Shadows and Light

Chapter Twenty-nine

The village of Breton was just ahead of them. Almost the end of the journey.

Or the beginning of another, Aiden thought wearily. But he wasn’t going to think beyond this next task—finding Lady Ashk and trying to convince her the witches were more, far more, than servants for the Fae’s convenience.

“Almost there, love,” Aiden said. When Lyrra smiled at him, his heart clenched. She wasn’t pregnant, and he was grateful for her sake, but the strain of the journey and the lack of quiet privacy she was used to during her moon cycle had made today’s traveling difficult for her. He wished he could have stopped at the last traveling post they had passed and let her rest for the day. But his purse was empty, and the only place he could hope to find her a decent meal and a comfortable bed was at the Clan house in Bretonwood.

They were met at the edge of the village by four armed guards who maneuvered their horses to block the road.

“What’s your business here?” one of the guards asked harshly.

“Hold your tongue,” the guard captain snapped. “You can see just by looking at them that they’re two of the Fair Folk.” He drew in a breath, blew it out again. “But we still need to be asking who you are and what your business is here.”

“You’ve had trouble?” Aiden asked, pleased that his voice remained calm while his heart pounded wildly.

“Black Coats—and those nighthunter creatures they created.”

Lyrra made an small, alarmed sound that had the guard captain slashing a look at her.

“How could they be here? How?” She sounded so frightened and turned so pale Aiden dropped Minstrel’s reins and reached out to steady her.

The captain’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve seen these creatures?”

Aiden shuddered. “Yes. And we’ve... seen what they do.” At that moment, he wasn’t clear in his own mind if he was talking about the Inquisitors or the nighthunters. Maybe it didn’t matter. In some ways, they were the same thing. “Was anyone harmed?”

The captain nodded. “Some people have died because of them.”

Reason enough to have guards meeting anyone coming into the village. At least these humans didn’t seem uncomfortable about dealing with the Fae. “I’m the Bard. My lady is the Muse. We’ve traveled a long way to talk to Lady Ashk.”

“Ashk, is it? Then we’ll take you part of the way to Bretonwood.” The captain turned his horse. “Sedge, you’re with me. You two stay at your post here.”

The captain and Sedge led the way through town. As soon as they passed Breton and were traveling through open country, Minstrel started mouthing the bit and snorting softly in a way that made Aiden’s stomach sink.

“Not now,” he whispered.

Minstrel wig-wagged his ears and continued snorting. His smooth trot suddenly became less smooth, and Aiden felt the jolt of each silent step all the way up his spine.

The captain looked back, frowning. “What’s wrong with the horse?”

Aiden unclenched his teeth enough to answer. “He’s disappointed that he didn’t get a song when we stopped at the village.”

Sedge turned in his saddle. “You’re the bard with the dancing horse! We heard about you.”

“Mother’s tits,” Aiden muttered as Lyrra started to giggle. “How could you have heard about that?”

The captain pointed skyward. Aiden spotted the two ravens flying toward Bretonwood.

“Roads curve, but news can still travel straight and fast,” the captain said, grinning.

“Mother’s tits,” Aiden muttered again. He could hope Lady Ashk hadn’t heard about it. That wasn’t likely, but he could still hope.

They rode for a few more minutes. Then the captain said, “There’s your Clan escort.” He rode ahead to meet the two Fae men who waited near a narrower road that branched off the main one. A falcon perched on the forearm of one of the men. As they approached, the man raised his arm, and the falcon flew away.

No doubt Lady Ashk would know of their arrival long before they reached the Clan house.

The village guards gave him and Lyrra a jaunty salute before riding back to Breton. The Fae escort was uncomfortably silent. They simply turned their horses and led the way up the road that branched off the main road.

Well, Aiden thought, the rest of the Fae had always said those in the west were lacking in some ... civilities. Or, perhaps, if they knew what was said about them, they saw no reason to be civil to Fae who came in from outside the west.

Their destination was another Clan house in an Old Place. Unlike the other one they visited, this Clan house wasn’t in open country surrounded by woods. This one was in the woods, a part of the woods.

It made him uneasy, although he wasn’t sure why. A glance at Lyrra was sufficient to tell him she wasn’t comfortable either.

They’re Fae, he told himself. They may be different from the rest of us, but we’ve no reason to fear our own kind.

He didn’t believe that, knew from experience it wasn’t true. He suddenly wanted open land, fierce sunlight. The old trees were far enough apart that it wasn’t dark around the Clan house. There was plenty of dappled sunlight and open ground under the trees, but he wasn’t sure anymore that he wanted to meet Ashk. The only reason he rode toward the group of people standing near a large wooden table was that Ashk was the only person who might be able to lead him to the Hunter.

