The Pillars of the World

Chapter Thirteen

She wasn’t being deceitful, Dianna assured herself as she and the borrowed mare left Ahern’s farm and trotted toward Brightwood. She just didn’t see any reason to tell Lucian she had met Ari—or that she had decided to go back to the cottage today. It had nothing to do with his returning to Ari’s bed each night, but he would assume it did, and then they’d quarrel about it and he wouldn’t listen, and she didn’t want to quarrel with her twin about some . . . human.

Besides, why should Lucian be the only one to find some distraction these days? Aiden had instructed every bard in Tir Alainn to send him any information they might hear about witches or wiccanfae. The only things that had been passed to him were the songs he’d already heard, but they told the Fae nothing except that they had an enemy in the human world capable of destroying the Fair Land.

They had lost more Clans over the past few days. More pieces of their land were suddenly gone. And there was still no answers.

I am the Huntress, and I am helpless, Dianna ranted silently. How can we fight something when we don’t even know what it is? How can we find these wiccanfae if we don’t know what they are or where to look? It’s like trying to fight a shadow that sucks the life out of whatever it brushes against.

So why shouldn’t she spend a little time satisfying another curiosity. She was curious about Ari. And she was wondering why, if Lucian was finding Ari’s bed so pleasurable, he seemed troubled by it.

As they passed a marking stone, the mare pricked her ears and quickened her pace. Dianna didn’t rein her in. It was already midmorning. Having to wait until Lucian returned to Tir Alainn so that he wouldn’t ask questions about where she was going—and why— and then riding to Ahern’s farm and back to Brightwood had wasted enough time.

Ari was working in the low-walled garden, wearing the same shabby clothes. She looked up when she heard the horse, then smiled and raised a hand in greeting.

“Do you live out here?” Dianna asked, guiding the mare to the wall.

“At this time of year, yes,” Ari said. She petted the mare’s nose. “It’s planting time, and I’ve still got a lot of seeds and seedlings to get into the ground.”

Dianna looked at the still-empty sections of the garden. “If it’s so much work, why plant so much?”

A little puzzled, Ari replied, “To have enough food to last through the winter.”

“But—” What had looked like a large plot of land a moment ago suddenly seemed smaller. “Can you harvest enough from this?”

Ari’s smile now held a hint of worry. “Usually. Some years are better than others. I also pick apples, strawberries, and raspberries. Some blueberries, too, but I’m not fond of them, so I leave most of them for the birds and the Small Folk to harvest. I have a beehive as well, and they share their honey with me. And I trade some baking and honey to Ahern for eggs and milk . . . and a bit of meat. It gets me by.”

All of that, and more, was there for the asking in Tir Alainn, Dianna thought. The Fae didn’t wonder if there might be enough. There was always more than plenty.

“It was kind of you to stop by during your ride,” Ari said. Her smile seemed a little forced, a touch impatient.

So much for my assuming she would be delighted to entertain a gentry lady coming for a visit, Dianna thought.

Courtesy forbids her from saying out loud, “Go away and let me do my work,” but her eyes say it all the same. In another minute, even courtesy won’t keep her standing at the wall. She’ll phrase it more politely, but she’ll tell me to go away. She will. I haven’t dealt with many humans. I’ve never wanted to. But they’ve crossed my path enough for me to know she’s different. Why is she different?

“I’ll help you plant the garden,” Dianna said impulsively.

Ari’s mouth fell open. “You— You’re going to help me plant? You’re going to dig in the dirt!”

“Why not? You do it, and it doesn’t seem to have any ill effects.”

“But . . . but . . . you’re a lady.”

She already found the pretense of being a gentry lady sufficiently tiresome to welcome shedding it. “I may be a lady, but I’m also a woman.” She smiled, but she knew her eyes revealed a bit of the Huntress. “I’m not as weak as you seem to think I am.”

“Oh, I don’t think you’re weak,” Ari said hurriedly. “It’s just—” She caught her lower lip between her teeth. “Well,” she said after a long pause, “the work will go faster with an extra pair of hands.”

“That’s fine then. I’ll—” —find some way to get out of this fiend-made saddle without falling on my face or making a fool out of myself.

Ari seemed to be considering the same problem. “How do ladies dismount when a gentleman isn’t around to help?”

