Shadows and Light

Chapter Eight

“I am sorry, but with the baron away and the mistress are not at home, I do not have the authority to offer you shelter.”

Faced with the butler’s genuine concern, Aiden tried to hide some of the weariness that had plagued him for the past two days. He worked to give the man a smile. “I understand. With the troubles in the villages east of here, it is wise to be ... cautious ... of strangers.” Touching fingertips to temple in a salute, he turned away from the door and started walking back to where Lyrra waited with the horses.

“Minstrel.”

I am the Bard, the Lord of Song, Aiden thought bitterly as he turned back toward the butler. Such a civilized gift of magic, being the Bard—and so useless in the face of what he and Lyrra had recently seen.

The butler took a few steps away from the house, glanced around to see if anyone else was about, then said with quiet intensity, “You are a man with an open mind?”

“About most things,” Aiden replied. But not where the Inquisitors were concerned. Never where they were concerned. Especially not after— No, he couldn’t think about that. He had to keep his mind focused on the immediate task of finding food and shelter for Lyrra and the horses.

“I do not believe the baron would object if you used the lanes on the estate instead of going back to the main road since that would lengthen your journey,” the butler said, giving Lyrra a worried look. “Go on past the stables and follow the brook until you reach a stone bridge. Cross the bridge and follow the lane. The ladies who live on that land sometimes offer shelter to travelers.”

Aiden almost asked why he needed an open mind toward anyone willing to offer shelter—and then he understood what the butler was carefully not saying. His heart lifted one moment, then began pounding anxiously the next.

Please. Great Mother, please don’t let us be too late this time.

When he mounted his horse, Lyrra made the effort to raise her head and look at him. She was pale from exhaustion, and the dark smudges under her eyes seemed deeper than they’d been even an hour ago.

“Just a bit farther,” he murmured as he gently urged his horse forward. “Just a bit farther.”

She didn’t ask where they were going or how much “a bit farther” really was. She just slumped in her saddle and let her mare follow the packhorse Aiden led.

He didn’t dare let her see how much she worried him. She’d withdrawn from him. Withdrawn from everything. All her energy, all her focus was on staying in the saddle and going forward. Her sleep, like his, had been restless the past two nights, torn by dreams of blood and pain. He wondered if she, too, heard that young voice pleading to be allowed to die. He couldn’t ask because he didn’t want to remind her of anything that might not be preying on her mind.

As if either of us is going to forget. He wondered if there would be a story or a poem from her that would be a cry of rage and sorrow. And he wondered what wild, grieving song would rise from him one day.

When he reached the stone bridge, he hesitated.

“An Old Place?”

Hearing hope and horror in equal measure in Lyrra’s question, he looked back at her and said carefully, “The butler at the manor house said the ladies here sometimes offer shelter to travelers.”

There was something so terrible about the way she stared at him that he turned away from her.

The witches at the last Old Place they’d come to had also offered shelter to travelers. That’s what the Small Folk had told him bitterly. If someone asked for shelter, it was given. So there hadn’t been anything strange about four men coming to that house at dusk one day. Four men who looked like dusty, weary travelers.

The Small Folk hadn’t become uneasy until the second day because it had rained the first day after the strangers arrived, and, noticing one man go to the barn to tend the animals, they had reckoned everyone else had chosen to stay inside out of the wet.

But the second day, the men left late in the afternoon— and rode out in a hurry.

That’s when some of the Small Folk went to the house and found the warding spells that usually protected the house were gone. So they went inside—and they found the witches.

Two hours later, Aiden and Lyrra rode up to that house.

The youngest witch was still alive, had been left in a room with the bodies of her mother, grandmother, and elder sister. The men, whom Aiden strongly suspected were Inquisitors, hadn’t been worried about leaving her. There was nothing anyone could have done to mend her poor tortured body.

Please, let it end. Please, let me die. Please.

If he’d known where to find Morag, he would have begged her to come to that house and take the girl’s spirit from that suffering body. Without the Gatherer, he and Lyrra and the Small Folk did what they could to make her more comfortable, which was pitifully little.

Please, let me die. Please.

Lyrra stayed with the girl while he and the Small Folk dug the graves for the other three women. He didn’t ask the small men if any of the Fae had bothered to make themselves known to the witches. At one point, while he was resting his back and hands, he wondered if he should ride up the shining road to Tir Alainn and warn the Fae that the road would be closing soon. Then he looked at the half-dug grave and went back to work. The Fae could take care of themselves. When had they ever done anything else?

The girl died at dusk on the second day after they’d arrived at that Old Place. While Lyrra washed the body, he and the small men went out to dig another grave.

