The House of Gaian

Chapter 40

Breanna walked into the kitchen and almost walked out again. Too many people. Too much heat. Too much confusion. Too much noise. Keely and Brooke were sitting at one end of the long work table, shelling peas and chattering as if they could actually hear each other. Fiona and Glynis were dealing with some crisis around the stove, which meant they'd give her snappish replies if she asked them what, if anything, was supposed to be done with the big kettles simmering on the stove in the summer kitchen. Elinore was at Liam's house that afternoon, responding to pleas from her son's housekeeper and butler that someone needed to provide the servants with some instructions for dealing with so many important guests—and Liam's response to household questions, Elinore had told her dryly, was a distracted look and a promise to look into matters soon . . . which meant never.

She needed to tell some other passably sane adult that Idjit, living up to his name, had gobbled something he shouldn't have eaten, thrown up on the flagstones in front of the summer kitchen, and one of the boys helping Clay with the horses, too intent on sneaking into the kitchen to grab a snack, had slipped in the mess, hit his head on the edge of a work table, and was now on his way to the village physician with Clay and Falco to have his head stitched up.

And why was Jean standing in the corner of the kitchen with that smug, I-know-something-you-don't-know smile?

"Where's Gran?" Breanna asked, raising her voice enough to be heard.

Her face flushed with heat, Fiona turned away from the stove. "She went upstairs about an hour ago. She was sitting here, having a cup of tea while we talked about what to serve for the evening meal. She said the tea tasted odd, poured out the rest of it, and went up to her room to lie down for a bit."

Breanna headed for the door that led into the rest of the house. Pausing, she looked back. Jean watched her, eyes bright with something Breanna would have called malicious glee.

Shaking her head, she left the kitchen and walked to the stairs that led up to the bedrooms. She didn't like Jean—liked the girl even less with each passing day. But they were stuck with each other, so she'd have to grit her teeth and try to be more tolerant of adolescent snits.

Breanna tapped on her grandmother's door. When she didn't get an answer, she slipped into the room. Nuala was lying on her side, asleep, a summer quilt pulled up to her waist.

As she moved closer to the bed, Breanna's nose twitched at the smell. Was Nuala more ill than they'd realized? Had she soiled herself in her sleep, unable to rouse enough to reach the chamberpot?

"Gran?" Breanna said softly. The hand reaching for her grandmother's shoulder froze as she stared at Nuala's face, then at the chest that did not rise nor fall. "Gran?"

No sound. No flutter of breath. No flicker of movement, not even a twitch of an eyelid. And cold skin. Cold, cold skin.

Breanna backed out of the room, shaking her head. She clung to the banister as she walked down the stairs because her legs suddenly had too many joints and moved in strange, unpredictable ways.

She would send someone for the village physician. She would send one of the Fae to find the closest healer staying in the camps with them. They would know what to do. Gran was ill. Very ill. But they would know what to do because Gran was . . . Gran was. . .

She was standing in the kitchen, with no memory of walking from the staircase to the kitchen door. Too many people. Too much heat. Too much confusion. Too much noise.

Then Selena, Ashk, and Liam walked through the back door, and no longer were there too many people. Strength had walked into the room. But there still wasn't quite enough air to breathe, everyone but those three people were blurs of color and movement, and voices were nothing more than sounds until Liam said sharply, "Breanna?"

Things began to slip back into focus. She saw the chair that was pushed away from the smaller work table in front of her, as if someone had been sitting there recently and hadn't bothered to push the chair back again. Saw Fiona turn in response to the sharpness in Liam's voice—turn and look at him before looking closely at her. Saw Keely rest a hand on Brooke's arm, signaling the girl to be quiet.

"Breanna?" Fiona said. "Is Nuala awake? Would she like a bowl of soup or another cup of tea?"

Tea.

Breanna looked at Jean, who still stood in the corner, wearing that smug smile and watching her.

Clarity became knife-edged.

"What did you put in the tea?" Breanna asked calmly, staring at Jean.

Jean shifted her feet, the smile changing into a pout. "I didn't make any tea."

"What did you put in the tea?"

"Breanna?" Liam said, taking a step toward her.

She took a step closer to the table. "Nuala said the tea tasted odd. She didn't drink all of it, but she drank enough." Another step. Close enough now to jump from chair to table to—"I'm going to rip your heart out with my bare hands, just to see if you really have one."

"I didn't do anything!" Jean wailed.

"Breanna." Now Fiona's voice had turned sharp. "Is something wrong with Nuala? Is she ill?"

"Nuala is dead." Breanna's voice broke. Her control shattered. "You little bitch, you killed my grandmother!"

Chair to table, and she was flying through the air straight at Jean. Strong arms caught her around the hips, hauling her back.

Kicking and flailing, she screamed her grief and rage. "You killed my grandmother! You killed her!"

Her legs buckled. The strong arms that had held her back now eased her to the floor, wrapped around her to hold her close as she howled her pain.

"I'm sorry, Breanna," Liam murmured, his voice more a rumble in the chest she was held against than words she understood.

Keely, yelling, "Mama! Mama!"