With no charm and little grace, Dianna thought sourly, suddenly understanding Ahern’s malicious amusement when he saddled the mare for her that morning. The other day she had simply scrambled out of the saddle in order to reach Ari before the girl fell. Today, dismounting didn’t seem as easy.

“Maybe you could use the wall?” Ari said hesitantly. “Or the chopping block out back?”

Dianna frowned at the wall. It was high enough for her to step onto it—as long as the mare cooperated.

She brought the mare around so that the animal stood next to the wall. “Hold her head.”

When Ari had a firm grip on the reins, Dianna carefully dismounted, stepping onto the wall. Half turned to keep one hand on the saddle for balance, she wobbled on the wall, wishing the round, uneven stones offered better footing. She shifted one foot, planted it firmly on the hem of her riding habit, lost her balance, and, with a small scream, fell across the mare’s back.

The mare swung her hind quarters away from the wall, taking Dianna with her.

“Oh, dear,” Ari said in a choked voice.

Silently cursing Ahern, Dianna slid off the mare’s back, then glared at her companion. “Don’t you dare laugh.”

“I wouldn’t, Mistress. Truly I wouldn’t.” Ari clamped a hand over her mouth, her eyes dancing with suppressed laughter.

“Not Mistress, just Dianna.” Brushing at her skirt, Dianna took the mare’s reins in her other hand. “Mistress is a lady who has to remain dignified and polite even under these circumstances. Dianna does not. Since I’m not feeling dignified or polite at the moment . . .”

“Yes.” Ari cleared her throat. “I understand. Why don’t we take the mare around back and let her graze.” She studied Dianna’s riding habit. “And we should find something for you to wear so that you don’t get your clothes dirty.”

“Fine,” Dianna said, looking at her clothes. As if that mattered now. Then she whispered in the mare’s ear, “If you don’t behave, I’ll feed you to my shadow hounds.”

After tying the mare outside the cow shed, Dianna followed Ari to a bedroom off the main living room.

“Isn’t it unusual to have a bedroom in this part of a house?” Dianna asked, looking around. In a Clan house, none of the private suites were connected to the communal rooms. Perhaps human cottages were built differently because they were so much smaller?

“It’s the crone’s room,” Ari replied. “At least . . .it is when there are three,” she finished quietly. She hurried through the arch that led to another room.

While Ari rummaged around in the other room, Dianna studied the bedroom—but slid her eyes quickly past the bed.

Tie the knots and fiddle them, Dianna thought crossly. Being Lucian’s sister didn’t make her less a woman, and any woman worthy of her gender would be curious about what was taking place in that bed, especially if she knew the man involved was the Lightbringer. Especially after spotting the gold filigree necklace set with amethysts that was on the dressing table. That was a trinket that was usually considered sufficient for a parting gift after a brief, pleasant affair. She didn’t think Lucian was ready to part quite yet since there were still several days before the dark of the moon. Was he preparing the way to be able to continue the affair when his promised time was done?

“This will do . . . I think,” Ari said, returning to the room with a pile of clothing.

Dianna turned away from the dressing table and the thoughts that were making her uneasy. The bards knew enough stories and songs about Fae males becoming ensnared by human females. The lesson in all those stories, which were always tragic, was to enjoy and move on—and not look back. To linger too long was to become trapped by feelings that were best left unfelt, to be lured into wanting things that were best left unwanted.

Pushing away the desire to rush back to Tir Alainn and demand that Lucian tell her his intentions, which would only make his refusal to discuss it a certainty, Dianna took the clothing Ari was holding.

“They were my mother’s,” Ari said. “She was taller than me, so I think her things will fit you better. I’ll see to the mare while you change.”

By the time Dianna exchanged her riding habit for the loose-fitting tunic and trousers, the mare was staked to a long lead in the meadow, contentedly grazing, and Ari was back in the garden.

“Your mother and I may have been the same height, but her figure was more . . . generous,” Dianna said, pinching the fabric under her breasts and holding it out before releasing it.

“She was the mother of the three,” Ari said, sadness shadowing her eyes for a moment. “She looked . . . ripe.”

Dianna narrowed her eyes. That was the second time Ari had mentioned “the three.” And there was something about the way she said it that made Dianna sure it wasn’t a meaningless phrase. “Who is the third?”

“The maid,” Ari said, busily digging a small hole. “There have always been three. Now only the maid is left.”

Dianna knew she was prodding a bruise, if not an open heart wound, but she didn’t stop. “What happened to the mother and the crone?”

