The Pillars of the World ta-1 Page 23

  “Can they be destroyed?” Morag asked.

  “They can die like anything else.”

  Hearing the message—that Fae could die as well— Morag thought it best to go back to something the dryad didn’t hate. “So the witches know the key to using the power in the land, the power that anchors the roads to this world.”

  “The witches are the key.” The dryad looked thoughtful. “The Fae can anchor the roads, too,” she added grudgingly, “but it takes so many of you to do what one of them can do. You may be the Mother’s Children, but they are the Daughters.” She looked uneasy, as if she’d said too much. “I don’t want to talk to you anymore.” She pressed her hand against the tree and disappeared.

  “That didn’t tell us much,” Cullan said.

  “Didn’t it?” Morag replied softly. “There are riddles within riddles here, but one thing is clear: The roads are closing because the witches are being killed.”

  “You only have the dryad’s word for that,” Cullan said.

  Morphia gave Cullan a troubled look. She turned and hugged Morag, then whispered in her sister’s ear, “I know he didn’t stay because of me, even though I wished it for a moment. I also know who did stay in order to find me.” She stepped back. “What do we do?”

  “You’re going to take these children to our Clan. Find the nearest road that looks safe and travel through Tir Alainn. Don’t linger with any of the nearby Clans. If these Inquisitors are moving from place to place, there may be other roads closing soon. But warn those Clans about the fog. If they see it, they should go down the road as quickly as they can. And if there are witches still living in the Old Place that anchors their road, they should do what they can to protect them.”

  Morphia looked at her. They both knew the Fae might heed the warning about the fog, especially coming from someone who had seen it, but they wouldn’t spend time in the human world protecting the witches.

  Not until someone like the Huntress or the Lightbringer commanded them to.

  “And what are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to take the witches to the Shadowed Veil so that they can go on to the Summerland. Then I’m going to find the Bard to see what he can make of these riddles.”

  “I’ll join you there as soon as I can.”

  Morag didn’t ask Morphia if Cullan would be traveling with her. A sister didn’t ask such things—especially when she was fairly sure of the answer.

  Morag watched them sort out riders and horses. So few of them. She didn’t know if the others were dead or lost in the fog, living but trapped. If they still lived, how long could they survive that way?

  When they rode away from the glade, the sun stallion and a handful of mares were still there, grazing. She saw Morphia look back once, but none of the others did.

  “Are you thirsty?” a quiet voice asked. The dryad’s head appeared out of the trunk of her tree. “There’s a stream nearby, and the water is clean.”

  “Yes, I am. Thank you.”

  The dryad stepped out of her tree. “I’ll show you.”

  Morag glanced at the dead tree nearby. “Can you leave your tree unprotected?”

  “For a little while.”

  The dryad headed into the woods. Morag and the dark horse followed.

  When they reached the stream, she let the dark horse drink its fill before she knelt and drank. She sat back on her heels. “What will happen to the Old Place now that the witches are gone?”

  The dryad smiled sadly. “The same thing that has happened in the other Old Places. The Small Folk aren’t strong enough to hold it, so the magic will die.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  “Hello, Ari,” Lucian said. It was barely midmorning, and she already looked sweaty and bedraggled. He liked seeing her that way when they were through with each other in bed, but it was less appealing when it was caused by work.

  “Blessings of the day to you, Lucian,” Ari replied, stepping out of the cow shed. She set two empty buckets beside it, a gesture that clearly indicated she was putting aside necessary work to entertain a guest.

  There was uncertainty in her eyes, and a little wariness, but not the warm welcome he had hoped for, even expected.

  “What brings you here?” Ari asked.

  “I came to see you.” When she seemed more troubled than pleased, he added with a suggestive smile, “I thought we might go for a ride.”

  She blushed, and he wondered if she was remembering the night she had ridden him as a stallion or one of the nights she had ridden him as a man. He’d been thinking of his other form and how one kind of ride could lead to another. He’d told himself he would act with restraint, but now that he was with her again, that wasn’t going to be as easy as he’d thought.

  “Did you send the Fae Lord?” Ari asked abruptly.

  His eyebrows rose. “The Fae Lord?”

  “The hawk who brought the rabbit.”

  He gave himself the pleasure of considering what fire could do to wings, but he decided he’d let Falco try to explain before reacting. It couldn’t have been anyone else from the Clan. Not in that form. But it did no harm to let her think he’d had a part in it, so he shrugged, and said negligently, “It was nothing.” Especially since he hadn’t known about it. Then he thought of a reason for her wariness and the less-than-enthusiastic welcome. “Did he upset you?”

  “He startled me a little, but the rabbit was most welcome.” Ari smiled, humor lighting her eyes. “Especially since Merle doesn’t eat vegetables.”

  “Merle.” Jealousy burned in him along with lust.

  Ari gestured toward the empty bench behind the cottage.

  Wondering what game she played, it took him a moment to notice the puppy sleeping under the bench—not because the puppy was hidden but because it looked so at home his eyes had passed over it, as if it was something that had always been there. He’d seen that mongrel pup in Tir Alainn only a few days before and knew without a doubt how it had ended up with Ari. What he didn’t know was why.