Fiona, shouting, "Keely! No!"

Someone brushing past her, someone with strength as formidable as earth.

Ashk, implacable, saying, "Get out of here. Stay out of the house until we get her calmed down."

Aiden's voice, and Lyrra's. Part of a swell of voices lost in the waves of pain.

Another voice saying, "Are you sure? She needs to grieve."

Ashk. "Yes, she does. But not like this."

A woman's hand on her hair. Gentle. "Sleep now. Sleep."

She tried to fight against it. "I'll die."

"I'll keep watch over you until Falco returns," Liam said. "We won't let you die. I swear it."

The woman's voice again. "Sleep now. Sleep."

Nothing she could do but follow that voice. Nothing.

Selena moved away to the window, leaving Ashk standing at the foot of Nuala's bed.

"Is Breanna right?" Ashk asked. "Did the girl put something in the tea, intending mischief but resulting in this?"

"I don't know," Selena replied, moving the curtain enough to watch the people milling around on the back lawn. "I stayed away from the girl as much as possible."

"Why?"

She let the curtain fall and turned to face Ashk. "Because every time I saw her, I wanted to change into a shadow hound and tear her throat out."

Ashk stared at her. No revulsion, no criticism in that look. Just assessment.

Finally, Ashk stepped away from the bed and blew out a breath. "If your instincts were that strong, the girl's lucky to be alive."

"And I'm wondering if I have reason to regret not following that instinct."

Now Ashk's look sharpened. "Don't think that way. If we find proof that Nuala's death was not natural, then we'll deal with it. But you and I can't afford to be swayed by Breanna's grief. We hold too much power, Huntress. When we pass judgment, there is no turning back."

"I know." Selena looked away.

Ashk raked a hand through her short hair. "Besides, we have a more immediate problem. At this time of year, it's too warm to let the body remain above ground while people call to pay their respects. We have to give Nuala back to the Great Mother."

Selena nodded. "Breanna will choose the place."

"And we'll have to have watchfires around it at night. And guards. Fae who have good night vision in their other forms, archers who can shoot clean in the dark. And someone there with the gift of fire."

She shook her head, puzzled.

"There are nighthunters still out there, Selena," Ashk said with biting patience. "They don't just devour flesh and blood. They feast on the spirits of the dead. There aren't any Fae here who are Death's Servants. They've all headed north or south since that's where the fighting is. I've sent a call to have some of them return here, or have some from the midlands join us here, but until there's one of them among us who can take Nuala's spirit up the road to the Shadowed Veil, she is still prey for those creatures. So we have guards. We keep watch. We protect our dead until they are safely out of reach."

A chill went through Selena. "The men who made the first attack on Baron Liam's estate. Their . . . ghosts . . . might still be there?"

"Where the bodies are buried, yes."

"But there's no way to tell?"

"Not until one of Death's Servants—or the Gatherer—joins us." Ashk paused. "Would it ease your mind if we put guards around those graves as well?"

Selena hesitated, then shook her head. "We can't risk too many of the living when the battle is still ahead. There will be more dead before this is done."

"Yes," Ashk said quietly, "there will be."

Jean ran across the bridge that spanned Willow's Brook, then stopped, no longer sure where to go. Her first thought had been to run to Baron Liam's house and tell Lady Elinore how mean Breanna had been to her. But Elinore would want to know why Breanna had gotten angry. If she lied, Elinore would know, and if she told the truth, Elinore would forget all about her and hurry to the Old Place to comfort Breanna.

She headed for the field, refusing to even look in the direction of the baron's house.

For a moment, there in the kitchen, she'd thought Liam was protecting her from Breanna's vicious attack. But, no, he just wanted to comfort that. . . bitch.

It was always Breanna. Mean, nasty, spiteful Breanna. Always wanting her to do chores. As if she were some servant. And here she was, walking through these fields wearing her best dress— which she'd spent hours pressing because Nuala had refused to order one of the other women to do it. So she was ruining her best dress and hadn't even gotten the chance to let the Bard see how pretty she was and so much more interesting than that homely red-haired woman he was sleeping with. How could he want to sleep with a woman who looked like that?

He hadn't noticed her because Breanna had to grab everyone's attention. Poor, poor Breanna. Nobody was saying poor Jean, were they?

And it wasn't her fault. She hadn't meant to hurt Nuala, but the old woman had been so mean about the dress that she'd wanted to get even. Just a little. It had been so easy to slip into the tea a pinch of the crushed plants she'd had in a handkerchief in her dress pocket. And Nuala was supposed to have spent the day sitting on her chamberpot. She wasn't supposed to die. But. . .

Jean stopped walking, put both hands in her dress pockets, and carefully pulled out two rounded handkerchiefs.

Could she have gotten the handkerchiefs mixed up and put the foxglove mixture in Nuala's tea?

She stuffed the handkerchiefs back in her pockets and walked faster.

That mixture had been for Breanna. Or Falco. Or both.

Breanna was so stupid. She'd had sex with Falco. He'd even taken her up to Tir Alainn to do it to her, and all she'd gotten out of it was his cock making her wet and messy. No gold necklace. No rope of pearls. Not even a bracelet. Stupid Breanna.