“They died.”

Dianna looked around, feeling as if the landscape had shifted on her somehow. The cottage wasn’t a manor house, but it was considerably bigger than most of the cottages that were scattered around the countryside. “If you do the work in the garden, who tends the house and does the rest of the work?”

“I do.” Ari planted a seedling in the hole she’d just dug. “Although the cottage is tended better in the winter than in summer.”

“Then you’re alone here. Truly alone.”

Ari sat back on her heels. “The Great Mother is always here. And so are the ones who came before me. It is not our custom to set up markers, but when I take a walk around Brightwood, I can tell when I pass a place where one of us was laid to rest.”

“But—” She’d seen human burial places. Of course there were markers, and land set aside for that purpose. “So parts of Brightwood are sacred ground?”

“Brightwood is one of the Old Places,” Ari said gently. “All of it is sacred ground. To some people anyway.” She took a breath and blew it out. “Would you like to plant some seeds?”

What a strange girl, Dianna thought a few minutes later as she followed Ari’s instructions for planting peas. She talks about “the three” and sacred ground and being able to tell where the dead rest even when there are no markers. I’ve never heard anyone talk this way. I’ll have to ask Lyrra if she’s ever heard anything like this. She spends more time among humans because of her gift as the Muse. The three. Why is that significant?

“Dianna . . . you’re planting them too close together. They can’t grow that way.”

Dianna glanced at Ari, then looked away to hide her rising temper. How dare the girl chastise her— her!—when she was willing to help? So a few wouldn’t grow. What difference—If she goes hungry this winter because I’m playing with her survival, will I still say “what difference?”

“I’m sorry,” Dianna said. And she was sorry. But she wasn’t sure if it was because she had been careless in the planting or because she cared about what could happen to Ari because of it. She unearthed the peas, then sat back on her heels. “My mind wandered, and I stopped paying attention to what I was doing.”

“It’s easy enough to do that,” Ari said with a smile. “I do a fair amount of dreaming when I’m working in the garden.” She hesitated. “You could do that row over. No harm’s done.”

Dianna shifted until she was sitting more comfortably. She shook her head. “I’ll just keep you company for a while.”

Watching Ari for a few minutes was soothing. She didn’t hurry through the planting, but she had a rhythm to her movements that allowed her to accomplish more than Dianna would have thought possible in a short amount of time.

When soothing changed to boring, Dianna shifted restlessly. She was reluctant to help again because she didn’t want to feel responsible if the harvest was poor, but she didn’t want to just sit there. She should leave, and would have left already if she’d gotten the information she’d come for. Besides, she wanted the novelty of planting something.

“Would you like to plant the flowers?” Ari asked.

“Flowers?” Boredom vanished. Flowers were just prettiness, weren’t they? They wouldn’t be important. She could plant them, and it wouldn’t make any difference if some of them didn’t grow.

“I plant flowers around the cottage, but I won’t be able to do that until the vegetable garden is in.”

Dianna hesitated. “If some of them don’t grow, it won’t make the winter harder, will it?”

Ari shook her head and smiled. “I use some of them to dye my wool, but there’s always plenty. Come on, I’ll show you.”

Dianna followed Ari out of the garden gate to the readied ground that formed a border around the cottage. At the front corner, she could see plants already growing.

“Those are perennials,” Ari said. “They come back year after year. On this side of the cottage, I plant new every year.”

“Why?”

Ari shrugged, looking a little embarrassed. “The perennials represent continuity and the pleasure of seeing the familiar renew itself. This bed represents the excitement and potential of the new and unknown.” She picked up a small basket next to the flower bed and brushed a finger over the bundles of cloth inside. “These are the different seeds I collected last fall. You take a bundle and scatter the seeds over the flower bed. Some years I scatter them in clusters so that there are distinct areas that are all one flower, and other years I scatter them throughout the bed so everything is mixed together.”

“Which way should I do it?” Dianna asked.

“Whichever way pleases you. There are three exceptions.”

Naturally, Dianna thought a little sourly. It couldn’t just be easy and fun.

Ari held up one bundle. “The marigolds need to be planted in the front because they’re short.” Dropping that bundle back in the basket, she picked up two more. One was tied with white thread, the other yellow. “These need to be planted in the back of the bed because they need to climb. It’s easier if you plant them first.”

Dianna looked at the trellis that ran across the whole side of the cottage. “What are they?” she asked, taking the bundles.