As soon as they dismounted, the Fae men who had escorted them took their horses. A woman with long, ash-brown hair stepped away from the others. She studied him for a long moment. Studied Lyrra’s face even longer.

She had woodland eyes. But there was something in those eyes that he hadn’t seen in Breanna’s eyes, or Nuala’s, or any of the wiccanfae he’d met in the Mother’s Hills. Something ... other. Something dangerous.

Then it was gone, making him wonder if it was a trick of the light or if fatigue was making him imagine things.

“Blessings of the day to you,” Aiden said, deliberately using a witch’s greeting.

She looked mildly surprised, but replied, “Blessings of the day.”

“I’m Aiden, the Bard.” He reached out, clasped Lyrra’s hand. “This is Lyrra, the Muse. We’ve come to speak to Lady Ashk.”

“Have you?” Her smile was slightly feral—and amused. “First you should eat and recover a little from your journey. Then we’ll talk.”

“You’re Ashk?” Aiden couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice. He’d expected someone older, considering how wary everyone seemed to be when her name was mentioned.

Ashk just turned her head to look back at the group of Fae still gathered near the table. A couple of younger males immediately headed for the Clan house.

“Sit,” Ashk said, making a gesture toward the benches on either side of the large table.

He would have preferred to stand and stretch his back and legs, but he took a place beside Lyrra. Ashk sat on the opposite bench, across from them, her feet on the bench, her arms loosely clasped around her knees.

The youngsters returned with two wooden serving trays. Plates of sliced bread and cheese, a small bowl of fresh butter, and a plate for each of them that had a generous portion of some kind of white meat. Last, they set down two small cloths and a steaming bowl of water.

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?

She would have helped him, had been about to tell him exactly that—until Morag rode up, saw him, and ran.

Morag was from a midland Clan, but she’d been in the eastern part of Sylvalan. She’d been at Brightwood and had helped Ari and Neall escape. She knew Aiden. So what was it about the Bard that would make the Gatherer run?

She didn’t know, and she didn’t like it. She just hoped Aiden was as intelligent as he was eloquent. She’d meant the threat. If he and Lyrra tried to leave, she would kill them.

Great Mother, let Morag’s reaction be for some personal or foolish reason. I don’t want this man’s blood on my hands. I don’t want that fine, blazing spirit to leave the world. Let him do the sensible thing and just stay in his room, resting.

“Rider coming!”

Ashk raised her head at the cry. No tension in the voice that had called the warning. No, the voice had sounded almost ... cheerful.

One glimpse of the horse and rider had her on her feet, running toward them. “Padrick! Padrick!”

He was off his horse and running to meet her. Swept her into his arms and off her feet.

She threw her arms around his neck and held on tight, her eyes filling with tears of relief even while she laughed. “You’re home. You’re finally home.”

He pressed his face against her hair. She felt him tremble as his arms tightened around her.

“Are you well, Ashk? Are you and the children well?”

“We’re well, Padrick. Better now that you’re home. And you?”

He eased back enough to look at her. His hand shook when he brushed her hair away from her face. “I came as soon as I could. They swore to me you were safe. They swore it. I couldn’t have— I had duties, Ashk, but I would have left everything else and come here first if they hadn’t sworn to me—”

She pressed her fingers against his mouth. “You had duties to your people, just as I have duties to mine.” She frowned. Her fingers lifted away from his mouth. “Who swore to you?”

“Forrester.” Padrick looked a little uncomfortable. “After the Black Coats’ attack here, he began riding out each morning with a few men to check for signs of those nighthunters.”

“Some of my men have been doing the same.”

“Yes. Well, your men and mine ... and Neall... would often meet on one of the trails....”

“And Forrester was reassured each morning that the baron’s wife and children were safe and well.” Well, that explained how her men were able to tell her each day that the people at the manor house and the tenant farms were safe. And it explained why those men had been a bit vague about how they’d come by the information. “If it eased your heart, I’m glad they exchanged news. I wish they had been able to tell me the same about you.”

“I was ... detained. A young baron needed help, and after what I saw on the journey to his home, I’ll do whatever it takes to stop the Black Coats and the barons who follow them. But I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you needed me. I’m sorry about your grandfather, Ashk. I’m grateful to him for giving his life to save Evan, but I’m sorry you lost him that way.”

Ashk shook her head. The grief was still raw, and grief wasn’t what she wanted to share with him right now. “There’s much we need to talk about, but not yet. Not now.”