They’d barely broken ground when one of the small men noticed the swarm of nighthunters flying toward them and gave a cry of warning.

Shouting at Lyrra to close the windows, Aiden dropped his shovel and ran to the barn. The house was still sturdy enough, but the barn had been neglected, and he couldn’t leave the horses in a structure that would make them easy prey.

It didn’t occur to him until he led the horses out of the barn that he didn’t have a chance of reaching the house before the nighthunters attacked.

A stone shot from a sling knocked one of the nighthunters down. The small men shouted at him to make good use of his legs as they shot clods of dirt and small stones at the creatures.

He ran to the house, got himself and the horses inside. The small men continued to hold off the nighthunters long enough to reach the house, too. They huddled together that night, listening to the nighthunters’ bodies hitting the shutters as the creatures tried to find a way into the house. Then they listened to the screams of agony from the three ghosts when the creatures finally abandoned the living and sought another kind of sustenance by devouring the spirits of the dead.

The next morning, knowing what would happen once the sun went down, none of them could bring themselves to bury the girl. So they dug up earth and covered her with it where she lay on the bed. They put a bowl of water on the bedside table, set the stub of a candle next to it, and, for a few tense minutes, opened the bedroom window to let in fresh air.

Earth, air, water, fire. The four branches of the Great Mother.

He didn’t know if there were special words that should have been said, so he played his harp for a few minutes. Lyrra sang a poem about witches that she had written last winter and that he’d recently set to music.

Then they closed up the house, saddled the horses, said good-bye to the Small Folk, and rode away.

Now here they were with only a bridge separating them from another Old Place.

Aiden took a deep breath, let it out slowly. Brushed his heels against his gelding’s sides to urge the animal forward.

A small stone hit his boot.

“Deceiver,” a voice hissed.

Aiden looked down. Even knowing what to look for, it still took him a moment to locate the water sprite standing on a flat stone near the bank of the brook. She stared at him with such loathing, he couldn’t suppress the shiver that went through him.

“Deceiver,” she hissed again.

“We mean no harm,” he said quietly.

“Then show the Daughters your true face. Let them see who stands before them before they bid you welcome.” She waited a moment. When he didn’t respond, she gave him a knife-edged smile.

Aiden urged his horse forward, not sure what he expected, but not feeling easy until Lyrra was across the bridge. When he looked back, the sprite had climbed the bank high enough to peer over the edge. Her eyes were still filled with loathing, and her smile was still knife sharp. He wondered if she had a particular reason for disliking the Fae, or if it was simply because the Fae had always dismissed the Small Folk as insignificant, lesser beings who were expected to obey the Fair Folk’s commands.

He almost turned back, almost tried to tell her about the Inquisitors and why it was necessary to keep watch. But if his own kind wouldn’t listen to him, there was no reason to think she would trust anything he might say. So he continued down the lane, with the packhorse and Lyrra trailing behind him.

Strength flowed from the land, filled him with every breath he took. It made him dizzy, as if he’d drunk too much strong wine, and so thirsty for more he wanted to gulp it down. Fighting to stay alert, he looked up and saw the Mother’s Hills.

The Fae avoided the Mother’s Hills. Perhaps it was simply because there were no shining roads there that anchored Tir Alainn to the human world, and there were no Old Places. Perhaps there was something ... strange ... about those hills. Or perhaps the Fae said the hills were strange because they sensed that they weren’t welcome there.

When they came in sight of a manor house, Aiden reined in, waited for Lyrra to come up beside him. She studied the well-kept house, then looked at him.

“Perhaps I misunderstood what the butler said,” Aiden said carefully. The homes they’d seen in the other Old Places had ranged from large cottages like the one Ari had lived in to places that were little better than one-room hovels. Neither of them had seen a manor house like this in an Old Place. The signs of gentry prosperity were unnerving. They’d seen no sign before now that witches lived this well.

“The magic is still strong here,” Lyrra said, but there was a trace of doubt in her voice.

“And the water sprite referred to the ladies as Daughters.” Aiden sighed. “Come on, then. We won’t find out anything standing here.”

As they rode toward the house, a dark-haired woman raced through the arch that Aiden guessed led to the stable yard. She slid to a stop when she saw them.

“Did you see a black dog and a string of sausages?” she demanded.

“No, Mistress,” Aiden replied. “I regret we have not.”

The woman put her hands on her hips and yelled, “Idjit! Come back here, you feeble-minded excuse for a dog!”

Since they were here to beg food and shelter, Aiden didn’t think it prudent to point out that a dog who could steal sausages probably wasn’t feeble-minded.

No dog appeared. Not even a bush rustled to indicate where the thief might be hiding.

