Shadows and Light (43 page)

Breanna sat down on the bench, near enough that she could touch him if she reached out but not so close that she would inadvertently brush against him. “What’s your name?”

“Falco.”

“You’re a Lord of the Hawks?”

“The Lord of the Hawks.” A touch of arrogance filled his voice — enough to have him raise his head, but not enough for him to look at her.

The
Lord of the Hawks had brought her rabbits to pay for a clothes-peg. If someone else had told her that, she would have dismissed it as a funny story.

“Why?”

Frowning, he glanced at her — then looked away just as quickly. “Why am I the Lord of the Hawks?”

Breanna shook her head. She lifted a hand in a gesture that encompassed the Old Place. “Why are you here? The Fae haven’t wanted anything to do with us before now.”

“You’re the Mother’s Daughters, the House of Gaian.”

“We always were. Why does that make a difference now?”

He shifted again. “Aiden says —”He stopped, his eyes widening.

“I know Aiden and Lyrra are Fae.”

The relief on his face made her want to smile, so she pressed her lips together.

“Aiden says the witches need to be protected. There’s not much I can do, except…maybe if I gave a warning soon enough, you — your family — would be able to escape before the Inquisitors”

He knew someone who wasn’t warned in time
, Breanna thought. “There are other Fae keeping watch over the Old Place.” But none of them had tried to help her against the nighthunters.

“Them.”

The anger in his voice surprised her.

“They
aren’t watching to help
you
. They just want to be sure you don’t do anything that might endanger them.”

“What could we do that would endanger the Fae?”

Falco finally looked at her. “You could leave. You could run away to escape the Black Coats. If a witch doesn’t live in an Old Place, the shining road closes, and that piece of Tir Alainn disappears unless enough of the Fae can get down the shining road fast enough to keep the road open. But they have to stay and live in the Old Place.”

“I see.” Making sure her family stayed so they wouldn’t have to fit what she’d heard of the Fae’s self-interest — but it didn’t fit the Fae she’d actually met. “That explains
the Fae skulking about in the woods. It doesn’t explain you.”

He looked unhappy. “You’re interesting.” He winced, but pushed on. “I wanted to know how witches lived.” “And how do we live?”

His eyes were too shiny. “You’re real, and the world you live in is real.” He shook his head. “Aiden could explain it. The Bard would have the words. And … I like you, even when you yell at me.”

Breanna felt a tightness in her chest. Curiosity may have brought him that first day, but he had come back for other reasons. She wasn’t sure she wanted to examine too closely the reasons why she’d found herself looking for him each day — or why she’d felt so frightened for him when he tried to attack the nighthunters. Maybe, now that she could talk to him, they could find out whether they truly liked each other.

“So,” Breanna said, “you come down to the Old Place in the morning and go back to Tir Alainn each night?” His face tightened, and she realized she’d touched the heartbruise. “Falco?”

“The Clan who lives in this piece of Tir Alainn didn’t like me coming here, didn’t like that you could see me. Didn’t like that I was helping you at all. They got angry over a
rabbit
. Just a rabbit. They said —”He paused. “They told me if I continued to visit you, I wasn’t welcome in their Clan’s territory.”

“You weren’t —?” Breanna stared at him. “You haven’t been going back to Tir Alainn?”

He shook his head.

“Then … where have you been staying?”

“My horse is in a small clearing, and the Small Folk … They’ve been kind. They helped me store my saddle and other gear where it would be safe.”

“You’ve been
staying
out in the woods?”

Falco shrugged. “As a hawk, it isn’t difficult.”

Breanna continued to stare at him. She felt as if the world had suddenly become one of those toys that Brooke had brought over one day — the tube with colored pieces of glass that shifted and formed a new pattern when you rolled the tube. This moment had shifted unexpectedly, showing her a new pattern.

He’s lonely. All these days, shunned by his own kind because he believed we were people who mattered instead of tools the Fae could command and use at their whim. What had he felt, watching us laugh and squabble and work together? He didn’t risk his human form, didn’t want to be sent away. Who could blame him for that? And now …Now he expects to be sent away. Where would he go? Who could he work with, laugh with, squabble with?

