Shadows and Light

Chapter Twenty-seven

It was the prettiest village Aiden had ever seen, and just the sight of it lifted his spirits. He could imagine living in one of those tidy cottages, talking with the same people day after day, playing his songs in the tavern or in the square, sharing the joys and sorrows of the community. He could picture Lyrra telling her stories to children gathered around her— and other stories to the adults later in the evening. He could imagine raising their children there.

The village’s only flaw was that it had been built in an Old Place. If humans had built a village there, it meant the Old Place was gone. And yet it didn’t feel gone.

“Maybe it’s like the Clan house in that other Old Place,” Lyrra said. “Or... maybe there’s a large enough family of witches living in the Old Place that the magic has spread beyond the borders.”

“Maybe,” Aiden said. He’d like to believe that. “Shall we ride in and see what the tavern might be offering for a midday meal?”

Lyrra nodded.

Aiden studied her. She looked more tired than she should have, and she’d alternated between snapping at him about anything and turning weepy about nothing. She couldn’t, or wouldn’t, tell him what was bothering her, and he didn’t have the nerve to ask if she was pregnant because, if she was, he was fairly certain whatever response he made to the news would be the wrong one. Instead of asking about something that would create a strain between them, he said, “If the tavern has a room available, we could stay here until morning.”

He saw a yearning in her face that changed to hard resolve.

“It’s only midday,” Lyrra said. “We need to keep going. That bard either lied to us or had never made the journey to Bretonwood and has no idea how long it really takes.”

“I figure by taking this road instead of continuing on the main one, we’ve saved a day’s travel.”

“That bard didn’t mention this road. It’s not marked, but it wasn’t that hard to find.”

The sharpness under her words made him uneasy. Her referring to Taihg as “that bard” didn’t bode well. But she was right. Taihg hadn’t mentioned this road, which seemed to head northwest—exactly where they needed to go.

Lyrra sighed. “I’m tired, Aiden.”

“I know, love. I know.”

“I just want it done. I want the journey to end. I want to find the Hunter and finally know if there’s any use in our trying and trying and trying.” She sniffled lightly. “And I don’t want to stay in that village more than an hour, because if I do, I won’t want to leave, and that will make leaving so much harder.”

Aiden hesitated. “How would you feel about living among humans?”

She gave the village a long, thoughtful look. “Here, I would be willing to try.”

“Then let’s find out if it would be possible.”

Her mouth dropped open.

Aiden smiled. “Taihg did say it was safer to wear our true faces. Let’s find out.”

The hope and anticipation in her face made him as uneasy as her sharp tone had a moment ago. All he could do now was hope an hour in the village didn’t spoil her pleasure.

They rode down to the village at an easy pace. There were plenty of people around as they rode up the main street. Aiden’s heart sank as he watched those people study him and Lyrra with cold eyes before hurrying into the nearest building. So. That answered the question about whether or not Fae might be accepted by these villagers.

As they dismounted in front of the Hunter’s Horn, a little girl pulled away from her mother, darted across the street, and stopped in front of Minstrel.

“Pretty horse,” she said, raising one small hand.

Minstrel obligingly lowered his head so she could pet his nose.

“Kayla!” the woman said, rushing over to pull her daughter to safety.

“It’s all right,” Aiden said soothingly. “He’s very gentle.”

The assurance didn’t seem to ease the woman’s fear.

“He’s pretty, Mama,” the little girl said. She looked at Aiden. “Whaz his name?”

“Minstrel.”

“Does he sing?”

Aiden grinned. “He would if he could. Since he can’t, he just likes to listen.”

“I’m gonna be a minstrel when I’m bigger,” the girl said. “But I won’t be a horse.”

Minstrel moved his ears so they stuck out from his head, giving him such a woebegone expression, even the woman smiled.

“Don’t be sad,” the little girl said. “I’ll sing you a song.” She began to sing in a sweet, clear voice.

Aiden snapped to attention, his blue eyes intent on the girl. He shouldn’t have done it—knew he shouldn’t have reacted that way—but it was a song he’d never heard, and it pulled at him with a force he couldn’t resist.

“Kayla!” The woman grabbed her daughter’s shoulders and pulled her back a couple of steps. “That’s enough!”

