The House of Gaian ta-3 Page 22

  "No!"

  "Yes!"

  "Where is she?"

  Aiden shook his head.

  Lucian stared at Aiden. "You went west to find the Hunter, didn't you? You brought that bitch down on us."

  "She would have come regardless. After the Black Coats attacked her Clan, she would have come east to fight them whether I found her or not."

  "You wouldn't have stayed long in one place while you were looking for the Hunter. And you would have wanted to stay, at least a day or two, if you'd found Ari first."

  Aiden didn't dare say anything. Here was the anger he'd seen over the past year—the sneering anger that had cost them all so much.

  "The Bretonwood Clan. Isn't that where the Hunter comes from? Yes, I'm sure that's the Clan that was mentioned. Does Bretonwood have a witch to anchor the shining road in the Old Place? A witch who should be living at Brightwood?"

  Aiden said nothing.

  "Just as well you don't answer. You lied to me, Bard."

  "No more than you've lied to me this evening. You used my heart against me, Lucian. You used our kinship as a weapon. I won't forget that, nor will I forgive it."

  "And I won't forgive your betrayal, Aiden. You should have supported Dianna and me. But that doesn't matter now. Once Ari is back at Brightwood, Dianna will regain her full power, and we'll take care of that usurper who stole her place as the Lady of the Moon." Lucian took a step toward the door.

  "No!" Aiden grabbed Lucian's arms.

  Heat filled his hands. Searing, staggering heat. He screamed as they burst into flames.

  Lucian shoved him. He fell against the bed, scrambled wildly to pull the covers around his burning hands and smother the flames. He heard Lucian fling the door open and run down the corridor.

  He howled out his anguish, but he couldn't have said if the cry was for the pain in his hands or his heart.

  Half-listening to the story Lyrra was telling Morphia, Sheridan, and Morag, Ashk moved closer to the door. Her keen hearing was picking up the sound of male voices—arguing. Who was arguing?

  She opened the door a crack. Morphia and Sheridan had the room next to this one, which she was sharing with Morag. Aiden and Lyrra were across the hall from Morphia and Sheridan.

  When Lyrra knocked on the door a little while ago, she said Aiden wanted a little privacy. But the voices were coming from their room. Who was Aiden talking to? Why not tell Lyrra he wanted to talk to someone instead of implying he wanted some time alone?

  Unless he didn't want anyone to know he'd arranged to talk to someone. And there was only one person she could think of whom Aiden would prefer to meet in secret.

  Her stomach tightened. She turned away from the door. She didn't want to lose her trust in Aiden, not only because she liked him but because the Bard was a strong ally.

  Then she heard a scream of pain, heard a door flung open.

  Whipping her own door open, she saw Lucian running down the corridor to the staircase.

  Hearing an anguished cry, she rushed into the other room, then froze for a moment when she saw Aiden half sprawled on the bed, a thin curl of smoke rising from the covers bunched over his hands.

  She was across the room, grabbing the pitcher of water, before Lyrra reached the doorway and screamed, "Aiden!"

  Lyrra stumbled in her haste to reach Aiden, catching herself before she fell against him. She rested her hands on his shoulders, her eyes full of panic as she stared at the covers hiding his hands.

  Ashk tugged at the covers just enough to get past the top layer, then poured the water over the rest. The sheet was charred, but she couldn't see Aiden's hands yet.

  Sheridan burst, into the room. "Ashk?"

  "More water. Now!"

  Gasping, Aiden said, "I'm sorry," over and over.

  "Who did this?" Ashk snapped. "Was it Lucian?"

  Aiden nodded.

  Sheridan returned, carrying two water pitchers from other rooms. As Ashk grabbed one from him, she saw Morag standing in the doorway.

  "Where is Lucian?" Morag asked.

  Ashk bared her teeth. "Who cares where—" She stopped. Stared at Morag. Then she looked at Aiden. "Does he know about Ari? Does he know where to find her?"

  "I didn't tell him," Aiden gasped. "Only that she was alive. But he guessed . . . because I'm traveling with you."

  Ashk looked up.