She took a deep breath. Let it out slowly. “Have you eaten this evening?”

He shook his head.

“Then come in the house.” She tried to smile, but found she was too close to tears and had to fight to keep her voice steady. “After you have something to eat, I’ll ask Clay and Rory to go with you to fetch your horse and gear. You shouldn’t be out in the woods alone, not with the nighthunters out there.”

He shook his head again. “You’ve got so many people already with all your kin here.”

“There’s room for one more.” She hesitated, then placed a hand on his arm. “There’s a place for you here, Falco. There’s a place for you here.”

She slid her hand down until it brushed his. He turned his hand so that he could hold hers. She stood up, then tugged on his hand until he stood beside her. The mixture of hope and fear in his face made tears sting her eyes. Looking away, she led him to the house.

I
t was the prettiest village Aiden had ever seen, and just the sight of it lifted his spirits. He could imagine living in one of those tidy cottages, talking with the same people day after day, playing his songs in the tavern or in the square, sharing the joys and sorrows of the community. He could picture Lyrra telling her stories to children gathered around her — and other stories to the adults later in the evening. He could imagine raising their children there.

The village’s only flaw was that it had been built in an Old Place. If humans had built a village there, it meant the Old Place was gone. And yet it didn’t
feel
gone.

“Maybe it’s like the Clan house in that other Old Place,” Lyrra said. “Or … maybe there’s a large enough family of witches living in the Old Place that the magic has spread beyond the borders.”

“Maybe,” Aiden said. He’d like to believe that. “Shall we ride in and see what the tavern might be offering for a midday meal?”

Lyrra nodded.

Aiden studied her. She looked more tired than she should have, and she’d alternated between snapping at him about anything and turning weepy about nothing. She couldn’t, or wouldn’t, tell him what was bothering her, and he didn’t have the nerve to ask if she was pregnant because, if she was, he was fairly certain whatever response he made to the news would be the wrong one. Instead of asking about something that would create a strain between them, he said, “If the tavern has a room available, we could stay here until morning.”

He saw a yearning in her face that changed to hard resolve.

“It’s only midday,” Lyrra said. “We need to keep going. That bard either lied to us or had never made the journey to Bretonwood and has no idea how long it really takes.”

“I figure by taking this road instead of continuing on the main one, we’ve saved a day’s travel.”

“That bard didn’t mention this road. It’s not marked, but it wasn’t
that
hard to find.”

The sharpness under her words made him uneasy. Her referring to Taihg as “that bard” didn’t bode well. But she was right. Taihg
hadn’t
mentioned this road, which seemed to head northwest — exactly where they needed to go.

Lyrra sighed. “I’m tired, Aiden.”

“I know, love. I know.”

“I just want it done. I want the journey to end. I want to find the Hunter and finally know if there’s any use in our trying and trying and trying.” She sniffled lightly. “And I don’t want to stay in that village more than an hour, because if I do, I won’t want to leave, and that will make leaving so much harder.”

Aiden hesitated. “How would you feel about living among humans?”

She gave the village a long, thoughtful look. “Here, I would be willing to try.”

“Then let’s find out if it would be possible.”

Her mouth dropped open.

Aiden smiled. “Taihg
did
say it was safer to wear our true faces. Let’s find out.”

The hope and anticipation in her face made him as uneasy as her sharp tone had a moment ago. All he could do now was hope an hour in the village didn’t spoil her pleasure.

They rode down to the village at an easy pace. There were plenty of people around as they rode up the main street. Aiden’s heart sank as he watched those people study him and Lyrra with cold eyes before hurrying into the
nearest building. So. That answered the question about whether or not Fae might be accepted by these villagers.

As they dismounted in front of the Hunter’s Horn, a little girl pulled away from her mother, darted across the street, and stopped in front of Minstrel.

“Pretty horse,” she said, raising one small hand.

Minstrel obligingly lowered his head so she could pet his nose.

“Kayla!” the woman said, rushing over to pull her daughter to safety.

“It’s all right,” Aiden said soothingly. “He’s very gentle.”