“What then?”

“A nap.”

His expression was uncertain, but his eyes began to twinkle. “A nap.”

Wrapping arms around each other’s waists, they walked to the Clan house.

“Yes,” Ashk said. “You’ve had a long journey and a difficult morning. A short nap would do you good.”

“How short?”

“Oh, an hour or so.”

“Will I get any sleep while I’m taking this nap?”

“I don’t think so.”

He laughed, and she hoped the world, and their duties in it, would leave them alone for a little while.

Calm, Morag thought as the dark horse galloped along the wide forest trail. Stay calm. If you go galloping back to the cottage, you’ll do the very thing you wanted to avoid.

Light pressure on the reins signaled the dark horse to ease back to a canter.

It had been foolish to run like that, but she’d reacted without thinking. Or, to be truthful, her thoughts when she’d seen Aiden had focused on one thing: the Inquisitors’ attack and the worry about the nighthunters still in the woods had been enough of a shock for Ari. She didn’t want the young witch to have any more surprises right now.

But she shouldn’t have run like that. A few minutes to greet Aiden and Lyrra, a private minute with Ashk, and she could have left easily enough and talked to Ari before anyone else came by and mentioned the Bard and the Muse were at the Clan house.

As soon as she reached the open land around the cottage, she saw Ari sitting on the bench by the kitchen door, spinning thread for her weavings. Merle lay in front of her, watching the spindle.

Morag reined in and dismounted. Merle glanced at her, waved the tip of his tail in greeting, then returned his attention to the spindle.

Ari glanced at Morag, too. “Spinning may be work, but it’s sitting down work,” she said defensively. Then said, “No,” as Merle stretched his neck, his nose—and teeth— close to the spindle.

“Problem?” Morag asked, looking at the two of them as she sat down beside Ari.

“Merle thinks a spindle is a dog toy just because it’s made out of wood.”

Merle gave Morag a doggy grin, making Morag wonder if the shadow hound really had any interest in the spindle or was simply playing his own version of “tease the witch.”

After wrapping the thread around the spindle, Ari put it in the basket beside her. “I thought you were going back to the Clan house for a while.”

“I was—and I am. I—” Exasperated with herself, Morag huffed out a breath. If she’d been thinking, she would have talked to Neall first.

“Morag?” Tension tightened Ari’s voice. “What’s wrong? Has something happened?”

“No,” Morag said quickly. She rested a hand on Ari’s arm. Felt the muscles quiver. “No,” she said again, striving to sound calm. She sighed. “I’m upsetting you, and that’s exactly what I didn’t want to have happen.”

“Just tell me.”

“The Bard and the Muse are at the Clan house.”

Ari stared blankly at her for a moment. “Aiden and Lyrra? What brings them—?” She paled. “Will they tell Lucian about me?”

Morag shook her head. “They don’t know you’re here. And they won’t know unless you want us to tell them. If you don’t want to see them, Ashk and I can make sure they don’t come to this part of the Old Place. I wanted to tell you because I didn’t want you to drive up to the Clan house and meet them unexpectedly.” She paused. “I’m sorry I upset you.”

Ari shook her head. “I’m glad you told me.” Then she added, “I liked them, Aiden and Lyrra. Sometimes I’ve wished I could hear them sing again, and I would like to see them. But not if they’ll tell Lucian or Dianna that I’m here.”

Morag hesitated. Then, remembering the way Lucian almost accepted her bargain, almost traded his life to bring Ari back when he thought the Inquisitors had killed her, she asked the question she’d wanted to ask since she moved into the cottage with Ari and Neall. “If you’d had a choice ... if you hadn’t been bound by the magic in the fancy to accept him, would you have taken Lucian as a lover?”

Ari looked out over the meadow. “I don’t know. He was ... exciting, but I wanted more than trinkets, and that’s all he had to give. I think he cared about me, at least a little, and I cared about him. But caring isn’t the same as love. There never would have been love. And yet I can’t regret what happened because it was one of the things that made it easier to leave Brightwood, and in the end, it brought me here.” She rested one hand on her round belly. “With Neall.”

Morag stood up. “As long as you’re all right about them being here, I need to get back. I left in a bit of a hurry, and I may have some rough edges to smooth over with Ashk.”

Ari gave Morag a thoughtful look. “If Neall and I come to dinner at the Clan house tonight, do you think that would help smooth those rough edges?”

“Yes, it would help. But if you come, you’ll have to stay overnight. Until we’re sure we’ve destroyed all the nighthunters, it wouldn’t be safe for the two of you to drive back through the woods.”