  Morag was already gone.

  One thing at a time. "Get the basin and fill it with water," she told Sheridan. When the basin was on the bed and filled, she reached for the sodden cloth over Aiden's hands.

  Shuddering, Aiden closed his eyes. Lyrra turned her head.

  Carefully, Ashk lifted the cloth—and sighed with relief. Lightly gripping his wrists, she raised his hands high enough for Sheridan to push the basin under them. Then she gently lowered Aiden's hands into the water.

  Not what she'd feared. Nothing like she'd feared. A few blisters were rising, and his hands were a bright red. She'd seen skin that red when young farmers foolishly stripped to the waist and worked in the fields all day early in planting season. She doubted Aiden would be comfortable for a few days, but he would be all right.

  "Stay with him." She ran out of the room and down the corridor, passing Morphia and the Clan healer the Sleep Sister must have fetched.

  Down the stairs and through the communal rooms. Out of the Clan house, running through the gardens until she reached the stable.

  "Have you seen the Lightbringer?" she panted. Her anger grew fangs when no one answered until one of her own men stepped forward.

  "He came out of the Clan house a little while ago," the huntsman said. "He changed to his other form and galloped toward the bridge that connects to the Clan just west of here." He shrugged. "We thought he'd decided to guest elsewhere tonight."

  "What about the Gatherer?"

  Now he looked uncomfortable. "She saddled her horse in a hurry and headed out in the same direction.

  Ashk stared at him, a cold lump growing in her belly.

  He shifted his feet, uneasy now. "She didn't have her saddlebags. Said there wasn't time to fetch them when we offered to get them for her, so we made sure she had a canteen for water and a small bag of grain for the horse. She wouldn't wait for anything else."

  Ashk nodded. "You did what you could."

  She walked back to the Clan house, fighting the urge to ride out after Morag. Lucian had the advantage—at least until he reached the western Clans. After that. . .

  She couldn't catch up to them. Foolish to even try. Besides, the waxing moon was growing larger every night—and her task was still ahead of her, in the east.

  As she reached the terrace, she stopped and looked toward the west. "Find him, Morag," she said softly. "Find him . . . and do what needs to be done."

  Chapter 26

  waxing moon

  Mihail gritted his teeth against the pain from the burns on his shoulder and back. His first mate was a good sailor, but right now they needed him at the wheel, needed his connection to the sea to draw every breath of speed he could coax from Sweet Selkie. When he was at the wheel, he felt like a bridge between wind and water, knew exactly how to turn his ship to keep the sails full and fast.

  The Black Coats' ships were still gaining on them. Bigger ships. More sails. They would catch up to them. Sooner or later. He couldn't think about that. He had to keep his mind on his ship, on the sea, on the wind.

  His first mate stepped close to him, and said quietly, "We don't have enough fresh water to see us through the journey. Not enough food, either. The smaller boats that fled with us couldn't have taken on enough supplies for the people they're carrying."

  "I know," Mihail replied. "But if we stop anywhere, the Black Coats will have us."

  "And if we don't, the lack of water will finish us off for them."

  "I know." Mihail swallowed, wishing violently that his first mate hadn't mentioned water. "We can't lead the Black Coats to Sealand. We can't lead them to safe harbor." Can't
lead them to Jenny and the boys. "That big island we pass on our way north, the one across from the western bay. What have you heard about it?"

  The first mate rubbed his chin and gave Mihail an uneasy look. "Awhile back, when it was still safe enough to visit a tavern in Seahaven, I had a drink with a man who usually sails out of Wellingsford. He said the folks north of there call it Selkie Island. Said it's not a place to go unless you've no choice. Strange folk there."

  "Fae?"

  "Maybe. He wasn't sure—or wouldn't say. Just said the captains he'd shipped with preferred to stay closer to the mainland shore, but if a captain spotted a lot of seals that seemed a bit too interested in his ship, he'd lower some sails and call out to any fishing boat nearby, asking if they could deliver a small gift to the Lord of the island. Said the captains always kept a little cargo in easy reach for just that reason."