Well, she wasn't stupid. And she was not going to go back and have Breanna and Fiona be mean to her. No, she was going to have everything. She'd find a baron's son, a baron's heir—a wealthy baron's heir. And he'd see how pretty she was and know she was too special to do chores like some common woman. He'd hug her and kiss her, and whenever he wanted sex, he'd give her presents. Lots of wonderful presents. She'd have carriages and beautiful gowns and jewels. And then she'd go back to the Old Place, and Breanna would be so envious of all the things she had that mean, stupid Breanna would choke. She'd just choke.

Jean stopped again and looked around. She'd already walked a long way, hadn't she?

Maybe they were already sorry they'd been mean to her. Back home, they'd felt sorry for her because she was the Abandoned Child, and after they'd scolded her for something, the old women would give her an extra sweet at dinner and sometimes one of the men would give her a scarf or a shawl that was supposed to be sold with the rest of the ship's cargo.

But the younger ones, like Fiona . . . and Jenny . . . had never been nice after they'd been mean. And Nuala had been the only elder at this Old Place, so there had been no one else to take her side and tell her she was a darling girl but it was naughty to cause such mischief.

Just mischief. It wasn't her fault if she'd gotten the mixtures confused. Breanna and Fiona were always watching her, just waiting for her to make a little mistake. And there wasn't any privacy to work out the proper mixture that she half-remembered learning from her mother before her mother went away. It was their fault that she'd been in a hurry and hadn't paid enough attention to which mixture she'd put in which pocket.

Maybe she wouldn't go to any of the camps just yet. She was tired and hot and getting all sweaty. Maybe she'd go to the village instead. Someone there would give her something to eat and a place to wash up and rest.

And when her family realized they were sorry for being mean to her, she wouldn't be that hard to find.

So she walked until the dress she'd spent so much time pressing became limp and her legs quivered and burned and her shoes pinched her feet. She was close to tears when she reached the top of a rise and saw the field stretching out before her. A field with a jumbled pile of huge stones—and the road winding out of the trees beyond the field, curving around the rise she stood on.

Dress, legs, and feet momentarily forgotten, she hurried down the other side of the rise and headed for the road. Someone would be coming from the village or heading to the village. Or one of the estates. Or a farm. Surely whoever was traveling would give her a ride.

As I will, so mote it be, Jean thought smugly as a one-horse cart came out from behind that pile of stones. The young man driving the cart seemed startled when he saw her, but he turned the horse in her direction.

"Blessings of the day to you," Jean said when he finally got close enough, giving him her best smile—and wishing she could have smoothed her hair and dress before he'd seen her. No matter. He obviously wasn't gentry, so she didn't have to impress him much. Just enough to get a ride.

"Blessings of the day, mistress," the young man said after a brief hesitation. "Are you alone?"

A little wary, she watched him loop the reins around the brake and get out of the cart. "My family is nearby."

"These are dangerous times, mistress. A young lady shouldn't wander about on her own." When he got a man's length away from her, he stopped suddenly. His eyes widened. "Are you one of them?"

"Them?"

"A— One of the Mother's Daughters."

She was more hedge witch than witch, and wouldn't have been called one of the Mother's Daughters around them, but her grandmother had been a witch and that counted for something, didn't it? "It is best not to mention such things," she said coyly, looking up at him through her lashes. "As you pointed out, these are dangerous times."

"Of course." He smiled. "If being seen in such a humble cart would not offend you, may I offer you a ride?"

"You are very kind."

He extended a hand to indicate the cart. "The daylight is waning, mistress. We should be on our way."

"Yes. You're right," Jean replied, walking toward the cart. She lowered her head and smiled. He seemed nervous. And the way he kept looking around, as if to reassure himself that there was no one who could see them, he was probably hoping to coax her into giving him a kiss or two. And maybe she'd let him since he was nice looking.

As he placed one hand on her arm to help her into the cart, she noticed him reaching inside the leather vest he wore over an un-pressed shirt. Was he going to offer her a present in the hopes of getting more than a kiss?

Then the hand on her arm yanked her off balance. As she teetered on the edge of falling backward, his other hand whipped out of the vest, and something soft yet heavy struck her on the head.

As he lowered her to the ground and her vision dimmed, the look on his face made her very afraid.

He looked back at the bundles in his cart, then grinned as he slapped the reins over the horse's back.

He'd done it! Succeeded beyond expectation. He'd no longer have to work at the charity house where he'd grown up, receiving nothing more than lodgings and a few copper coins each month. When he returned to Master Adolfo's camp, he'd receive the promised reward of an apprenticeship. He'd be trained to be an Inquisitor, a man of power, a man who was somebody.

Never again would the squire who was his grandfather look past him if they saw each other in the village. Never again would he have to pretend he didn't recognize his mother when he saw her shopping with her proper children. Never again would he lie awake at night remembering the arguments between his mother and grandfather before he'd been taken to the charity house.

My son's father is a Fae Lord!