The woman let out an exasperated sigh, then turned to study Aiden and Lyrra. There was a friendly wariness in her eyes that made Aiden uncertain if they would get much help here but also made him feel relieved that she wouldn’t assume all travelers were good people.

“Blessings of the day to you,” she said.

“Blessings of the day, Mistress,” Aiden replied. “I’m Aiden. This is my wife, Lyrra.”

She studied them, then studied the carefully wrapped instruments tied on the packhorse. “Minstrels?”

“Minstrel and storyteller,” Lyrra said.

“The Bard and the Muse,” Aiden said.

“Aiden!” Lyrra looked shocked.

Aiden smiled at the witch. Let her draw her own conclusions about a couple of entertainers who had enough gall to use titles that belonged to the Fae and yet couldn’t coax an audience to part with a few coppers. Not that they’d tried to earn any coins in the past couple of days, despite having an empty purse.

“I’m Breanna,” the witch said.

“That’s a lovely name.”

She ignored the flattery while her sharp eyes continued to study them. “You look like you’ve had hard traveling the past few days.”

Aiden’s smile faded. He heard the catch in Lyrra’s breathing and wondered what he could say in explanation if she suddenly burst into tears.

“Yes,” he said. “It’s been hard traveling.”

Breanna said nothing for a long moment. Then, “Come this way. Clay will see to your horses.”

She led them through the archway and called for Clay.

After they handed over the horses, they followed Breanna to the house. Aiden slipped an arm around Lyrra’s waist, as much to offer comfort as to provide support.

Breanna stopped at the threshold, drew a gold chain from beneath her shirt, and held up the pendant. “Do you know what this is?”

Yes, he knew what it was. “It’s a pentagram.” The witches’ symbol for their connection with the Mother, the symbol for earth, air, fire, water, and spirit.

“Do you understand who we are?”

“You’re the Mother’s Daughters.”

The way her eyes widened and then narrowed told him he’d made a mistake of some kind, but his mind and body recognized this as a safe place to rest, and it was getting harder to think clearly, getting harder to move.

“Come in and be welcome,” Breanna said, stepping across the threshold.

Aiden felt tears sting his eyes as he helped Lyrra enter the house. He blinked quickly to banish them. How could he explain why a simple phrase could effect him so much? How could he tell these women that he’d feared he’d never hear that phrase again, that he’d always arrive too late? How could he say nothing when he knew what might happen the next time a stranger rode across that stone bridge?

“Breanna?” An older woman with gray-streaked dark hair entered the kitchen, followed by a middle-aged woman wearing a fashionable gentry riding outfit. “We have guests?”

“Entertainers,” Breanna said. “They need a place to stay tonight.” Turning toward Aiden, she added, “This is Nuala, my grandmother. And this is Elinore ... a neighbor.”

“And mother of the Baron of Willowsbrook,” the middle-aged woman added.

She wants us to know these women have connections, Aiden thought. Said to the wrong person, that could put her family in as much danger as the witches. “Ladies.”

“They need some food,” Breanna said.

“They might also appreciate a bath,” Nuala said. Then she smiled, her expression sympathetic and slightly amused, as if she understood exactly how hard a choice she’d just presented to them.

“Bath, is it?” another voice said as shoes clomped to the inner kitchen door. “I’ll say they need a bath. Mother’s tits! You can smell them two rooms away!”

“Glynis!” Nuala said sharply.

The woman stepped into the kitchen far enough to see Aiden and Lyrra. Her face reddened.

“I—” Lyrra stammered. “If we could have a bit of water ...” Her breath caught on a sob. Crying, she turned toward Aiden, who wrapped his arms around her as he glared at Glynis.

“Oh,” Glynis said. “I never meant—”

Nuala cut her off. “You’ve said quite enough for the moment.” She and Elinore went to Lyrra, gently drew her out of Aiden’s arms, and led her away. “Come along, now. Come. You’re worn to the bone. We’ll prepare a nice bath and a bite to eat. You’ll feel easier in no time. You’ll see.”

“Aiden!” Lyrra half turned back.

“He’ll be fine,” Nuala said, continuing to lead Lyrra out of the kitchen. “Breanna will look after him.”

Not knowing what else to do, Aiden stepped back across the threshold, taking himself out of the house. Beside the door was a simple wooden bench, much like the one that had been at Ari’s cottage. Was that common to a witch’s house, or simply a practical way to give whoever worked in the kitchen a place to rest outdoors for a moment?

He sat on the bench, resting his back against stones that were still cool despite the growing heat of the day.

A few moments later, Breanna sat down on the other end of the bench.

“You don’t have to keep me company,” Aiden said wearily. “I smell.”

