The Pillars of the World Read online

  “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 tave
rn 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?