Convenient to say that, daughter, when no man is here to say yay or nae.

He went back to Tir Alainn!

And hasn't made even a token effort to provide for his child? No, daughter. No. I never asked who fathered the boy, and I won't ask now. But you have a chance to marry, and no gentry man is going to want to raise his own sons with a groom's or footman's leavings.

A Fae Lord!

Enough! You can cut yourself off from a good life for yourself, and condemn the boy into the bargain, or you can let him go now while he's still young enough to forget and let him make a life for himself. Make your choice, daughter—and live with it.

She made her choice. And the squire made his choice. But the boy had been old enough to remember, and grieve, the life that had ended when the squire's servants left him at the charity house. And the boy had felt the weight of being a nobody for years—until Master Adolfo had stopped and visited the charity house. Had stopped even though he had an army to command and important work to do in the world.

Master Adolfo had known the boy was special. He'd given the boy a chance to prove he was worthy of the training that would make him a powerful man one day—a man so powerful that even the old squire wouldn't dare ignore him.

And he'd succeeded. Almost within sight of the enemy, he'd succeeded. The Inquisitors had given him the horse and a cart filled with small sacks of flour, sugar, and tea. They'd told him to take the supplies to the more isolated farms and offer them to the females as thanks for the other provisions the army was taking from the surrounding farms.

The females had accepted the supplies with delight, had offered him small glasses of ale and fresh-baked bread. They had given him time to be eyes and ears for the Witch's Hammer. And they had given him time to obtain the special creatures Master Adolfo needed for the coming fight.

The Master had been specific. Find one or two of the special creatures, then get back to the army that was marching toward Willowsbrook. Take no chances, because discovery could destroy everything.

He'd been careful, but he'd had a rough minute or two when he spotted the female. Luckily she'd suspected nothing, had seen nothing. So now he was heading back toward the army that was no more than two or three days' march away from this place. He was returning in triumph.

Not only had he gotten the special creatures the Master Inquisitor wanted, he'd gotten something Master Adolfo wanted even more.

A witch.

Aiden tied the sash around his waist, then tugged at the hem of his dress tunic to make sure it still hung straight. He looked at his harp, rubbed his thumbs over the pads of his still-tender fingers, and shook his head. It would have to be one of his pipes tonight.

"Maybe it's for the best."

Turning, he studied Lyrra's reflection in the mirror. She, too, had worn her best outfit, and she'd left her hair loose so that it flowed down her back. Her eyes were puffy from the tears she'd shed, but it only made her look more beautiful—the Muse who not only touched the world but was touched by it. "What's for the best?"

"That Nuala died now."

Aiden frowned. "How can you say that?"

Lyrra turned to face him. "She went to sleep and never woke up. Isn't that better than dying slowly from a mortal wound, or feeling an arrow bury itself in flesh? She won't know the fear and pain, she won't watch anyone she loves suffer. She won't know what happens here if. . . we fail."

He walked over to her, drew her into his arms. "We won't fail. What has gathered here is more than I'd dared hope for. The Fae have come down from Tir Alainn, the House of Gaian has come out of their hills, and the humans are standing with us. Even the Small Folk are preparing to fight. This battle won't be shining and glorious. It will be desperate and brutal. . . and people will die. Neither of us can be of any use on that battlefield when the time comes, but we have the power of words, Lyrra. We can sing the songs that feed the heart, tell the stories that offer comfort. And later, we can sing of the glory of courage and tell stories about how all the peoples of Sylvalan stood together to face a common enemy. We need to remember that we stood together— and we'll need to honor the dead." He drew back enough to kiss her forehead. "And that's what we need to do now."

He released her long enough to fetch his pipe, then slipped an arm around her waist to lead her out of the room.

Liam waited for them in the front hall, along with Baron Donovan; his wife, Gwenn; and Gwynith, a western Lady of the Moon. They went out to the open carriage that was big enough for all of them since Liam was driving and invited Aiden to join him on the driver's seat.

"Selena, Rhyann, and Ashk have already gone to the place Breanna and Keely chose," Liam said quietly after flicking the reins over his team's back to signal them to move on. "My mother has gone to the Old Place to drop off some dishes for the supper afterward. We've still got a few hours left before full dark, but I doubt anyone will want to linger after paying their respects."

"Where is the place where Nuala will be laid to rest?" Aiden asked.

"Near the brook. There's a place that has a 'sitting stone' and a curve of rose bushes close by that Nuala had planted years ago. She liked to sit there and listen to the water." Liam sighed. "We would have given Nuala back to the Great Mother wherever Breanna chose, but I know Ashk is relieved that it's open ground, and, frankly, so am I."

Aiden nodded. "No chance of nighthunters attacking before they can be seen."

"Yes."

They made the rest of the trip in silence until they crossed the bridge over Willow's Brook and saw all the conveyances lined up beside the road.

"I didn't expect so many humans to come here," Aiden said.

"My father made certain I remained ignorant of the witches who lived here," Liam replied with a trace of bitterness. "But I've learned since that my ignorance wasn't common. Nuala was a fine woman. She was respected by her neighbors, which is more than I can say about my father." He secured the reins and got down, then nodded to the boy who came forward to lead the carriage away as soon as the others had stepped down.