“But Mama—”

“What kind of song is that?” Aiden asked, taking a step forward.

“It’s a wic—”

“Enough!” the woman shouted. She picked up the little girl, hurried across the street, and went into the nearest shop.

Aiden’s shoulders sagged with disappointment. What was so wrong about letting the child sing? What was so wrong about letting him hear the child sing?

“Aiden,” Lyrra said softly. “Let’s go into the tavern. Now.”

There was something wrong in the tone of her voice that pulled his focus away from music. He saw the men who had been on the street slowly walking toward them, a grim expression on every face.

Trying to look relaxed, he loosely tied Minstrel’s reins and the packhorse’s lead to a post outside the tavern. As soon as Lyrra tied her horse, he took her hand and walked into the tavern with her.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly.

“It wasn’t you,” Lyrra said just as softly.

Aiden smiled at the aproned man who came to greet them—or, perhaps, block them from entering farther into the room.

“What’s your business?” the man growled.

“A midday meal, if you’re serving,” Aiden said politely. “My lady is faint with hunger and could use a good meal.”

“Aiden,” Lyrra whispered, sounding embarrassed. She smiled weakly when the man stared at her, studying her face.

“We’ve beef stew today,” the man finally said. “It’s hearty. Sit yourselves down. I’ll fetch it.”

“Thank you,” Aiden said, leading Lyrra to a table close to the door. The men on the street were drifting into the tavern. If he and Lyrra had to try to run for it, he didn’t want to be trapped in the middle of the room.

The tavern owner returned with a large tray. He set down two bowls of stew, a small plate that held hunks of yellow cheese, and two plates that held thick slices of brown bread that were still warm enough to have the curls of butter melting into them. Last, he set down a small tankard of ale for Aiden and a cup of cider for Lyrra.

Lyrra quickly spread the butter over the bread and took a bite. “Mmmm.” She chewed slowly. Then she gave the tavern owner a bright smile. “Oh. This is wonderful.”

The man’s hard expression softened a little. “My wife will be pleased to hear it. She bakes the bread herself.”

Wondering if Lyrra was going queer on him or if she really was desperately hungry, Aiden spread the butter on his own piece of bread and took a bite.

Mother’s mercy, it was wonderful.

Lyrra dug into her stew, gave the spoonful several quick little puffs of breath to cool it, then took the first bite with unfeigned relish.

“You could write a song about this bread,” she said. She broke off a piece of cheese, then looked up at the tavern owner, who was still standing near the table watching them. “Aiden is the Bard. I’m the Muse. A poem might do for the bread, but a song would be better. What do you think?” she asked, turning to Aiden.

She’d gone queer on him, that’s what he thought. Maybe she was pregnant. Women could go a bit strange during that time.

Then he looked into her eyes and realized she’d been trying to send him signals—the same kind of subtle signals they used when they performed together. He’d missed them and didn’t have a clue what she was trying to tell him. Worse, her telling these men who they were hadn’t eased the tension in the room. If anything, the hostility had increased.

“What would bring the Bard and the Muse to our little village?” one of the men standing near the bar asked.

There was nothing friendly about the question, and the tavern owner continued to stand near their table, watching them instead of serving drinks and food to the other people in the room.

To give himself time, Aiden took a spoonful of stew and chewed slowly. “We’re just passing through.”

“Not many people pass through this way,” the tavern owner said.“Traveling the main road is easier.”

“This road headed northwest, so we took the chance that it would join with the road to Breton.”

“You’ve business with the baron there?” the man at the bar asked.

Aiden suppressed a sigh. Why couldn’t these men just let them eat in peace and leave? “Actually, we’re headed for Bretonwood to talk to Lady Ashk.”

A stillness filled the room. Then, as if a held breath was slowly released, some of the tension in the room eased.

“You keep heading up this road, it’ll take you in the right direction to reach Breton—and Bretonwood,” the tavern owner said. He turned away then, going back to his place behind the bar.

Lyrra let out a quiet, shuddering sigh.

Aiden saw the slight tremor in her hand when she lifted the next spoonful of stew. His belly was knotted with tension, so he ate slowly, resentful that neither of them could enjoy a good meal. And, he thought with bitter honesty, resentful that this village was pretty only on the surface.