“Yes, you do,” Breanna replied calmly. “But that’s something soap and water can fix easily enough.”

“Breanna,” Glynis said, hovering in the kitchen doorway.

Aiden kept his eyes fixed on the neat yard, so different from the other witches’ homes he’d seen in Old Places. He didn’t want to look directly at this woman, didn’t want to have to say anything to her. As tired as he was, he didn’t think anything he said right now would be courteous.

“Thank you, Glynis,” Breanna said, taking a pewter mug and a plate from the woman.

“I’ll— I’ll just go prepare the water for the gentleman’s bath.”

“That would be good.” Breanna waited until Glynis left before she held out the plate and mug to Aiden. “Here. Have a bit to eat while you’re waiting.”

“Thank you.” He took a sip of ale, fought the urge to drain the mug. They’d found enough fresh streams on the journey to keep supplied with water, but the ale created a different kind of thirst, and it wasn’t one he could afford to indulge when it was already so hard to keep his wits sharp. After taking another sip of ale, he put a thick slice of cheese on a piece of fresh bread, folded it one-handed, then bit into it.

“If the ale isn’t to your liking, I could get you something else,” Breanna said as he finished the first piece of bread and cheese.

He smiled as he put more cheese and bread together. “It’s better ale than I’ve tasted in a good many days. But if I drink it as heartily as I’d like, I’ll likely be asleep before the last swallow.”

She didn’t smile back. Just studied him. “Tell me something, Bard.”

He stiffened, then gave her a rueful look. After all, he was the one who had told her he was the Bard.

“Are you wandering without two coins to rub together because you don’t entertain well enough to earn a purse when you play, or has it really been a hard road?”

He set the bread and cheese back on the plate, his appetite gone. “We’re very good entertainers. We just haven’t had the heart to play in the past few days.”

“Then I’m sorry that your heart holds your hands and voice captive.”

It always does, Aiden thought. But it usually speaks its truth through the songs. “Mistress Breanna, there are things I should tell you about what is happening in the eastern villages, things your family especially needs to be on guard against.”

“Then you’ll tell us,” Breanna replied. “But they’ll keep for a little while.” She turned her head toward the kitchen. “First you’ll have your bath and a bit of a rest. After the evening meal will be soon enough for us to listen to what you need to say.”

Would a few hours make so much difference? They could. If the Black Coats came riding up to this house, they could.

Please, let me die. Please.

A shudder went through him. He reached out, not quite touching Breanna. “As grateful as I am for your hospitality, I beg you, Mistress Breanna, be careful who you welcome into your house. Be wary of strangers, especially men—especially if there’s more than one of them. Keep your warding spells strong. Please. Evil is riding the roads these days, wearing the faces of men.”

He watched her face pale a little. Then he wondered if he’d been too abrupt. She seemed to go away from him, her thoughts focused elsewhere.

A moment later, she focused on him again. “Come along,” she said briskly. “I’ll find you some clothes to wear so that yours can get washed.”

He followed obediently through the house until she showed him into a guest room that had a corner screened off as a bathing area.

“Your lady is in the adjoining room,” Breanna said. “I suggest you knock. I also suggest you wear something more than a towel before you enter.”

He pushed his dirty hair away from his face. Mother’s tits, he was looking forward to being able to soak himself clean. “I understand. I wouldn’t want to distress the ladies.”

Breanna just looked at him, wide-eyed. Then she grinned. “Oh, you wouldn’t be distressing them. I’m sure Gran and Elinore would enjoy the opportunity to admire a handsome man, but being the object of their attention while wearing something that could become unknotted at any moment might be distressing to you.”

He could picture it. And he could almost hear the tune that would go with the song about a man caught in just such a position. Have to have plenty of instrumental bridges for the laughter to die down before the next verse, and—

He was suddenly aware that Breanna was watching him.

“Makes a fine picture, doesn’t it?” she said.

He winced at the purely female amusement in Breanna’s voice. He could barely hear the tune and didn’t have one line of the lyrics yet, but he knew exactly what tone of voice Lyrra would use when she sang her part of that song-to-be.

Laughing, Breanna left the room, closing the door gently behind her.

He quickly stripped out of his clothes, leaving them where they fell, and hurried behind the screen. More than just a hip bath. A good-size tub filled with water.

He’d just settled into the tub, sighing with pleasure, when a brisk knock was immediately followed by the bedroom door opening.

“Aiden?”

“Breanna?” He looked around for some way to cover himself, even though he couldn’t see her through the screen—which meant, he sincerely hoped, that she couldn’t see him.

“I found some clothes for you. Can’t do anything about the boots, but the rest will do for the evening.”