  Falco he could deal with easily. He would have to take more care when confronting his sister. But both those discussions could wait.

  Stepping up to Ari, he cupped her face in his hands, and bent to kiss her. “I’ve missed you.” He’d intended it to be a friendly kiss, but hunger snuck in, and the kiss turned possessive, demanding, and hot. He felt her weaken and yield.

  Then she pulled away, stumbling as she backed away from him.

  “No,” she said.

  “Why not?” he demanded, the heat in his loins sparking his temper. “You want me. You can’t deny that. And I want you. So why should we turn away from the pleasure we can give each other?”

  She didn’t argue, and she didn’t yield. She just watched him too closely.

  Frustrated, he raked his fingers through his hair. “Men get angry when they’re denied.” Before he could add that it was bluster edged by frustration and was nothing more than another form of persuasion, Ari said, “The Fae also get angry when they’re denied. When the man is Fae, does it become twice as dangerous to refuse him?”

  He shifted, ready to take a step toward her.

  She tensed, prepared to flee.

  That shocked him enough to make him step back and regain some control—and to remember that she had little experience in the games between men and women. “If you’re going to refuse me, at least tell me why.”

  “It’s not the same now, Lucian, and I—”

  “You didn’t welcome me to your bed only out of obligation,” he snapped. “You enjoyed what we did there are much as I did.”

  “I don’t deny that, but there are other things that have to be considered.”

  “What things?” Then he knew. “You mean there’s someone else who has to be considered. Who is he?”

  She shook her head. “The point is, it wouldn’t be right for me to dally with you while he’s waiting for my answer.”

  Dally. Dally. It was one thing for him to consider this nothing m
ore than a dalliance. It didn’t sit well for her to call it so—especially when there was a rival waiting to take his place.

  “You’re considering having an affair with him?”

  “I’m considering marrying him.”

  If she’d struck him, it wouldn’t have stunned him more. “You’d actually give yourself to one of these . .. humans . . . instead of being with me?” It wouldn’t do. It simply wouldn’t do. “Ari, think about what you’re doing, think about what you’re turning away from.” When she didn’t seem convinced, he added, “I care about you,” knowing it was the sharpest weapon that could be used against a woman’s heart.

  “I— I care about you, too, Lucian, but . . .” She looked troubled, torn. “I need to work.” She hurried to the front of the cottage, disappeared around the corner.

  Lucian walked over to the well and leaned against it.

  When he’d come down the road through the Veil a short while ago, it had been with the intention of persuading Ari to continue a pleasant affair for a while longer. Now that he knew another man wanted to claim her in a way that would take her completely out of his life, he wanted more.

  But how much more? Not marriage. The Fae didn’t have such chains between men and women. There were some who remained with the same partners for years, but they never promised not to accept pleasure if it was offered elsewhere. Why should they?

  He had to think carefully about what he wanted— and what he was willing to offer. Right now, though, he had to overcome any reluctance she might have about him.

  He went to find Ari. Just as he reached the corner of the cottage, he heard Ari talking to someone. He stopped, staying out of sight.

  “You must know something to deal with this,” a woman said, her voice rising sharply.

  “I’m sorry, Odella,” Ari said, “but I know of no spell or potion that would help you.”

  “You must,” the woman insisted. “Your kind know about these things.”

  “There may be witches who know how to do that kind of cleansing, but I don’t.” Ari hesitated. “Perhaps Granny Gwynn would know something?”

  “That one.” The woman sounded furious—and frightened. “Bonnie got a draught from her to take care of things and she’s still in a sickbed. There’s even talk that she might end up barren because of it. That’s not going to happen to me. Because you’re going to help me.”

  “I can’t.” Ari sounded frustrated. “There is nothing I know that would help you with this. Besides,” she added quickly, “you may only be a bit late.”

  “I’m never late.” A pause. Then the voice turned ugly. “You’d find a cure fast enough if you were facing this.”

  Spurred by the ugliness in the woman’s voice, Lucian swung around the corner. The woman had her whip raised, ready to lash Ari.

  Seeing the movement, the woman glanced over at him. Her eyes widened. Her mouth fell open. She lowered the whip and stared at him.

  He’d forgotten the glamour. He hadn’t bothered with the magic that would create a human mask since the first night he’d come to the cottage. Ari knew who, and what, he was, so there was no reason to pretend he was human.

  The woman recovered quickly enough from the shock, gave him a simpering smile that repulsed him, and said, “Good morning to you, Lord.”

  “Mistress,” he replied curtly.

  He noticed the alarm in Ari’s eyes as she realized her guest was seeing one of the Fae. He would do whatever was necessary to placate her once this . . . creature . . . was gone. And he wanted her gone. He wasn’t sure what it was about her that offended him so much, but he did find her presence offensive.

  The woman gave Ari a razor smile. “Aren’t you going to introduce us, Ari?”

  “No, she is not,” Lucian said before Ari could make any reply.