“Moonflowers and morning glories.” Ari hesitated, then mumbled, “I plant the moonflowers to honor the Lady of the Moon.”

“Really?” Delighted, Dianna studied the bundle with more interest. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen them.” She glanced slyly at Ari, and teased, “If the moonflowers are for the Lady, are the morning glories for the Lightbringer?”

Oh, how Ari blushed over that question. She stammered out the instructions for how deep and far apart to plant, then bolted back to the vegetable garden.

Amused by Ari’s reaction, Dianna turned her attention to the important business of planting her moonflowers.

After several minutes of debating with herself about whether to plant moonflowers along half the wall and the morning glories along the other half or mix them, she decided to alternate. That way the whole wall would be filled with flowers morning and evening. And it would be a truthful representation of the way she and Lucian were with each other. One claimed the day, the other the night, but their lives were intertwined because they were twins.

“Is there a problem?” Ari called out.

“Just planning,” Dianna said.

Ari smiled and returned to her work.

After carefully planting the moonflower and morning glory seeds, Dianna spent several minutes frowning at the rest of the flower bed, trying to picture how it should look. She’d been frustrated to discover the seeds in the other bundles didn’t give her a clue about what the flowers would be, and Ari, who probably knew each one, hadn’t labeled any of the bundles.

Clusters, she finally decided, then went to work.

She was finishing the row of marigolds in the front of the bed when she noticed Ari leaning against the garden wall, smiling at her.

“I’m going to move the mare so she can graze in a fresh piece of the meadow. Then I’ll see what I can find for us to eat. I’m afraid it will be simple fare. I haven’t spent time cooking these past few days.”

“Simple sounds wonderful,” Dianna said, getting to her feet. Noticing a gold chain around Ari’s neck that disappeared under the tunic, she realized this was a good way to ask a few questions.

“Has your Fae Lord returned?” she asked.

Ari blushed. “Yes, he’s been back to visit.”

“Since he’s Fae, they must be interesting visits.”

“Y-yes. Yes, they are. I’ll see to the mare.”

The blushes and stammers were amusing, but the unhappiness in Ari’s eyes was too much like the troubled look she’d seen in Lucian’s for Dianna to let it go. Was the girl still fretting about the custom of gifting? If that was all, she might be able to do something about that.

As Ari turned away, Dianna reached out and hooked a finger under the gold chain just above where it disappeared under the tunic. “Are you wearing one of his gifts? May I see it?” Before Ari could answer, Dianna ran her finger along the chain to draw the pendant out.

It was a five-pointed star within a circle. Never having seen anything like it, Dianna was certain that this wasn’t a gift from Lucian. Why was Ari wearing this instead of one of her lover’s gifts? “What is it?”

“It’s a pentagram,” Ari said quietly.

Dianna felt a tremor go through the girl. She glanced at Ari’s face. The girl was almost as pale as when she’d seen the cloud dragon.

Dianna waited.

“It’s a witch’s symbol.”

Dianna dropped the pendant and took a step back without being conscious of doing either of those things. “You— You’re a witch?”

“Yes.”

Dianna felt dizzy, but she wasn’t sure if the cause was fear or rage. “You’re one of the wiccanfae?”

“That was an old name for us. It hasn’t been used for a long time.”

It’s being used now, Dianna thought bitterly. But. . .

Ari was a witch. Ari. How could this girl be one of the creatures who were destroying Tir Alainn?

Dianna licked her lips, which were suddenly painfully dry. “You have magic.”

“I have magic.”

Dianna studied her opponent. Ari was no longer a blushing, stammering girl. She was a young woman wrapping herself in a cloak of quiet pride and dignity.

“Would you like me to saddle your horse now?” Ari asked.

She expects me to leave, expects me to run. Which means I can do neither right now. “What does it mean?” She tipped her head to indicate the pentagram.

“The lower four points stand for the four branches of the Mother—earth, air, water, and fire. The fifth point is for the spirit.” Ari paused. “My gifts come from the branches of earth and fire.”

“Your gifts?” Dianna said slowly.

“My . . . magic.”

“What can you do with it?”

“Well, I can light a fire without using flint and steel, and I can ready the land for planting without needing a plow.”

Dianna moved away so that she could lean against the garden wall. “If you’ll pardon me for saying it, it doesn’t sound like much.”

A small smile curved Ari’s lips. “It is if you don’t have flint and steel handy—or own a plow.”