“Ah ... thank you.” Go away!

“I’ll take your clothes. Anything in the pockets that can’t get introduced to soap and water?”

“Ah...”

“For a silver-tongued minstrel, you’re a bit stingy with words, aren’t you?”

“I’m—” He knew he should meet that teasing with something sharp and witty, but his brain and his tongue failed him. After a moment’s silence, he heard her chuckling as she gathered up his clothes and left him alone again.

He finished his bath and put on the clothes Breanna had left for him, then knocked on the adjoining room’s door. He found Lyrra there, alone, slowly combing out her hair. She wore a soft white shift that left her arms bare and fell just past her knees. The way she looked aroused him, and he wondered if she’d be interested in using the bed for something other than rest.

Then she stood up to greet him and swayed to keep her balance.

He crossed the room, put his arms around her, and led her to the bed.

“You need to rest now,” he said quietly.

“Don’t leave,” she murmured.

“I won’t leave.” He settled them both on the bed, her head resting on his shoulder.

“Do we have to go tonight?” she asked. “Nuala said we were welcome to stay.”

Her voice, so carefully stripped of emotion, made a more eloquent plea than anything she could have said. She was exhausted, physically and emotionally. They both were. This was a good place, a strong place, a safe place. They needed all those things right now.

“We can stay tonight,” he said, brushing his lips against her forehead.

She relaxed against him and fell asleep.

A good place, a strong place, a safe place. He’d do whatever he could to help the witches who lived here keep it that way.

It was his last thought before sleep claimed him.

Breanna hesitated a moment, then opened Aiden’s and Lyrra’s saddlebags and removed all the clothing. They didn’t have a clean garment between them. What was the point of washing the clothes they’d been wearing and leaving the rest? Who knew when they’d have another chance to wash everything?

With the clothing removed, there wasn’t much left in the saddlebags, which is why she noticed the sheets of paper tucked in special pouches in each of their saddlebags. Her fingers itched to pull out a few sheets to see what stories or songs might be written on them. Perhaps they had some new songs, something she hadn’t heard every other minstrel who came through the village sing. It wasn’t quite courteous to ask guests to sing for their supper, but, maybe, if they weren’t too tired, Aiden and Lyrra would be willing to oblige with just a song or two. And maybe they wouldn’t be too upset about someone looking through their papers to see if there was a new son or two.

She firmly closed the saddlebags to avoid temptation, and said, “That’s all the clothing.”

Glynis just nodded and dropped the clothes in the wash tubs. She stood motionless, her arms deep in the soapy water. “I didn’t mean to make the lady cry,” she muttered. “I thought it was Clay and Edgar coming in for a bite.”

“Whether you meant to be hurtful or not, the words cut just as deep,” Breanna replied. “And even if it had been Clay and Edgar, it wasn’t a kind thing to say.”

“Don’t know why I do things like that.” Glynis sniffed, then got on with the work of washing the clothes.

You do it because you’ve also traveled a hard road, Breanna thought, walking across the small yard to the stables to check on the horses. You’re like a dog that’s been hit so many times it snaps at any hand held out to it, even when it wants to be petted.

Glynis had come to them three years ago, hungry and bruised in body and soul, looking for any kind of work that would provide her with food and a place to sleep. So they hired her as cook and housekeeper—and didn’t ask about a past they could sense held far more memories of pain than pleasure. Her way of dealing with other people, even people she liked and cared for, was to make cutting remarks. She usually felt regret as soon as the words were out, but that didn’t stop her from voicing the next opinion.

Understanding that didn’t mean it could be overlooked, not when it hurt other people. But that was something Nuala would deal with.

And she guessed that if the Bard hadn’t been so obviously exhausted, there would have been more than one woman reduced to tears in the kitchen.

Breanna glanced at the house. Their guests were in rooms at the front of the house where the noises of everyday activity would be less likely to disturb their rest.

The Bard. He’d stiffened when she’d called him that. He must have forgotten he’d said it. Why would he react that way, as if she’d found out something about him he hadn’t wanted known?

She could think of one reason—and she didn’t like where that thought led.

“Clay?” she called.

“Breanna.” He stepped out of an empty stall and nodded to her. “I put all the gear and the packs in the stall here.”

“That’s good. I don’t think their instruments will come to harm there.”

“Wanted to talk to you about their horses.”

Oh, dear. “They’re sound, aren’t they?”

Clay laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Oh, they’re fine horses. Fine horses. With silent hooves.”

She puzzled over that for a minute before she realized what he was saying. Where would two entertainers get horses like that unless ...

“Oblige me, if you will. Go down to the brook. See if there are any water sprites near the bridge who might have seen our guests. Perhaps they could tell us something.”

