felt in Tir Alainn flow through the tears. With her head resting on Breanna’s shoulder, she told the witch about the bridge collapsing and her gut-deep fear when Aiden hung there at the edge of the world.

“He seems like a good man,” Breanna said slowly. “Why would the rest of the Fae do nothing to help him?”

Lyrra hesitated; then she said carefully, “He believes, as I do, that the witches are the House of Gaian.”

Breanna shrugged. “Why should that matter to the rest of them? We are the House of Gaian.”

Lyrra raised her head. Sat up slowly. “You remember that?”

Breanna tipped her head, obviously puzzled. “We live at the foot of the Mother’s Hills. How could we forget?”

“Some ... Well, we’ve actually met only one other witch to speak to, and she didn’t know.” Only the Crones in Ari’s family did, after reading the journals of those who had come before them.

Breanna looked in the direction of the hills. “If they’ve forgotten who they are, what else did they forget?”

“I don’t know. But Ari... Ari was someone I would have liked to have as a friend. I wish there had been time to know her better.”

“Where is she?”

“She’s... She disappeared after the Black Coats came.”

Breanna sighed. “Well, I’ll mention it to Gran. This may be something the elders should know about—if they don’t already. But that’s for Gran to decide.” She handed the tankard to Lyrra, folded a piece of bread around a slice of cheese. “Here. Have a bite to eat, and drink the cider. Are you tired?” Weary to the marrow of her bones. “I’ll do. Why?” Breanna studied her. “Come spend an hour with me in the garden. I think you need what earth can give.”

Aiden woke to the cheerful sound of water singing over stone. That made no sense. He was laying in a bed in one of the guest rooms in Nuala’s house—the same room he’d been given before. There wasn’t a brook close to the house, so how could he hear one?

Turning his head toward the sound, he opened his eyes and stared at the bowl on the table beside the bed. With a few grunts and groans, he managed to sit up and slide his legs over the side of the bed so he could get a better look.

Arranged stones filled the center of the bowl. Water rose up between them, spilling down over the stones’ edges.

A brook in a bowl, Aiden thought, smiling. But how was it done?

Curiosity got him out of bed when nothing else would have at that moment.

He found clothing on a chair. The belt and the boots were his, but the shirt and trousers had belonged to someone else. Still, he put them on, grateful for the loan—and tried not to curse too loudly when his bandaged hands and side made the task of getting dressed a fumbling challenge.

A comb and brush had been left on the dressing table beneath a small mirror. He picked up the brush, looked in the mirror—and froze.

His true face, his Fae face, stared back at him.

He and Lyrra had forgotten to use the glamour when they’d returned to the human world.

Breanna had seen his true face, so she’d probably told the others he and Lyrra were Fae. That’s why they hadn’t seemed surprised. Or maybe they were too intent on helping him to really notice the shape of his ears and the feral quality of his face.

Unsure if that made him feel relieved or uneasy, he brushed his hair and left the room.

He wandered back to the kitchen, since it was the only part of the house he was familiar with. Glynis escorted him to a parlor, where Nuala sat near an open window, doing some needlework.

She rose when he crossed the room, placed one hand lightly on the side of his face, and studied him for a long moment.

“You look better,” Nuala said.

I look Fae. But he wasn’t comfortable pointing that out to her, so he asked a question. “The ... fountain ... in the bedroom. How did you do that?”

Her woodland eyes twinkled with amusement before a soft smile curved her lips. “Water is my strongest branch of the Mother, and I have a connection with earth and fire, as well. So it’s not so difficult to ask water and stone to dance together to soothe a weary heart.”

He’d been dazed when she and Keely had led him into the kitchen and sat him down at one end of a worktable. But he remembered how Nuala had quietly murmured while she ran her fingers over his hands and Keely poured water over them. He remembered seeing bits of dirt and stone rise up out of his flesh to be washed into the bowl on the table.

“You called the earth out of my hands,” he said.

“It didn’t belong there.” Her fingers trailed down his cheek before she lowered her hand. “It’s almost time for the evening meal. Why don’t you sit and rest a bit?”

Aiden took a step back, shook his head regretfully. “As much as we enjoy your hospitality, Nuala, we have a long journey and can’t delay.”

She gave him a stern look that made him want to scuff his toes against the carpet. “Do you have a grandmother?”

“Yes.” Although I doubt she’d be willing to acknowledge me now.

Nuala nodded, as if he’d given her the answer she expected. “I am old enough to be your grandmother, and since yours isn’t here, I will stand for her this evening. You, young man, will stay here tonight to rest and gather your strength for the journey ahead. As soon as Breanna and Lyrra join us, we will discuss your plans to see what can be done to ease the journey.”

“But—”

She pointed to a small sofa that faced the windows. “Sit.”

He sat. And he wondered how different the Fae might have been if the grandmothers in the Clans had perfected that tone of voice.

Nuala returned to her chair and picked up her needlework.

After a few minutes, he relaxed. Under different circumstances, he could see himself sitting in this room for an hour, idly playing his harp, perhaps even picking out a new tune while she quietly worked on her embroidery. There was so much peace and strength in this room, in this house.

“Why are there no men here?” he asked, a question more for himself than directed to her.

Nuala didn’t even glance up. “No men? Then Edgar and Clay are... ?”

Aiden shrugged, winced a little when the movement pulled the scabs forming on his right side. “I meant... companions.” Lovers, actually, but he wasn’t going to say that.