Taking Lyrra's hand, Aiden followed Liam to the spot where the mourners gathered. People stepped aside to let them through, and Aiden wondered if there had ever been a time before this when barons had stood side by side with farmers and Fae Lords, oblivious of the differences that separated them in the day-to-day world.

Nuala lay on the grass, dressed in a blue gown. No coffin, no shroud. Nothing between her and the earth.

For a long moment, Aiden stared at the gold pentagram around her neck, then glanced around. Now that he thought about it, he couldn't remember seeing Breanna or Nuala or any of the other witches wearing the pentagram openly. Even Selena hadn't worn hers openly. But the witches were wearing them now, and as he looked around, he felt a jolt when he saw men—strangers to him—wearing that symbol over shirts or tunics.

"I didn't know there were men who were witches," Lyrra whispered to Rhyann, who had come over to stand beside them.

Rhyann smiled. "They are the Sons of the House of Gaian. They have the same power that comes from the branches of the Great Mother that the Daughters do. Why wouldn't they wear the symbol that acknowledges the bond to the Mother?"

"You don't usually wear it openly," Aiden said.

Rhyann looked puzzled. "Why would we? We don't wear it to remind anyone but ourselves of who and what we are and what we honor. Earth, air, water, fire"—she looked at Nuala—"and spirit."

Seeing two Fae with instruments at the edge of the crowd, Aiden excused himself and made his way over to the minstrels. One carried a small harp; the other had a pipe.

"We've never seen a burial for one of the Mother's Daughters," one of the minstrels said. "What should we do?"

Aiden smiled dryly. "We'll play it by ear."

The quiet conversations around him faded.

Selena, all in white, wore the split gown over trousers. She moved away from the others until she stood alone, facing Nuala, and turned to look at Gwynith. "Will you dance with me this time?"

"I don't know the steps," Gwynith said.

Selena smiled. "Just follow me—and follow your heart."

"Is this dance only for the Ladies of the Moon?" Ashk asked.

Selena shook her head. "Anyone who wishes to honor the one who has left us can join this spiral dance." She turned away from the people watching, her arms extended, her palms up.

Power flowed, as soft as moonlight. Balls of white light filled Selena's palms. Tendrils of light twined down her arms and over the rest of her body until she glowed with the light of the moon.

Then she began to dance. Solemn and simple, just a few steps and a turn, over and over again. But as she moved, moonlight followed her, forming a path.

Rhyann stepped onto the beginning of the path, her steps matching her sister's.

He could feel the song of those steps, those solemn turns. "Follow me when you have the tune," he told the minstrels quietly. Raising his pipe to his lips, he let his music follow moonlight down the spiral path Selena created as she danced. A simple tune, repeated like the steps. When he glanced at the minstrels, they nodded, and harp and pipe joined him, taking up the melody while he let his own pipe's notes twine around it.

Ashk stepped onto the shining spiral, followed by Breanna . . . and Liam. Gwynith followed them, then Falco. Fiona and Rory. Gwenn and Donovan. Elinore took Keely's hand, and the two of them stepped into the dance. Sheridan and Morphia. Clay, Edgar, and Glynis. Varden. Squire Thurston and his wife. Kin and neighbors, humans and Fae, Sons and Daughters of the House of Gaian joined the dance. And last. . . Lyrra, her eyes wet with tears.

Finally Selena stood at Nuala's feet. She extended her arms again, palms up. Raising her face to the sky, her voice soared as Aiden let the last notes of the song fade.

"Great Mother, we give back one of your Daughters. Let earth take her body. Let air remember her voice. Let water remember her laughter. Let fire remember her heart. Let her spirit fly to the Shadowed Veil and pass through to the Summerland. She is no longer with us, but she will be remembered until she is back among us. Merry meet, and merry part, and merry meet again."

The ground in front of Selena swelled with moonlight, dazzling the eye. When it faded, there was a gentle mound of bare earth—and Nuala was gone.

As if hearing an unspoken command, people turned and walked out of the spiral until only Selena remained. Then she too turned and walked out—and moonlight filled in the path of the spiral dance, leaving a circle of light around the new grave.

After thanking the minstrels, Aiden tucked his pipe through his sash and joined Lyrra. He held her close and felt her shuddering effort not to cry.

"It was beautiful," she whispered.

He felt his throat close, felt the sting of tears. "Yes, it was. Come along, my heart, we have to help Breanna and her kin get through the rest of it." Slipping an arm around her waist, he led her back to the carriage.

Most of the mourners came back to the house to say a few words to Breanna and Keely and have a bite to eat. But even as they talked and ate, they kept glancing at the ever-darkening sky, and soon those with any distance to travel were saying their good-byes. Until all the nighthunters were destroyed, people wouldn't feel easy about being far from home at night.

Aiden wandered among the people still gathered on the back lawn, making a point to talk to the villagers and farmers who hadn't had any contact with the Fae yet. As he was making his way back to the house, a voice asked, "Bard?"