  "Did the fishing boats take the gifts?"

  "Aye, they did—and most headed straight back for that island. Safe waters. That's what the man said. Sea pirates are afraid to sail within sight of that island. Those that do usually don't sail away again."

  Safe waters. They needed safe waters. Could they find food and fresh water on the island? Could they find any help against the Black Coats?

  He looked up at the sky sliding toward twilight. There were still birds riding the air currents. Were they real birds, or were the Fae already watching them? If there were Fae on Selkie Island, did they know the Fae on Ronat Isle?

  Safe waters. They needed safe waters.

  "We'll adjust our course," Mihail said. "We'll head for that island. If the Fae do live there, maybe they'll help us." Maybe.

  Right now, it gave him a grain of hope—and a grain was more than he'd had an hour ago.

  Chapter 27

  waxing moon

  Despair. Fear. Anger. Determination.

  As Liam stood in front of his family's home and watched Varden gallop away, those emotions churned inside him, a messy stew of feelings. He turned and hurried back to where Donovan waited near the stables with the horses and guards. If Varden had shown up a few minutes later, they would have already left to check the tenant farms. Of course, one of the huntsmen would have found them, but the delay would have cost them all.

  Maybe it wouldn't make any difference in the end, considering what Varden had just told him.

  As he closed the distance to where Donovan waited, anger rose to the surface, coating the fear.

  "Mother's tits, Donovan," Liam said, his voice sharp. "Why are you still here?"

  Donovan gave him a mild look. "I was waiting for you. Didn't seem right to visit your tenants without you."

  "That's right," Liam panted. Muscle and bone clamped around his lungs and wouldn't let him draw a full breath. "They're my tenants. This is my land. You should have gone home days ago. Why didn't you go home?" Despair churned up through the anger.

  "Gwenn insists there's something she needs to do here and won't leave. And I won't go without Gwenn." Donovan stiffened. "What's wrong, Liam? What did Varden tell you?"

  Liam rubbed his hands over his face. "Armed men, marching this way. Three hundred men. Maybe more. Not a whole army . . ." But enough. More than enough. "Varden has sent one of his men back to Tir Alainn to warn the Fae . . . and to get any other Fae at the Clan house who have any skill with weapons. He sent another man to Squire Thurston's. Thurston's closer to the village. He'll have time to get the villagers assembled in case. . ."

  "In case?" Donovan narrowed his eyes. "Where are those men heading, Liam?"

  "Here. They're heading right for us." Liam closed his eyes. Despair would gain nothing. Anger was the better weapon, but the despair kept drowning anger's fire before it had a chance to kindle. At least his mother and Brooke were at the Old Place. He didn't have to worry about them being trapped here. And maybe there was a way to keep them safe. "Twenty Fae, your guards, and the two Willowsbrook guards assigned to protect me. Less than thirty men against three hundred."

  "There are the men at the Old Place," Donovan countered. "The villagers. The farmers."

  "And leave those places vulnerable? It's me they want." If they take me, if they kill me, maybe it will be enough. Maybe they'll leave my people, my family, alone.

  "That's right. Eliminate the baron, eliminate the leader, and the county splinters into each village trying to defend itself instead of joining together into a large-enough force to repel an attack. They won't stop with you, Liam. Oh, I've come to know you well enough during the time I've been here to know you're considering it. A sacrifice offered to appease. But it won't appease. They'll keep on killing until they're stopped—or until there's nothing and no one left here to destroy."

  "If you go now, you and Gwenn could stay ahead of them, could reach the Mother's Hills before . . ." Liam swallowed hard. Too easy to picture Old Willowsbrook looking like the places he'd thought were fever dreams when Padrick had helped him get home. Too easy to see faces, familiar and loved, on bodies that had been— No. He couldn't think about it.

  "I don't want to die here," Donovan said quietly. "But we're not fighting just to save Willowsbrook. We're fighting to save Sylvalan. In the end, it doesn't matter where I pick up the sword . . . as long as I pick up the sword."

  Hoofbeats. Heading toward them.

  The guards whirled, short swords in their hands.