“My husband died when Keely was still a child. Because of what happened to her, she will never think of a man in that way. And Breanna hasn’t yet found the man who touches her heart. As for other kinds of companions...” Nuala’s lips twitched. “That, grandson, is none of your business.”

Aiden grinned.

The door opened, and Breanna and Lyrra walked into the room.

“Aiden!” Lyrra cried, rushing over to him as he struggled to get to his feet. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him with an intensity that made him blush, since he knew Breanna and Nuala were watching with great interest. “How do you feel?”

He wrapped his arms lightly around her. “Better.” She, on the other hand, looked exhausted and yet peaceful. “What have you been doing?”

“I worked in the garden.” She turned her head and gave Breanna a dark look. “And I turned the compost piles.”

Breanna just smiled and took the other chair near the windows. “I just let you learn one of Gran’s lessons: Given time, even muck will change into something that nourishes.”

“Did I phrase it that way?” Nuala asked mildly.

“No, you phrased it much more nicely, but the lesson remains the same.”

Smiling, Nuala put her needlework aside. “Sit down, you two. There are things to discuss.”

Aiden eased himself back down on the sofa. Lyrra sat beside him, one hand on his arm as she rested lightly against his left shoulder.

“Now, Aiden. You’ve lost your horse.”

Grief stabbed through him. No one knew what happened to those who got lost in the mist. He couldn’t say if the horse was dead, injured, or wandering around alive until lack of food and water killed it. It was easier to believe it had died swiftly, cleanly.

“Yes,” he said.

“We don’t have a horse we can offer you, but I could inquire tomorrow if the baron would be willing to lend you a horse.”

Aiden shook his head. “I thank you for the offer, but to travel as we do, I would need a Fae horse. I doubt any would be found in the baron’s stable.”

Nuala nodded. “I thought that would be the case. So. What are your plans?”

He felt Lyrra tense beside him. She wasn’t going to like the decision he’d made at some point while he’d slept. “We need to reach the western part of Sylvalan as soon as we can. So we’re going to go through the Mother’s Hills.”

“Aiden!” Lyrra pulled away from him. “We can’t go through the Mother’s Hills.”

“Why not?” Breanna asked.

“Because ... because the Fae don’t go into those hills. We just don’t.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re afraid of them,” Aiden said quietly. “I can’t tell you why. It’s never spoken, but it’s understood that we do not go there. But I don’t see that we have a choice.”

“We have a choice,” Lyrra said heatedly.

“What choice?” Aiden snapped. “To add more days and delays to the journey?”

“We don’t even know it will be worth it!”

“We won’t know anything if we don’t try!”

“I think I know why the Fae don’t like the Mother’s Hills,” Nuala said quietly.

A chill went through Aiden, banking his temper.

“It’s an Old Place,” Nuala continued. “The Old Place. From the northern tip to the southern end, the Mother’s Hills are the home of the House of Gaian. The power there ...” She shook her head. “I don’t think the Fae would want to have to acknowledge the power that lives in the Daughters and Sons of the House of Gaian. So they’ve stayed away until they’ve forgotten why. If what Lyrra told Breanna is true, that whole families of witches have forgotten who they really are, then it would be easy for those witches to come to believe they are less than what they are. And far easier to believe that a people who appear only occasionally in the human world are more powerful.”

“We do have gifts of our own,” Lyrra muttered.

“I didn’t say you didn’t. I only offer a reason why the Fae may have avoided the Mother’s Hills.”

A long, thoughtful silence.

Then Aiden said, “Can we cross through the hills?”

“As long as you offer no harm, you’ll come to no harm.” Nuala reached into her work basket, pulled out two wooden disks strung on thin cords of leather. She handed them to Aiden and Lyrra. “Here. Wear those where they can be seen.”

Aiden studied the disk. On one side was a rough image of a willow tree in front of some wavy lines that probably were meant to be water. The carving had been stained somehow to stand out against the lighter wood.

“We have kin in the Mother’s Hills,” Nuala said. “That is our family symbol. Show it to anyone you meet there. They will know you guested with us ... and that you were welcome.”

“Thank you,” Aiden said, slipping the leather cord over his head.

“We can also give you a purse to pay for food and lodging on the journey.”

“Nuala,” Aiden protested. “We can’t—”

“Grandson.”

He knew there was only one thing to say in response to that tone of voice. “Thank you, Grandmother.”

Nuala smiled.

A brief knock on the door before Keely opened it and stuck her head in the room. “Glynis says she’s ready to serve the meal.”

“Thank you, Keely.” Nuala rose. “I think that’s all we need to discuss.” She walked out of the room.

As soon as Nuala left, Breanna chuckled. “Ah, Aiden, you looked good sitting there like a hooked trout, just thrashing around and getting nowhere.”

His pride stung, he said with as much sarcasm as he could muster, “Thank you, Breanna.”

“Oh, it’s I who should be thanking you.” Breanna grinned. “It was a treat to see someone else on the receiving end of that tone of voice. Even more of a treat to discover that even the Bard can’t argue against it.”

Aiden gave her what he hoped was a scalding look. Her grin just got sassier. Sighing, he gave up. His sharp tongue and his way of shaping words might intimidate the Fae most of the time, but he had a feeling that Breanna, with a lifetime of practice behind her, would have come out better in this “discussion” with Nuala than he had.

With Lyrra’s arm tucked through his, he slowly followed Breanna out of the room.

“Grandmother?” Lyrra whispered, looking at him a bit wide-eyed.

“An honorary one.”

“Do you think you’re going to acquire any more grandmothers on this journey?”

“I sincerely hope not.” One was more than he could handle.