True enough, but that didn’t explain what was happening to Tir Alainn. Since she was facing the cottage, Dianna frowned at the seeds she’d just planted. “Why do you plant flowers for the Lady of the Moon?”

“Because she’s the Queen of the Witches.”

“What?”

“We follow the turning of the moon, and the turning of the seasons. The moon is our guide. She is always constant and ever-changing. The Mother’s wiser daughter, and our older sister.”

I’m not that much older than you, Dianna thought crossly. “She isn’t always called the Lady of the Moon.”

Ari nodded. “There is the other side of her. When she rides as the Huntress, she isn’t always kind. But she’s supposed to be our protector, the one we can call on for help.” Bitterness aged her face. “I don’t think she cares about protecting anything or anyone anymore.”

The Huntress cares very much about protecting something, Dianna thought fiercely. And I will do whatever I must in order to save Tir Alainn.

She had to get away now, had to have time to think. Either she was standing beside a dangerous enemy or someone who might, somehow, be able to help the Fae protect Tir Alainn.

“I do need to go now. I have a ways to travel.”

Ari’s smile was polite . . . and distant. “Yes, of course. I’ll go saddle the mare.”

Dianna hurried into the cottage to change clothes. As she stripped out of the garments Ari had given her, she noticed the amethyst necklace again. A chill went through her, biting as deep as a winter storm.

Did Lucian know that Ari was a witch? He couldn’t. He would have said something. He knew what was at stake. He wouldn’t have said nothing. Was he in as much danger as Tir Alainn? Why had he fixed his interest on this female? Had it really been his own choice, or was this a trap to somehow ensnare the Lightbringer? And how could she ask him without making him defensive and difficult? Surely . . . surely he wouldn’t allow lust to cloud his mind to that extent.

In the normal way of things, no, he wouldn’t, Dianna thought as she put on her riding habit. But if he was caught in a lust over which he had no control, that could explain why he was looking so troubled lately.

Dianna swept out of the bedroom, anxious to return to Tir Alainn. The answers the Fae were seeking could be right here—if they dared to ask the questions.

Something’s wrong, Neall thought, urging Darcy into a canter as soon as he saw Ari. He knew her well enough to recognize, even at a distance, that she was distressed about something. And the way her face lit up when she saw him warmed his heart and made him anxious.

Except that, now that he was closer, she didn’t look distressed. She looked like she was struggling to hold in a belly laugh that could be heard in Ridgeley.

He couldn’t think about that right now. Darcy was gathering himself to jump the low wall—which would put the gelding and those big hooves smack in the middle of the newly planted garden. Which wouldn’t earn endearments for either of them, no matter how pleased Ari was to see him.

Why was she so pleased?

He reined in hard enough to warn Darcy he meant it. The gelding responded so fast he almost went over the animal’s head. Of course, Darcy was also standing right in front of Ari with his head already thrust over the wall for the petting he expected.

My horse and I are in love with the same female, Neall thought sourly as he dismounted on legs that were a little shaky. And he doesn’t even have the balls to get excited about it, which, I suppose, is a blessing. I wonder how Ari would react to an amorous horse. Mother’s mercy.

“Neall, I’m glad you came by,” Ari said while she petted the gelding.

“What’s wrong?” Neall demanded, feeling testy now that he could see there was nothing wrong with Ari.

Ari hesitated. “Behind the cottage—”

“What? A snake? A wolf?” Royce? That mysterious lover who still had a claim on her?

“No, a—”

Another woman’s voice carried through the air quite clearly. “Stand still, you four-legged piece of misery!”

Neall took a step back and watched Ari cautiously.

“It’s a gentry lady,” Ari said.

At least she sounds apologetic about it, Neall thought, having a good idea of what was coming next. Being related to Odella, he had enough experience with gentry ladies to know they could be the meanest creatures alive, and this one sounded riled.

“She stopped to visit, and—”

A pungent curse filled the air.

“—she’s having a little trouble mounting.”

“She rode sidesaddle? Here?”

Her eyes dancing with laughter, Ari pressed her lips together and nodded.

“I’d rather face a snake. A big, venomous snake. Or a wolf.”

“That’s quite sensible of you, Neall. It would even be sensible if there were such creatures in this part of Sylvalan. But it won’t help Mistress Dianna get mounted—and she has been trying for a while now. The mare’s a bit sulky about being saddled up again and apparently decided the chopping block Dianna was going to use as a mounting block was something to avoid.”