"Yes?" Aiden answered, turning toward an exhausted Fae male.

"Lord Aiden?"

"Yes."

The Fae pulled two pieces of wax-sealed paper out of his inner vest pocket. "I've a message for you from one of the northern bards. And a message for Baron Liam, but I don't know where to find him."

"I'll take it to him." Aiden held out his hand for the letters.

"Why don't you get something to eat? I'll talk to Lord Varden. He'll make sure you have a place to stay tonight."

Impatience mingled with dread as Aiden hurried over to the group of barons talking to Liam and Donovan.

"A message for you," Aiden said abruptly, handing over the paper addressed to Liam.

He hesitated before breaking the seal on his message. Noticed Liam did the same.

Then he read the message. "Mother's mercy."

"What is it?" Donovan asked sharply, looking from Aiden to Liam.

"Wait," Aiden said, looking around. "Hunter! Huntress!" When Ashk and Selena turned in response to his call, he signaled them to come over. Lyrra, catching the signal, said something to Fiona before hurrying to join them.

Liam looked at him. Aiden nodded.

"It's a message from one of the northern barons," Liam said. He cleared his throat quietly. "The Arktos and Sylvalan barons we were fighting in the north have surrendered. Or more to the point, the men they were leading put down their weapons and surrendered, leaving them no choice. The elders of the House of Gaian who were from the northern end of the Mother's Hills drafted the terms of surrender, which our barons seconded. The men are being allowed to return home. The Arktos barons and the Sylvalan barons who sided with the Inquisitors will be held until the army has disbursed. Then they'll be permitted to go home." Liam closed his eyes. His hand fell limply to his side. "That part of the fight is over. We've won that much."

"Did the baron say anything about captured Inquisitors?" Donovan asked.

"There were no captured Inquisitors," Ashk said softly. "Were there, Bard?"

Reluctantly, Aiden looked up from his own letter. "No, Hunter, there were not."

The barons around Liam muttered, but it was Donovan who expressed the outrage. "They escaped?"

Aiden shook his head. He glanced at Ashk—and remembered the chill that had gone through him after the dance the Bretonwood Fae had performed at the Summer Solstice, when those masked faces had stared at him. When her masked face stared at him. And Morag's words: They're the Fae.

"The Wild Hunt?" Ashk said, her voice still soft.

Aiden swallowed hard. "The Inquisitors who were caught were released in a woods, where the Lords of the Woods and the Ladies of the Moon were waiting for them. . . with packs of shadow hounds."

"Justice," Ashk said. "And vengeance. There is nothing quite so terrifying as trying to flee a shadow hound—or the Wild Hunt. The Fae were absent for too long, even when they were present. Now they have returned."

The barons shifted uncomfortably.

"Was there anything else in your message?" Liam asked after an awkward silence.

"Just something a minstrel reported overhearing," Aiden said, hoping Liam would understand the dismissive tone and let it go.

"Well?" Liam demanded.

"When the Arktos men were told their barons would be released once their army had gone back through the mountain pass between Sylvalan and Arktos, one of the men said 'we'll be waiting for them.' The barons assumed it was a sign of loyalty. The minstrel heard something different in the words."

"They hate their own rulers," Selena said. "Hate them enough to kill them."

Aiden nodded. "The minstrel's opinion was that the barons might reach the mountain pass, but he doubted any of them would reach home."

"I wonder how long the Inquisitors still in Arktos will survive once the army returns home," Ashk said.

"Not long." Aiden carefully folded the letter. He might as well say the rest. "The bard who wrote the message to me witnessed the terms of surrender and said they were fair. But the elders from the House of Gaian told the Arktos men that if another witch in Arktos was harmed simply because she was a witch, they would bring down the mountains and bring in the sea."

Another awkward silence as everyone except Ashk avoided looking at Selena.

"It's not a bluff," Selena finally said. "If the Grandmothers gather and bend their will to it, they can do exactly what they said. And Arktos would be no more than a memory of a place." She looked around. "Would you have me lie to you? We are the House of Gaian. We are the Great Mother's Sons and Daughters. We are the Pillars of the World. It is not just Tir Alainn that answers to our will. This world answers as well. It has always been so. It will always be so. You cannot defeat air or water or earth or fire. As long as they exist, we will exist. And as long as we exist, as we will, so mote it be."

Quiet and troubled, the barons said good night. Aiden wondered how easily the barons staying with Liam would sleep, knowing the Huntress was also a guest in his house. He wasn't surprised that Ashk slipped her arm through Selena's as the two of them walked away.

"I'll say our good-byes to Breanna and find Gwenn," Lyrra said.

Donovan's smile looked a little brittle. Aiden almost asked him what was wrong—then remembered that Donovan was married to a witch.

"She's the same woman she was yesterday," Aiden said.

"I know," Donovan replied. "My darling Gwenn."

"We don't own the land," Liam said quietly. "We're just its stewards. It's humbling to be reminded of that."

"And it's troubling to be reminded that they're different from us," Donovan said.