  Breanna and Gwenn reined in—and Liam felt the heat of power under his skin, burning away despair and clearing his mind. He had a weapon at his fingertips that the enemy didn't know about. A weapon that would help even the odds.

  Calm settled over him, although his heart still beat too fast as he walked over to the sister who had become dear to him.

  "You shouldn't be here now," he said, looking at Breanna. Hoping he'd be able to look at her again.

  "You're not going to stand alone," Breanna said quietly. "I will not let my brother stand alone."

  They'd been in this place before, when the nighthunters had first attacked and he'd refused to leave her, refused to let her sacrifice herself to give him a chance to escape. He should have known she would stand with him.

  "You two," he said, flicking a finger at the two women. "Get the servants out of the house. Have them take whatever food they can put together quickly, and get them out. They aren't fighters. There's nothing they can do here." When Breanna turned, he grabbed her arm. "Fetch my bow while you're in there."

  Breanna gave him a cool stare. "Do I look like your valet?"

  He grinned. He couldn't help it. "My valet never fetches my bow. That's a loving sister's duty."

  Her only response was a grunt as she stepped away from him and ran to catch up to Gwenn, who was dashing up the steps to the front door of the manor.

  "That's what I like most about Breanna," Donovan said dryly. "She's so articulate."

  "She can say a lot while saying little," Liam agreed.

  The small banter and Breanna's presence settled him, grounded him. He would do what he could, protect what he could—and hope they were still together when the sun set on this day.

  Brisk orders now to saddle horses, hitch others to wagons. If they had to retreat and abandon the manor house, which Liam expected they would have to do, it would be easier to escape on horseback and regroup at another spot. The rest of the horses and other livestock—the few cows and chickens—were set free. It would be a headache to round them up again, but he wasn't going to leave them as easy supplies to feed the enemy.

  It didn't surprise him that most of the men who worked in his stables left with the younger servants when he gave them the choice. They were, after all, his father's men and felt no loyalty to him. It didn't surprise him that Arthur stayed, looking pale and grim as he took up a position near the horses he loved, a pitchfork in his hands.

  What did surprise him was how many of the servants stayed, armed with fireplace pokers and the longest of the kitchen knives.

  Not surprising, Breanna told him. The house servants were Eli
nore's people, and he was Elinore's son.

  To her, it was as simple as that.

  He had a bad moment when he caught movement among the trees close to the manor until he spotted Varden and realized the Fae huntsmen were moving quietly to take up their positions.

  Maybe that would be better. Move up to the low stone wall at the top of the drive and meet the enemy on the road.

  Then it was too late to move. Crows exploded from the trees. A hawk screamed.

  And Liam saw the dust kicked up by hundreds of feet as the gentry leaders on horseback turned into the long drive that led up to the manor. The flood of men behind them ran up the drive, arrows already nocked in their bows.

  He took up a position just inside the manor's half-open door, hoping the wood was thick enough to give him some protection—especially since Breanna was with him.

  He felt the power of fire flow into him, making his skin hot and his fingers tingle. He felt a light wind and knew Breanna was gathering the branch of air.

  Closer. Closer.

  He nocked an arrow. Drew back the bowstring, taking aim at the first man on horseback. Waited.

  "There's a Black Coat among them," Breanna whispered fiercely.

  "You take him," Liam whispered back.

  She sighted, then shook her head. "Can't. He moved. I'd have to step out into the open to try for him."

  The horsemen reined in. The men flowed in a double line to either side of them.

  "Baron Liam!" one of the horsemen yelled. "Surrender now, and your people will not be harmed. You have my word on that."

  "None of the men, you mean," Liam muttered. "You don't consider women to be people. You bastard."

  "Liam! If you don't surrender, your people will suffer for it! What is your answer?"

  "This." Liam let the arrow fly. It hit the horseman high in the chest.

  Horses screamed. Reared as arrows flew from the trees and the barn's hayloft, answered by the enemy archers. He caught a glimpse of the black-coated Inquisitor. Heard someone shouting to fire the catapult.

  "I can't see from here," Breanna said. "I just can't see."