“Why didn’t you offer to give her a leg up?”

“I did, but she said I wasn’t strong enough to boost her into the saddle.”

Neall snorted. The woman obviously didn’t know Ari. “And I should go back there because . . . ?”

“You’re a man and, therefore, stronger and braver than I am,” Ari replied sweetly.

Neall just stared at her. “You owe me for this.”

“I’ll hold your horse.”

“As if you’re going to convince him to move anytime soon,” he muttered, taking the longest way around the cottage that he possibly could. “If you petted me the way you pet him, I wouldn’t move either.” He hoped the day would come when she did exactly that. And come soon.

As he rounded the corner of the cottage, he saw the mare sidle away from the chopping block at the same moment the woman tried to put her left foot in the stirrup. Since she was holding on to the saddle, the woman got pulled off the block instead of landing on her face.

“You’re dog meat,” the woman snarled.

Neal winced. He recognized the mare as one of Ahern’s, and knew well enough how the old man felt about anyone threatening an animal he had bred and trained. The mare wasn’t one of the special horses Ahern raised, but all of his animals were prime stock.

The woman had her back to him so he couldn’t see her face, but he knew she wasn’t from one of the local families. And he hadn’t heard of a lady named Dianna staying with any of the gentry families in the neighborhood. If one of her acquaintances had a guest, Odella would have already paid a call in order to pass judgment on the stranger’s sense of fashion and family connections. So she probably wasn’t a gentry lady, regardless of what she had told Ari. But she had gotten a horse from Ahern, which meant the man approved of her—at least to some extent.

“May I give you a leg up?” Neall asked.

She whipped around to face him.

Neall’s vision blurred. Not everything. Not everywhere. Just her face blurred, as if he were seeing two faces, one beneath the other, the same and yet slightly different.

That used to happen to him all the time when he was a small child and his mother’s friend Ashk came to visit, but it rarely occurred after he’d come to live with Baron Felston. Well, it had happened that once, when a traveling minstrel stopped at Ridgeley and the baron had taken him and Royce to the tavern to hear the man play. And it still happened occasionally when he was at Ahern’s farm, but only when he was so tired he wasn’t thinking clearly. A crowded, smoky room or dusky light at the end of a hard day were easy explanations for a moment of blurred vision. But neither of those things explained why he was experiencing it now.

“You’re staring at me,” the woman said. “Do you find this amusing?” Her voice held the cool arrogance any gentry lady’s would have when caught in an awkward situation, but there was a dangerous undercurrent that made him sure she would hurt him badly if she was seriously provoked.

Shivering, Neall rubbed his eyes, then blinked a couple of times. When he focused on her again, he saw an attractive stranger. He didn’t know her, and he was equally certain he’d seen her before in a different place or under different circumstances that made her now seem unfamiliar. Like a lady’s maid dressing up in one of her mistress’s old gowns and trying to pass herself off as a lady to someone who didn’t know her. Was that all this was? A lady’s maid who could pretend well enough but still didn’t get it quite right?

“Are you amused?” Her voice had gotten colder.

Neall shook his head to clear it, then walked over to her—and tried to shake the uneasiness that increased with every step he took toward her. Get her out of here, away from Ari, and then think it through. “My apologies, Mistress. I was dizzy for a moment. Here. Let me give you a leg up.” He bent slightly and laced his fingers to receive her foot.

When she didn’t respond, he looked up. She was staring at him as if he, too, seemed familiar but she couldn’t quite place him.

Finally accepting his assistance, she was mounted before the mare could decide to play any more games.

“If you’re going to ride alone, you should ride astride,” he said, checking to make sure her foot was secure in the stirrup.

“It isn’t ladylike,” she replied coolly.

“Even gentry ladies are practical enough not to use a sidesaddle when they don’t have an escort to help them mount and dismount.”

“Indeed.” She frowned a little, as if chewing over his statement.

Not a lady’s maid, Neall decided. An upper servant would know it was acceptable for a lady to ride astride, if for no other reason than knowing different garments were worn for riding astride. And she wasn’t gentry. He was certain of that. So what, exactly, was she? And why was she in Brightwood?

Neall stepped away from the mare. “Blessings of the day to you, Mistress.”