“Thought that’s what you’d say.” Clay went over to another stall and opened the door for the gelding that was already bridled.

“Oh. Mention that he’d said they were the Bard and the Muse.”

Nodding to indicate he’d heard her, he was mounted and gone before Breanna could get her thoughts to settle.

She was still standing in the same spot when he returned.

“Found one,” he said. “She seemed to be waiting for someone to come from the house before she went off to tend to her own business.”

Breanna found it hard to swallow. “What did she say?”

“ ‘He gave her true words if not his true face.’” Clay looked at her grimly. “What are you going to do about them?”

“I’ll talk to Gran. It... it may be best not to mention this to anyone else. At least, not right now.”

“You be careful, Breanna.”

“I will.”

When she found Nuala and Elinore, she babbled something, she wasn’t even sure what. But it was enough for Elinore to leave the room on the pretense of needing to use the water closet.

Not sure how much time she’d have, Breanna blurted out her conversation with Aiden and then the message from the water sprite. Nuala just listened in silence.

“What do we do?” Breanna asked.

“Nothing,” Nuala said. She raised a hand to stifle Breanna’s protest. “We do nothing. We offered them hospitality, and hospitality is what we will give. We’ll make no mention that we know—or at least suspect—who they are.”

“They didn’t come honestly.”

“The Fae seldom do,” Nuala replied dryly. “But it’s evident to anyone who looks that those two have had a hard time lately—and anything they can tell us about what is happening in the eastern villages is more than we know now. So we will say nothing. Perhaps the reason they hide what they are is not so deceitful as it seems.”

“Perhaps,” Breanna agreed reluctantly. Then she smiled, but there was no humor in it. “The Bard did warn us to be wary of strangers.” And wary we will be.

Lyrra woke first, not sure what had pulled her from sleep.

Somewhere outside, a dog barked again. A happy sound. Just conversation, nothing more.

She smiled. The sausage thief sounded quite pleased with himself about something.

Carefully moving away from Aiden, she got out of bed. He grunted, rolled on to his side, and continued sleeping. The fact that the dog didn’t wake him told her much. At any other place where they’d stayed recently, even an inn, a barking dog would have awakened him instantly. There was something here he trusted enough to take the kind of deep rest he needed.

Tears stung her eyes as she gathered up the simple gown that had been left for her and slipped into the adjoining room to dress. The house was much finer, but the feel of the place reminded her of Ari’s cottage.

She hoped that Ari and Neall had found a good place, a safe place.

Pushing away thoughts of Ari that would lead to other, more painful, thoughts of the things she and Aiden had seen, Lyrra found her way downstairs. She hesitated at the kitchen door, reluctant to face the sharp-tongued woman again. The kitchen was empty, so she hurried out the door and headed for the flower beds where Breanna was working.

Breanna saw her coming and rose.

When Lyrra got close enough to see the cool look in the witch’s eyes, she hesitated. “I just came out to admire the flowers. I don’t mean to interrupt your work.”

“I was finished here,” Breanna replied. “Why don’t we sit on the bench under the tree. I could use the shade now.”

What had happened, Lyrra wondered, to put that coolness in Breanna’s voice and eyes?

“You slept well?” Breanna asked.

Lyrra made the effort to smile. “Better than I have in quite some time.”

“Where will you be going when you leave here?”

“Oh—” To Tir Alainn, now that we’ve finally found an Old Place that has a shining road open. “I’m not sure.”

“If you take the trail that leads into the woods,” Breanna said, pointing in the general direction, “and keep heading for the Mother’s Hills, you’ll find the road you’re looking for.”

A chill went through Lyrra, but she wasn’t sure if it was caused by Breanna mentioning a road or mentioning the Mother’s Hills. “What road is that?”

“The shining road.” There was anger mixed with the coolness in Breanna’s voice now. “Isn’t that where you’re headed?”

Lyrra looked away. The prudent thing would be to feign ignorance, but she was suddenly tired of half-truths that were no better than lies. “You spoke to the water sprite.”

“It’s an odd thing, that. We live here. The Small Folk live here. We talk to each other and help each other. Unlike the Fair Folk, who come by whenever they want something but don’t even have the courtesy to acknowledge the presence of those who live here. So you can tell your kin that I’m a good shot with a bow, and if they keep bullying and badgering the Small Folk, I’m going to start shooting them for trespassing.”

Lyrra gripped the bench so hard her hands ached. “Do you want us to leave?” she asked, not sure how she’d explain to Aiden why they were no longer welcome.