“I know. I’ll talk to Neall as soon as he gets back.”

“I’m glad you want to see them.”

“I liked them.” Ari made a face. “And I’ll like Aiden even better if he doesn’t make me sing.”

Feeling easier, Morag rode back to the Clan house—and hoped nothing had happened that would make it impossible to smooth those rough edges.

Lyrra stepped out of the women’s communal room and tried not to sigh. She would have gladly spent the day in that room, soaking in the deep tub of hot water, sitting by the window and daydreaming, or napping on one of the daybeds and not feeling awkward about the folded towels under her hips. Privacy and rest. She craved it this time with a need that made her want to weep. But she couldn’t leave Aiden alone in the room they’d been given, worried and brooding, and until they knew why Ashk had turned on them, she didn’t want to leave herself in a position where she and Aiden could be easily separated.

A door a little farther down the corridor opened. Ashk stepped out, hesitated, then approached.

“Do you have everything you need?” Ashk asked politely.

“Yes, thank you,” Lyrra replied, equally polite.

She had the sense that Ashk felt awkward around her. She hoped so. If you threatened to kill someone, you shouldn’t feel small civilities made up for it.

Why did you turn on us? Maybe she would have asked that question, woman to woman, if she hadn’t heard the sound of other women’s voices and knew the moment to ask the question had been lost.

Then Morag turned the corner and stopped suddenly when she saw them.

Lyrra noticed the tension building in Ashk. She wanted to get out of that corridor, away from Ashk and Morag. She wanted the reassurance that Aiden was safe.

“You left in a hurry,” Ashk said quietly.

“Yes,” Morag replied. “For that, I owe you and Aiden an apology, Lyrra.”

Morag looked uncertain, and Lyrra discovered it wasn’t something she liked seeing in the Gatherer.

“When you saw us, why did you ride away like that?” Lyrra asked.

Morag looked at Ashk while answering the question. “I thought their being here might bring up memories that were ... distressing ... especially after the attack by the Black Coats.”

“Were the memories distressing?” Ashk asked.

“No.”

Lyrra frowned. She’d asked the question, but only Morag and Ashk understood the answer.

Then Morag looked at her. “Ari is here.”

“Ari?” Lyrra’s heart gave a funny little jump before settling back to a proper rhythm. She took a step toward Morag. “Ari is here? She’s well? And ... and Neall? Is he here with her? Is he well?”

“They’re both well. She carries their first child.”

Lyrra laughed while tears filled her eyes. “Oh, this is wonderful! Aiden will be so pleased. Do you think—?” She looked into Morag’s dark eyes and some of the pleasure drained away. Black Coats attacking. Morag galloping away from the Clan house after seeing them, worried about distressing memories.

“You thought our being here would upset her?”

“Yes.”

You’re here, Morag. Why wouldn’t your presence upset her just as much? She knew the answer to that. She and Aiden had come with Dianna to celebrate the Summer Solstice with Ari, and, while they’d meant no harm, they hadn’t come honestly. They’d used the glamour to wear a human face and hide that they were Fae. They hadn’t known the magic Ari would call up when she did the spiral dance would reveal them for what they were. Their reasons hadn’t been cruel, but they had lied to her. They’d all lied to her. Except Morag. Morag had come to Brightwood as who and what she was. And in the end, she was the one who had helped Ari and Neall get away from Brightwood, from the Inquisitors—and from Lucian and Dianna.

Lyrra wiped the tears that dampened her cheeks. “I understand. Is it likely that she’ll come to the Clan house? Aiden and I... We’ll stay out of sight.” It hurt more than she expected to say that.

Morag shook her head. “She’d like to see you and Aiden—as long as Aiden doesn’t make her sing.”

Lyrra opened her mouth to make a hurried assurance, then just sighed. “When it comes to Aiden and hearing a new song, I’m not willing to promise anything. Although, I suppose I could threaten to sing loudly and off-key for the next month if he pesters her.”

“That sounds like a suitable punishment,” Ashk said dryly.

Lyrra nodded. “For Aiden it would be.”

Morag looked at Ashk. “Neall and Ari may be coming for the evening meal.”

“They’ll have to stay until morning,” Ashk said.

“I already told her that.”

Lyrra glanced at each of them and realized Morag and Ashk not only understood each other, but they also felt equally protective of Ari and Neall.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Lyrra said. “I’d better get back to Aiden.”

“Ari was hoping you and Aiden would be willing to sing a few songs this evening,” Morag said.

“It would be our pleasure.” Smiling at both of them, she hurried through the corridors of that part of the Clan house until she reached the room she and Aiden had been given.