Pricked by anger, Aiden tucked the letter into his sash, next to his pipe. "Are they really so different, Baron Donovan? You've never sat beside the bed of a witch whose body was so broken by torture there was no hope of healing. You've never listened to her plead with you to let her die. You've never buried the rest of her family and then listened to the screams of the ghosts when the nighthunters attacked. They have the power to shatter the world yet they still live by a creed to do no harm." He paused. "And maybe that does make them different from the rest of us."

"Are you saying that message didn't frighten you?" Donovan asked.

"Which part? Mother's tits, man. Do you understand what the Wild Hunt means? Do you understand what happened in that woods? My people did that. And it's only because I met Ashk and saw the Fae in the west that I've come to realize my people are meant to do that. But it still frightens me. And it comforts me, that that can be awakened inside the Fae. Your people have suffered, too, and I'll not deny that. But your kind wasn't slaughtered first, and none of your counties—and all the people who lived in them—disappeared when the witches died. You still have the land, and your people have a chance to rebuild their lives. We may never regain the pieces of Tir Alainn that were lost, and no one can bring back the dead. So if it comes to a choice, I would rather face the House of Gaian than the Black Coats."

He started to walk away when Liam placed a hand on his arm.

"You're forgetting something, Bard," Liam said. "I'm not just a baron. I'm also a Son of the House of Gaian. I'm still a stranger to myself, still learning to accept this part of me that awakened a few weeks ago. Yes, we're frightened. Things that have been hidden, or barely glimpsed, are suddenly being revealed, and we can no longer pretend those things don't exist. In some ways, we've all been children. We can't be children anymore."

Donovan scrubbed his hands over his face. "Well, if the two of you are done with these delightful bedtime stories, I'd like to take my wife back to our room and get some sleep."

"Would you mind seeing Lyrra back to the house as well?" Aiden asked.

Liam gave him a curious look. "You're not going back?"

Aiden shook his head. "My night vision is good, so I've agreed to take a watch tonight." He smiled ruefully. "My other form is an owl."

"You can't go fluttering around in the dark," Liam said. "You'll get stepped on." He shrugged. "You can perch on my shoulder."

Donovan looked at his friend. "You're staying, too?"

"I have the gift of fire."

Donovan shook his head. "You two get to stand out in the dark while I escort two beautiful ladies home. I guess there are compensations to being just human."

Gwenn and Lyrra joined them, both women sensing something and searching faces to try to discover the answer.

"I'll see you later," Aiden said after kissing Lyrra. He handed her the pipe and message. "Take these for me."

When Donovan, Gwenn, and Lyrra were gone, Liam said, "Come on, then."

Aiden hesitated a moment before changing to his other form and fluttering up to the arm Liam held out.

Liam studied him for a moment. "The feathers look good on you, Bard."

Aiden climbed up Liam's arm to his shoulder, then nipped his ear.

"Do that again and you'll have to find another perch," Liam growled.

"Whoooo?"

Since Liam didn't say anything, Aiden fluffed his feathers, pleased to have gotten in the last word.

"I wonder if I can persuade Morphia to send the barons quiet dreams," Ashk said as she walked around Breanna's house, her arm still tucked through Selena's.

"Why would they need them?" Selena asked.

"Because, Huntress, between the two of us, we've given them the stuff of nightmares. How many of them will dream of being pursued by the Wild Hunt while the ground drops out from under their feet and stones suddenly grow mouths filled with fangs?"

"Stones don't have mouths. Or fangs."

Ashk smiled. "But dreams don't always show you the true form of what you fear, do they?" Her smile faded as she thought of Morag and wondered if the Gatherer was still plagued by dreams.

"I hope not," Selena said, her voice quivering with some strong feeling.

Ashk let it go, suddenly too tired to explore strong emotions. They'd already been through enough for one day. "Let's check on Breanna and the men standing watch and call it a day. We could both use some sleep."

Selena nodded. "I need to saddle Mistrunner."

"Why?"

"Because it's a bit too far to walk back to Liam's." Selena's eyes widened. "Oh. Oh. No, we couldn't. Not after telling them about shadow hound packs."

"But the barons who heard that are already back at whatever houses they're guesting at," Ashk said, then added, "Besides, wouldn't you like to know if Liam's any good at petting?"

Selena choked on a gasped laugh. "Ashk! That would be . . . Well, it would be—"

"Pleasant?" Ashk suggested.

"You really expect him to pet a shadow hound? What if he realized who he was petting and got—"

"Excited?"

"Intimidated," Selena said with a different kind of quiver in her voice. "I was going to say intimidated."

"Of course you were. Because there he would be, running his hands through all that lovely fur, and when he realized who it was, he'd think, 'Oh, my. I'm touching Selena. I'm intimidated.' Phah. On the other hand, if you change back while he's got his hands all over you, it might be more of a thrill than he's ready for, depending on where his hands are at that moment."

Selena just gaped at her.

There, Ashk thought, satisfied, that's got your mind off thoughts of troubling dreams. "Trust a woman married to a baron. They like fur."