“Don’t be foolish,” Breanna snapped. “The way the two of you looked when you rode in, it was obvious you wouldn’t have stayed in the saddle for another mile.”

“Then what do you want?”

“The courtesy of honesty.”

With sharp relief, Lyrra released the glamour that hid her true face behind a human mask. She turned to look at Breanna. “Is this honest enough?”

Breanna studied her for a moment. “You’re lovely. Why do you hide what you are?”

“Why?” Lyrra replied softly. “Habit. Perhaps arrogance is the reason we show our true faces only when we choose to show them. Or perhaps we’re like the hares that exchange their brown coats for white when the seasons change. We hide the most obvious means of recognizing what we are so that we don’t stand out.” She paused. “I’m sorry the Clan here has been discourteous. That wasn’t our intention when we tried to get the Fae to pay more attention to the witches.”

Breanna stared at her. “Why would you want to? Why would we want that attention?”

“The shining roads are anchored to the Old Places. And it is the presence of the Mother’s Daughters, the witches, in the Old Places that keeps those roads anchored to the human world, that keeps Tir Alainn existing.”

“So this sudden interest in us is just to make sure we don’t bolt and leave you gasping like a fish thrown up on the bank.”

Lyrra winced. “That’s part of it. But the other part was to protect you, to keep you safe.”

“From what?”

“From the Black Coats, the Inquisitors. That’s why Aiden and I are traveling. To gather news, gossip, any information we can find to keep the Clans informed—and to warn the witches.”

“So you’ve been to other Old Places? You’ve given your warnings elsewhere?”

Lyrra shuddered. “We’ve been to other Old Places. We didn’t reach them in time to give any warnings. The witches were already gone—or dead.” She closed her eyes, felt the warmth of Breanna’s hand on her arm.

“I think what you have to tell us will be hard enough to say once,” Breanna said quietly. “Let it go for now. After the evening meal, you and Aiden can tell us what needs to be told.”

Lyrra nodded, grateful for the reprieve.

The dog barked.

Breanna made a sound that might have been a growl.

Opening her eyes, Lyrra saw the black dog racing toward them, having left the company of a short-haired woman and a young girl, who waved at them before disappearing into the house.

The dog stopped a few feet in front of the bench and barked as if determined to let the whole county know there were strangers at his house.

“Oh, shut up, Idjit,” Breanna muttered.

The dog barked and danced in front of them, paying no attention to the command.

“Sit, Idjit,” Breanna said firmly.

The dog stopped barking, ran a couple of steps, then leaped as if someone were holding a hoop for him to jump through. He turned and leaped again.

Breanna sighed. Then she looked at Lyrra and smiled.

Lyrra was always suspicious of merchants who smiled like that.

“Wouldn’t you like to have a dog on your travels?” Breanna said brightly. “He’d be a good companion, and he could warn you when strangers approached.”

“Like he warned you?”

Breanna waved that aside. “And he can do tricks.”

“He’s ... interesting.” Was that noncommittal enough?

“I’ll give you twelve coppers to take him.”

“He’s not that interesting.”

Breanna huffed. Lyrra looked toward the house.

“I’ve already been warned not to offer him to young girls,” Breanna said sourly.

Lyrra laughed. It felt good to laugh, felt good to talk with another woman, felt good not to hide what she was.

She was still chuckling when she noticed Aiden walking toward them. The dog watched him, too, and didn’t let out a single yip.

“Some guard dog,” Lyrra muttered.

“You’ll never be surprised by a squirrel,” Breanna replied with a straight-faced sincerity that made Lyrra laugh again.

That’s how Aiden found them, laughing over something neither was willing to explain. Lyrra saw his surprise when he got close enough to see that she’d released the glamour. After a moment’s hesitation, he released the glamour, as well, then bowed to Breanna.

She studied both of them, then asked, rather wistfully, “Are you really the Bard and the Muse?”

“Yes, we are,” Aiden replied.

“I don’t suppose ...” Breanna shook her head.

Lyrra frowned. “You get little entertainment here?” It was hard not to remember Ari, and how she wasn’t welcome in the nearby village and was excluded from any amusements that might have been available.

“Oh, there are entertainers who come by, and we’ll go into Willowsbrook from time to time when a minstrel stops for a day or two. But they don’t know any new songs.”

Aiden grinned as he looked at Lyrra. “We have a new song or two.”

The wretch. He was going to trot out that mouse song.

“And we’d be pleased to do a song or two for all of you,” Lyrra said. She gave Aiden a clench-toothed smile.

“That’s wonderful,” Breanna said. “I’ll see if Elinore and Brooke want to stay for the evening meal so that they can hear you, too.” She hesitated, looked at both of them.