  Embarrassment and a seed of hate filled the woman’s face. She slashed a look at Ari. “You’ll regret this.” Wheeling her horse around, she galloped off down the road.

  Lucian strode over to where Ari stood, watching the road. Grabbing her arms, he turned her to face him—and immediately gentled his touch.

  She was worried . . . and frightened.

  “Who is she?” Lucian asked. “What did she want?”

  “It’s private business between women,” Ari said, trying to step back.

  Her words almost made him yield, but since it wasn’t Ari’s private business, courtesy crumbled under concern. “What did she want?” he repeated.

  Ari shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t think she wants to wed at the Midsummer Feast.”

  Lucian frowned. “So she doesn’t want to wed.” And what man would want her? “What does that have to do with her coming here?”

  “Her family would expect her to wed at Midsummer if she’s carrying a Summer Moon child.”

  “There’s not much time between one and the other to be certain about such things.”

  “Certain, no. But enough time to suspect that it may be so. That’s been sufficient for a good many marriages, especially when couples use it as the final persuasion to convince their families to accept their choice of life partners.”

  Partners for life. Lucian suppressed a shudder, finally beginning to understand some of the jests about shackles and being harnessed to the marriage plow that Aiden had told him human males often make when safely out of female hearing. That a man would have to stay with one female, enduring all of her moods, simply because he had sired a child on her was unthinkable. Not that the moods of female kin didn’t have to be endured, but that was different than a lover. Lovers could be vindictive.

  “Could you have helped her?” Lucian asked.

  Ari shook her head. “I truly don’t know anything that would have helped her.”

  “Then why are you worried?”

  She hesitated. “Her family is very influential. They could make things . . . difficult.”

  Lucian drew her closer and wrapped his arms around her to offer comfort. As she relaxed against him, he looked around—and found no comfort for himself in what he saw.

  He’d appreciated the cottage’s isolation while he’d been visiting each evening. Now he saw just how alone she was out there, and he didn’t like it. If someone did choose to cause trouble for her, there was no one close by who would notice, no one who might help her. That was something he would have to think about.

  He eased back. “I should let you get on with your work.”

  “Thank you for stopping by, Lucian.” She sounded distracted—too distracted to realize she had just dismissed him with no more thought than she would have had for an insignificant human male.

  He kissed her cheek and walked around the side of the cottage. Shifting to his other form, he galloped over the meadow toward the forest trail that would take him to the road through the Veil. At the edge of the meadow, he stopped, looked back. He couldn’t see her. Was she watching him? Or had she even noticed he was gone?

  He trotted along the forest trail until he saw the shining road that led to Tir Alainn.

  Nothing was as simple as it should have been where she was concerned. This wasn’t even the challenge of seduction, which at least would have given spice to the frustration.

  It stung that she would refuse him to spare a human male’s feelings.

  It also troubled him that he cared enough that he was getting tangled up in aspects of her life that had nothing to do with their pleasuring each other. Such things were dangerous for a Fae male when he indulged himself in the human world.

  But even if he kept his distance, he could still find out what was happening at Brightwood.

  He’d just send Falco out to catch another rabbit.

  Ari fetched the buckets she’d left outside the cow shed, then filled them at the well. The garden needed watering, and after that there was plenty of work to do.

  There was always work to do. And with every day that passed, it gave her less pleasure.

  Already tired, she looked around, studying the cottage, the mea
dow, the woods.

  She’d been born here, had grown up here, as had her mother and grandmother and generations of witches before her. Why had her family stayed at Brightwood? To provide a home for the Small Folk? To look after and cherish an Old Place? Were witches as much gentry as the other landowners, or were they nothing more than unpaid groundskeepers? And if that was so, who really had claim to the Old Places?

  Neall was right. She had no chance of a life here. She couldn’t sell her weaving in Ridgeley for anything near what it was worth. The last time she’d gone into the village for a few supplies, the only shopkeeper who would sell anything to her was Granny Gwynn, and Granny had tried to charge so much over the usual price, she had left the supplies on the counter and walked out—which is why her larder had been so empty of things like sugar and flour before Neall had bartered the salmon to Ahern.

  The land was rich because it had always been cared for. Even so, she felt as if she were doing little more than surviving. When Neall left, it would be harder to do even that.

  Neall.

  She would have to give him an answer soon. After the Solstice. That would be enough time to hear what her heart had to tell her.

  That decision made, she picked up the buckets and went to water the garden.

  “Blessings of the day to you, Ari,” Dianna said.

  Ari looked up from the flower bed she was weeding. “If visitors are the blessings for the day, I could use fewer blessings.”

  Taken aback by the words, and the temper behind them, Dianna wasn’t sure how to respond—and regretted her impatience. She should have waited a couple more days before coming back to the cottage.

  “I—I just wanted to see how you and the pup were getting along.”

  Ari sat back on her heels and sighed. “I’m being rude. I’m sorry, Dianna. Merle is doing fine.”

  Dismounting but still uncertain of her welcome, Dianna said, “That sounds like a good name for a puppy.”

  At that moment, the puppy trotted around the cottage, saw Dianna, and started yapping.