He was still sitting on the window seat, silent. He stood quickly when she rushed across the room. When she threw her arms around his neck, he held her tightly against him.

“Lyrra?” he said worriedly.

She leaned back, and she knew he didn’t understand the tears welling up again as she smiled at him. But he would. Oh, he would.

“Aiden, I have wonderful news.”

Morag watched Lyrra hurry away before turning back to face Ashk. “I apologize if my hasty departure caused a problem.”

Ashk shrugged. “Nothing an apology from me can’t mend. And if it can’t be mended, so be it.”

Morag studied Ashk. “When I got back to the Clan house, I talked to a couple of the hunters standing watch. They told me Aiden and Lyrra would be killed if they tried to leave. Those were your orders.”

Ashk met her eyes without flinching, without regret. “Those were my orders. Now that I know why you left so hastily, I’ll withdraw that command.” She took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “I’m glad they didn’t test my sincerity.”

“Did you really think the Bard and the Muse were a threat?”

Ashk shook her head. “If they’d truly been a threat to the Clan, or to anyone else in Bretonwood, you wouldn’t have run, Morag. You would have killed them yourself.”

Ashk settled on one of the benches that formed a half-circle in front of the Clan house. Aiden and Lyrra took the center bench, quietly tuning instruments in preparation for the evening’s entertainment.

She’d spent most of the time before and during the evening meal watching them. Especially Aiden. She’d seen the sign of nerves as he’d rubbed his hands on his trousers when Ari and Neall had ridden up to the Clan house. She’d seen the strong emotions in his face and in his eyes when Ari shyly approached him—and realized it was meeting Ari last summer, however briefly, that had begun the journey that brought Aiden here now. She’d seen his delight when Morphia greeted him—and his relief when Morag came up to talk to him. She’d listened as Aiden and Padrick talked about traveling through the Mother’s Hills—and laughed together about someone named Skelly and his sweet granny.

And she felt an ache in her heart that he hadn’t arrived a month earlier when he could have walked down a forest trail and looked into the wise, dark eyes of an old stag.

Padrick joined her, took her hand in his. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. The light squeeze of her hand told her he knew where her thoughts had gone.

She looked at Caitlin and Evan, sitting on old blankets with a pile of other children, protected within that half circle of benches filled with adults. The men who formed the outer part of the circle were all armed. They’d found no nighthunter nests close to the Clan house, but she knew there were still some out there. She could still feel a wrongness in the woods. So they would be cautious, careful.

Aiden and Lyrra began with an instrumental piece, followed by a bright little tune. Then Lyrra spent a couple of minutes teaching the children the chorus to another song.

They were all laughing and applauding at the end of that song when a shout of alarm had the adults jumping to their feet.

Ashk’s heart pounded in her chest as a dark horse cantered toward them, chased by one of the youths standing watch over the corralled horses. Like the armed hunters, she scanned the trees and the shadows cast by the torchlight for any sign of danger—and sensed nothing.

The horse wove his way between people who prudently stepped aside until he came to a stop at the edge of the blankets filled with children.

“I don’t understand how he got out,” the youth said, panting from the chase.

“It’s all right.” Aiden’s voice was a blend of embarrassment and resignation. “He just wants to hear the music.”

The dark horse tossed his head in what might have been a nod of agreement.

The youth trotted back to the corral. The adults settled back in their seats. The horse pricked his ears.

“Back, Minstrel,” Aiden said firmly.

Minstrel hung his head, positioning his ears to create a woeful expression.

Aiden pinched the bridge of his nose. “Two steps back.”

One step. Two steps. Still looking woeful.

Aiden picked up his whistle. Minstrel lifted his head.

Like the rest of them, Ashk watched with delight as Minstrel arched his neck and did his trotting-in-place dance to Aiden’s tune.

When the applause died down, Aiden said, “Take a bow, Minstrel.” His eyes widened and Lyrra sprawled on the bench in gleeful laughter as the horse extended one front leg, curled the other, and lowered his head.

“I don’t think the Bard was expecting that,” Padrick whispered.

“No, I don’t think he was,” Ashk whispered back. Aiden’s effort to control his expression was as entertaining as anything else so far.

They listened to funny songs and love songs and, finally, at the end, another instrumental piece that was quiet and peaceful.

Padrick slipped an arm around her waist, brought his lips close to her ear. “He’s a good man, but he can’t win this battle alone.”

“I know.”

“Will he meet the Hunter?”

She didn’t answer until the last notes of the song faded on the air. “He’ll meet the Hunter.”