Selena shoved her hands through her hair. "It wouldn't be fair, just trotting up to him and wagging my tail. Besides, he gets so gentry prim whenever he thinks about Breanna and Falco being lovers—"

"He's not his sister. And you're not his sister. And if you'd ever noticed the way he looks at you, you'd know he'd jump through a couple of hoops for the chance to pet you."

Selena sputtered. Muttered. "It's out of the question. I'm sharing a room with my sister."

"He's not sharing a room with anyone."

"This is none of your business."

"I know. It wouldn't be half as entertaining if it was any of my business."

Selena lowered her hands. "Bitch."

Ashk just smiled.

"All right. Let's check on Breanna and Keely first. Then I'll decide what to do about Baron Liam."

As soon as they walked through the kitchen door and saw Fiona, their humor fled.

"Breanna?" Ashk asked.

Fiona shook her head. "She's asleep, thanks to Morphia. So is Keely. It's Jean."

Selena's sigh sounded more like a growl. "Now what?"

"I can't find her anywhere."

Two shadow hounds ran through the moonlight. They didn't pause when the men standing guard over Nuala's grave turned to watch them race past.

Selena wanted to howl with frustration. Fiona was certain the girl wasn't sulking in the house somewhere, but they still spent time searching the more unlikely places—pantry, cold cellar, wine cellar. They would have searched the attic, but that was pointless. The boys were sleeping up there on beds made of straw and blankets. She wasn't in the stables or any of the other outbuildings. It was possible that she'd run off into the woods and couldn't find her way back to the house after dark, but there were Fae keeping watch around the shining road and at least half of them were in their other form so that their sharpened senses would warn them of any kind of enemy approaching. If she was out there, they'd have seen her and brought her back to the house.

If the girl had gone in any other direction in the Old Place, she would have ended up at one of the camps—and they would have brought her back to the house. So that left the bridge that crossed over to the lane on Liam's estate.

Once they were over the bridge, Selena went right, toward Liam's house, while Ashk moved off to the left.

Too many people. Too many scents. For a moment, Selena thought she'd found Jean's scent at the edge of the bridge, but there were too many fresher scents over it for her to be certain.

Then Ashk growled, and Selena turned back to follow the other shadow hound.

They had followed the scent over one field when another scent drifted on the air. With no warning, Ashk spun around and trotted back the way they'd come. Recognizing that scent, Selena ran to catch up with the Hunter.

When they got close to the bridge, Ashk paused long enough to change form.

"Why are we walking the rest of the way on two legs?" Selena asked.

"Because I want to warn the men on watch. I'm almost certain the nighthunters are nesting in that stand of trees on Liam's land. It makes sense. The Fae patrolling haven't seen them. Probably too many people around. Too much fire at night. We'll hunt in the morning, and bring Morphia with us."

"Morphia? She's not a hunter."

"No, but her gift is the best defense against nighthunters," Ashk replied as they crossed the bridge. "She can put everything in that stand of trees to sleep. We can search for the nest and destroy those creatures without being attacked."

"You still won't be certain you'll have found all of them."

"No, but we'll burn the ones we find and the carcasses of their prey. Then if we catch the scent again, we'll know it's fresh."

"What about Jean?"

Ashk stopped at the end of the bridge. "There are a dozen farms and estates in that general direction, not to mention camps. Or she could have easily circled around and reached the village." She sighed. "She's not my kin. I can't make the choice." She looked toward the men standing near the grave still glowing with moonlight, then shook her head. "I'll talk to them on the way back." After changing back into her shadow hound form, she trotted off toward the house.

Selena watched Liam, who had been walking toward them, check his stride when he saw Ashk change. Would any man really be comfortable around a woman who could change into a shadow hound?

Memories of her father sitting in his rocking chair by the fire, cuddling her as a puppy. Memories of him walking through the woods with her trotting ahead of him, growling happily when she caught a scent.

Not the same. Not the same at all.

With a pang of regret, she shook her head, changed, and raced after Ashk.

Ashk found Fiona sitting at the small work table in the kitchen. A cup of cold tea was pushed to one side. Her hands cupped a glass of whiskey.

"I made myself a cup of tea," Fiona said, "but I was afraid to drink it."

Ashk sat across from her. "That's understandable." She reached for Fiona's hand. "I'm sorry to force something else on you, but it's a decision I can't make. We found a scent in one of the fields on Liam's estate. I also picked up the scent of nighthunters. I won't send men into those fields in the dark, Fiona. That I won't do. But I'll send pairs of riders out on the roads to the neighboring farms and estates and to the village to find out if anyone has seen her."

"You'd send men out on dark roads for Jean?"

"No. I'd do it for you. For Breanna."

The kitchen door opened. Selena walked in, closed the door, and came to stand near the table.

Fiona took a long swallow of whiskey. Then she pulled a bundled handkerchief out of her pocket. "After you left, I searched the drawers Jean was given for her clothes. I found this, tucked in the back of one drawer under the camisoles. I can't identify everything she collected during her forays in the woods and through the gardens, but I do recognize foxglove. So, no, Ashk, I don't want you to send your men out on dark roads to search for Jean. Because Breanna was right. If this is what was in the tea, then Jean did kill Nuala."