He wasn’t sure why he used his mother’s—and Ari’s—usual greeting. Maybe just to see if she recognized it as a witch’s salute rather than a gentry one.

Her light brown eyes narrowed. The look she gave him was thoughtful—and a little puzzled. She tipped her head in acknowledgment, then commanded the mare to walk on.

He watched her, moving enough to keep her in sight while she crossed the road and rode across the fields to Ahern’s farm.

Ashk, why does your face look blurry when you first come to our house?

She stared at him for so long and in such a way that, for the first time, he felt afraid to be alone with her.

“You can see through the clamor?” she asked.

Later, he had asked his father what “clamor” meant. When told it meant “noise,” he’d puzzled for a while over why he could see through noise, then decided Ashk had been teasing him. Since it only happened when he saw her, he never mentioned it again.

So what was it about this stranger who was interested in Ari that made him think of Ashk after so many years?

Too edgy to sit, Dianna paced one of the smaller rooms in the Clan house until Lyrra and Aiden hurried to join her.

“Have you seen Lucian?” she asked.

“I’m surprised you didn’t pass each other going through the Veil,” Aiden said. “I guess he was feeling randy enough that he didn’t want to wait until sunset.”

Dianna stopped pacing. Couldn’t move at all now. “He’s already gone? How could he just leave?”

“He’s been doing exactly that since the Summer Moon,” Lyrra said, puzzled. She shifted her voice to a soothing tone. “I know you’ve been concerned about him becoming too . . . attached . . . to this female, but I’m sure it’s nothing more than an indulgence in carnal pleasure. Besides, it will be the dark of the moon in a few more days, and then the affair will be over.”

“It’s what happens when it’s over that concerns me,” Dianna said.

“Why?” Aiden asked sharply.

Dianna took a deep breath to steady herself. “Because the woman who lives in the cottage, the woman Lucian has taken as a lover, is one of the wiccanfae. She is a witch.”

Silence.

Aiden shook his head and began to swear, quietly and viciously.

“How— Are you sure, Dianna?” Lyrra asked, sinking down on the nearest bench.

“She told me. When I was there today, I saw a pendant she wears. A pentagram. A witch’s symbol.”

“Lucian has said nothing,” Aiden said savagely. “Nothing.”

“I don’t think he knows,” Dianna said. “I’m sure of it.”

“That doesn’t make it any better, does it?” Aiden snapped.

“Why would the wiccanfae want to hurt us?” Lyrra asked.

“Haven’t you ever wanted to hurt a lover who had tired of you?” Aiden said so bitterly Dianna and Lyrra stared at him. “What better way to hurt a Fae lover than to destroy a piece of Tir Alainn and all the Fae within it.”

“We don’t know the Clans who are lost have been destroyed,” Lyrra protested.

“We don’t know anything about them. There’s no word from them, no way to reach them.” Aiden paced the room. “There are enough Fae males who indulge themselves in the human world, and if a pendant is the only way to distinguish a witch from any other human female, they wouldn’t have known the difference. What if what’s happening to Tir Alainn is nothing more than the vengeance of spurned lovers?”

“That’s enough,” Dianna said firmly. “The only thing we know about the witches is what is being sung or told in stories.”

“And none of that is good,” Aiden said.

“I recall that you found those songs so offensive you used your gift as the Bard to strip away the musical skills of anyone who played them.”

Aiden glared at her but kept silent.

“I agree that the witches might have a kind of magic that could close a road through the Veil, and they may be the reason Tir Alainn is in danger.” Dianna sat on the bench beside Lyrra, but kept her eyes on Aiden. “We’ve lost more Clans since the Summer Moon, and we’re no closer to finding out why. Now we have a chance to get some answers.”

“From a witch?” Lyrra asked, sounding skeptical.

“Yes, from a witch,” Dianna replied, ignoring Aiden’s succinct comments. “She’s alone and she’s young . . . and I think she’s lonely. If we were to befriend her, she would have no reason to harm us, and might even be willing to help us.”

“If we befriend her and then discover she is a danger to Tir Alainn, what do we do then, Huntress?” Aiden said.

Dianna felt her throat tighten. She knew what Aiden expected her to say. She knew what she had to say, what she would have said without a second thought even a day ago . . . before she had been told she was called the Queen of the Witches and was considered their protector.

It makes no difference. It can’t.

“If she is a danger to us,” Dianna said quietly, “then the Huntress will take care of it—and she won’t be a danger anymore.”