“Perhaps your other guests would find so much honesty disconcerting?” Lyrra asked, guessing that Breanna was wondering if the gentry would feel easy dining with the Fae.

“Perhaps,” Breanna said a bit ruefully.

Lyrra glanced at Aiden. They resumed the glamour that gave them human masks.

Breanna gave Aiden a speculative look as the three of them walked back to the house. “How would you like—?”

“No,” Lyrra said firmly, “he would not.”

“I wouldn’t?” Aiden asked, sounding confused.

“No, you wouldn’t.”

“You didn’t even give me a chance to offer the twelve coppers,” Breanna protested.

“He wouldn’t take them.”

“I wouldn’t?” Aiden said.

“No,” Lyrra replied, “you wouldn’t.” She looked at Breanna. “And if you don’t mention it again, we’ll play an extra song.”

Breanna grinned. “That’s the best offer I’ve had.”

“It’s the only offer you’ve had.”

“That, too.”

Two women in charity with each other and one confused man walked into the house to wash up for the evening meal.

Aiden tuned his harp. It had been a good decision to talk after the evening meal and save the songs for last. He could give the ladies here something sweet to sleep on after he and Lyrra had told them about the things that were happening in eastern villages—and in the Old Places. And it had been wise of Nuala and Breanna to cut up a couple of apples and send Keely and Brooke out to the stables to give the horses a treat. He wasn’t sure what had happened to Keely that had kept her a child in a woman’s body, but neither she nor Brooke were emotionally old enough to hear the things he’d had to say.

And he wasn’t sure what was causing the undercurrents between Elinore, Nuala, and Breanna. They weren’t newly acquainted; there was too much familiarity for that. But something new had been added recently that had changed things between them. The baron, perhaps? Elinore had mentioned that she was the mother of the Baron of Willowsbrook, so the man was probably in his twenties. Had his attentions suddenly turned toward Breanna? Her face was strong rather than pretty, but it was the kind of face that any but the shallowest man would find attractive.

Wasn’t his business, but he found himself wanting to find a way to tell Breanna not to settle for less than she deserved. So he ended up singing “Love’s Jewels” as the first song, wondering if she would understand the message.

Then, giving Lyrra a wicked grin, he sang the mouse song. His lady was in fine form, singing her part with just enough pique he could tell she was itching to smack him with the tambourine.

During that song, he learned what it felt like to have an audience die on him, despite his best efforts. Clay and Edgar, who had been invited to listen to the singing, sat with their arms across their chests and their heads down. Keely and Brooke grinned a little, but neither of them could appreciate all the lyrics. Nuala, Elinore, and Breanna just stared at him.

The two older women sat with a hand lightly circling their throats. Breanna had her fingers pressed against her mouth.

He got to the end of the song, wondering if he’d just convinced them all that he really couldn’t earn enough coppers to pay his way, when the laughter started. Coughing chuckles from Clay and Edgar as they glanced at the ladies. Then a sputtering from the ladies that ended with all three women holding their sides because they’d laughed so hard and the men guffawing and slapping their thighs.

“Oh, my,” Elinore said when she finally caught her breath. “Oh, my.” She dabbed her streaming eyes with a handkerchief, then grinned at Lyrra. “I’m sure there must be compensations for him singing that song in public.”

That produced another round of laughter when Lyrra’s cheeks flamed with color.

Aiden was feeling a bit warm, too, especially seeing the way Breanna grinned at him.

“I’m sure the next time they travel this way, there will be a poem to complement that song,” Breanna said sweetly. “ ‘Ode to a Bath,’ perhaps?”

Aiden choked.

Lyrra looked at him, then looked at Breanna. “Oh? Perhaps we should talk.”

“Perhaps we should,” Breanna agreed.

Perhaps he should just find a hole and hide in it.

Clearing his throat, he played a quiet tune that had no words since he wasn’t sure how well he could sing at the moment anyway. By the time Lyrra told a story and the two of them had sung another song, the daylight was waning and it was time for Elinore and Brooke to go home.

“I’ll saddle the horses and see you home,” Clay said.

“Oh, there’s no need for you to do that,” Elinore said. “There’s enough light. We’ll be fine.”

Aiden saw the grimness in Clay’s expression and knew the man wouldn’t forget what he’d said.

“I’ll see you home,” Clay said again before he left to saddle the horses.

That reminder sobered all of them, but not enough to spoil the evening. After Elinore and Brooke left, they all lingered in the parlor, talking about small things and politely hiding yawns. No one mentioned that they were waiting for Clay to return before closing the house and seeking their beds.

When he and Lyrra finally bid good night to the others and went up to their room, he loved her well before they both drifted off to sleep.