“I think they’re scared,” Lyrra said so quietly he had to lean to one side to hear her.

“Scared of two Fae?” he asked just as quietly.

She lifted a piece of cheese to her mouth. Her hand partially hid her lips. “The little girl... She had woodland eyes. So did her mother. So does the tavern owner.” She popped the cheese into her mouth.

Woodland eyes. The one physical attribute that seemed common to anyone who had some kinship to the House of Gaian. Of course, not everyone who had woodland eyes was one of the Mother’s Daughters. Lyrra was proof of that. But if there were people in this village who had strong ties to the witches in the Old Place, and if they’d been warned about the Black Coats, that would explain why they were wary of strangers.

It didn’t make it any easier being on the receiving end of those cold, hard stares.

They finished their meal in silence, and Aiden felt grateful that the price wasn’t so dear as he’d expected. If the feel in the room had been different, he might have offered to pay for part of the meal with a few songs, but he didn’t think the offer would be welcome—and he didn’t trust the temper of these men.

When they left the tavern, the men followed them outside, watched them mount their horses.

Aiden pressed his heels into the dark horse’s sides. “Come on, Minstrel, let’s go.”

Minstrel just planted his feet and shifted his weight in a way that warned Aiden the horse had no intention of going anywhere.

Aiden leaned down, bringing his face closer to the horse’s ears. “Not now, Minstrel. We have to go.”

Minstrel wig-wagged his ears. His feet didn’t move at all.

Aiden felt the weight of all those hard eyes watching him.

He sat up and handed the packhorse’s lead rope to Lyrra, who looked at him with wide-eyed apprehension. Twisting around, he unbuckled one of the buckles on a saddlebag and pulled out the whistle he’d taken to carrying there.

Giving the men a weak smile, he said, “He expects a song before we start out.” Fitting his fingers over the whistle’s holes, he began to play a sprightly tune.

And Minstrel started trotting. In place.

Aiden had no idea why the horse had learned to do that— or why anyone would teach the horse to do that, but there they were, with him playing the tune and Minstrel trotting— and going nowhere.

He glanced at Lyrra, who had one hand clamped over her mouth to stifle the laughter. He glanced at the men, who were scratching their heads or rubbing their hands over their mouths. Their mirth filled the air, but they held the laughter in—probably, Aiden thought sourly, so they wouldn’t distract the horse.

He reached the last note of the song.

Minstrel planted his feet firmly in the street.

Lyrra was laughing so hard, her face had turned a bright red that was not a complement for her dark red hair.

The men watched him expectantly.

Feeling the heat rising in his face, Aiden stuffed the whistle inside his shirt and cleared his throat. “Uh... I guess that was the wrong tune.”

Minstrel bobbed his head as if in agreement.

It could have been worse, Aiden thought as he gathered up the reins. He could have done this at a Clan house and destroyed what little reputation I have left. Taking a deep breath, he began singing the traveling song.

He got through the first verse and the chorus.

Minstrel refused to move.

When he got through the second verse, he made a “help me” gesture with one hand. The men were laughing so hard, none of them could hit the right notes, but they sang the chorus with him.

Minstrel bobbed his head and trotted down the street.

Aiden was an embarrassed bard.

Minstrel was a happy horse.

If he hadn’t needed a Fae horse, he would have traded the music-obsessed animal for anything that could be saddled and carry a grown man.

But as they trotted down the street, with Lyrra and the packhorse following, he heard two the men call out, “Good luck to you, Bard!”

“Hope you run out of road before you run out of songs!”

Aiden just raised one hand and waved to acknowledge he’d heard them—and he kept singing.

They’d gone a couple of miles past the village before Lyrra stopped giggling every time she glanced at him. He’d sung the traveling song—all ten verses with a chorus after every one of them—and a few other songs before he dared quit. Fortunately, by then Minstrel had settled into an easy trot and seemed content to keep going.

While he was singing, he’d had time to think. If they’d left the village easily, they would have left people who were still suspicious of them. Instead, they’d left people laughing—and the village would talk about the Bard and his music-loving horse for weeks to come. And if they had to ride back that way again, they might be greeted with smiles instead of anger.

But he wasn’t going to admit to anyone, even Lyrra, that his horse had been the better performer today.