The assurance didn’t seem to ease the woman’s fear. “He’s pretty, Mama,” the little girl said. She looked at Aiden. “Whaz his name?” “Minstrel.” “Does he sing?”

Aiden grinned. “He would if he could. Since he can’t, he just likes to listen.”

“I’m gonna be a minstrel when I’m bigger,” the girl said. “But I won’t be a horse.”

Minstrel moved his ears so they stuck out from his head, giving him such a woebegone expression, even the woman smiled.

“Don’t be sad,” the little girl said. “I’ll sing you a song.” She began to sing in a sweet, clear voice.

Aiden snapped to attention, his blue eyes intent on the girl. He shouldn’t have done it —
knew
he shouldn’t have reacted that way — but it was a song he’d never heard, and it pulled at him with a force he couldn’t resist.

“Kayla!”
The woman grabbed her daughter’s shoulders and pulled her back a couple of steps. “That’s enough!”

“But Mama —”

“What kind of song is that?” Aiden asked, taking a step forward.

“It’s a wic—”

“Enough!” the woman shouted. She picked up the little girl, hurried across the street, and went into the nearest shop.

Aiden’s shoulders sagged with disappointment. What was so wrong about letting the child sing? What was so wrong about letting him hear the child sing?

“Aiden,” Lyrra said softly. “Let’s go into the tavern. Now.”

There was something wrong in the tone of her voice that pulled his focus away from music. He saw the men who had been on the street slowly walking toward them, a grim expression on every face.

Trying to look relaxed, he loosely tied Minstrel’s reins and the packhorse’s lead to a post outside the tavern. As soon as Lyrra tied her horse, he took her hand and walked into the tavern with her.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly.

“It wasn’t you,” Lyrra said just as softly.

Aiden smiled at the aproned man who came to greet them — or, perhaps, block them from entering farther into the room.

“What’s your business?” the man growled.

“A midday meal, if you’re serving,” Aiden said politely. “My lady is faint with hunger and could use a good meal.”

“Aiden,”
Lyrra whispered, sounding embarrassed. She smiled weakly when the man stared at her, studying her face.

“We’ve beef stew today,” the man finally said. “It’s hearty. Sit yourselves down. I’ll fetch it.”

“Thank you,” Aiden said, leading Lyrra to a table close to the door. The men on the street were drifting into the tavern. If he and Lyrra had to try to run for it, he didn’t want to be trapped in the middle of the room.

The tavern owner returned with a large tray. He set down two bowls of stew, a small plate that held hunks of
yellow cheese, and two plates that held thick slices of brown bread that were still warm enough to have the curls of butter melting into them. Last, he set down a small tankard of ale for Aiden and a cup of cider for Lyrra.

Lyrra quickly spread the butter over the bread and took a bite. “Mmmm.” She chewed slowly. Then she gave the tavern owner a bright smile. “Oh. This is wonderful.”

The man’s hard expression softened a little. “My wife will be pleased to hear it. She bakes the bread herself.”

Wondering if Lyrra was going queer on him or if she really was desperately hungry, Aiden spread the butter on his own piece of bread and took a bite.

Mother’s mercy, it
was
wonderful.

Lyrra dug into her stew, gave the spoonful several quick little puffs of breath to cool it, then took the first bite with unfeigned relish.

“You could write a song about this bread,” she said. She broke off a piece of cheese, then looked up at the tavern owner, who was still standing near the table watching them. “Aiden is the Bard. I’m the Muse. A poem might do for the bread, but a song would be better. What do you think?” she asked, turning to Aiden.

She’d gone queer on him, that’s what he thought. Maybe she
was
pregnant. Women could go a bit strange during that time.

Then he looked into her eyes and realized she’d been trying to send him signals — the same kind of subtle signals they used when they performed together. He’d missed them and didn’t have a clue what she was trying to tell him. Worse, her telling these men who they were hadn’t eased the tension in the room. If anything, the hostility had increased.

“What would bring the Bard and the Muse to our little village?” one of the men standing near the bar asked.

There was nothing friendly about the question, and the tavern owner continued to stand near their table, watching
them instead of serving drinks and food to the other people in the room.