The House Of Gaian (5 page)

He didn’t respond, so she walked back to the house. Alone.

Liam followed the Fae Lord through the woods. He hadn’t liked the man on sight, and he might have dismissed that feeling as nothing more than a brother’s natural reaction to seeing his sister confronted by a stranger... except Oakdancer was making it plain that he didn’t like the man either. It couldn’t be because the stranger was Fae. The bay stallion had been bred and raised by Ahern, who had been
the
Fae Lord of the Horse before he was killed in a fight with some Inquisitors. So it had to be something about
this
man the horse was reacting to.

He saw the golden light through the trees and knew they were close to the shining road the Fae used to reach this Old Place. When Falco had shown the road to him, Clay, Rory, and Breanna, he and the other two men had seen nothing more than a wide band of sunlight that looked a little more golden than usual.

If he’d ridden past it on his own, he never would have known what it was. Breanna, however, saw it as thick, golden air. Still translucent, but definitely recognizable as something created, in part, with elements of the natural world but not part of the natural world. Then again, she’d already known where to find the shining road.

The Lord of Fire stopped in front of the shining road and turned to face him.

“Your sister is a fool to challenge the Fae.”

“My sister is many things, but a fool isn’t one of them,” Liam replied coldly. “If she drew a weapon against you, she had a reason. If she threatened you and your people, she had a reason. And
that
is reason enough for me to stand with her and stand against you.”

“We are the Fae,” the man said angrily. “We are the Mother’s Children.”

“The Mother’s spoiled children,” Liam snapped. “Mother’s mercy! In the next few weeks, we will all, most likely, be embroiled in a war against the Inquisitors and the eastern barons they control, and many good people will die in the fighting. We don’t have time for a race that sits above it all in their lofty world and only comes down to
our
world to play games and amuse themselves. We don’t have time for the temper tantrums of spoiled, useless children. So go back to your world and stay there. And stay out of our way.”

The man’s expression changed, his face now full of understanding. He raised his hands in an open, giving gesture. “I understand how it feels to care for a sister. I understand how it feels to want her to be safe and happy.” His voice was deep, smooth, soothing. “Don’t you want your sister to be safe? If she came to Brightwood with me, she
would
be safe. The Fae would protect her from all harm. She would be cherished .. . and safe.”

Liam swayed a little as he stared into the Fae Lord’s gray eyes and that voice wrapped around him.

Safe. Yes, he wanted Breanna to be safe. There were nights when he had nightmares, when he saw again the things he’d thought were fever dreams during the days when Padrick, the Baron of Breton, had helped him get home after the Inquisitors had tried to kill him. There were nights when the nightmares were the same except that the faces belonged to women he knew—Breanna, Nuala, Fiona. Even his mother, Elinore. Yes, he wanted them to be safe. Wanted... With a little help, the Fae Lord could take them someplace safe, someplace ...

“Don’t you want her to be safe?” the Fae Lord said in that so-persuasive voice.

Oakdancer suddenly reared. Thrown off balance, Liam struggled to keep his seat. He felt strange, as if the world had been muffled for a moment and now reappeared with painfully sharp intensity.

That persuasive voice was still talking about safety, still promising to keep Breanna safe.

Persuasive.
Persuasion
. Wasn’t that one of the Fae’s gifts, the ability to use persuasion magic to convince people to do what they might not do otherwise? That bastard was using it on
him
in order to have Breanna, was using his own fear for her safety as a hammer against his will.

Liam’s temper flashed. Heat flooded through him beneath his skin. He knew what it was now, knew he was drawing power from the Great Mother’s branch of fire. The heat cleared his head, burned clean in his heart. When he looked at the Fae Lord, that voice was no more persuasive than the eastern barons had been at the council meeting when they’d tried to convince the rest of them to follow their example and vote for the decrees that would turn all of Sylvalan into a horror for every woman who lived there.

“What happened to the other ones?” Liam asked, breaking the Fae Lord’s repetitious assurance of safety.

The Fae Lord studied Liam’s face and didn’t seem pleased by what he saw. “The other ones?”

“If Brightwood is an Old Place, what happened to the witches who were there?”

The man hesitated a moment too long.

Liam leaned forward, the power filling him becoming uncomfortably hot. “Where were the Fae when the Inquisitors showed up at Brightwood the last time? Where was this protection in the other Old Places where witches have died? If it didn’t inconvenience the precious Fae, you wouldn’t give a damn if they died or not. No, Fae Lord, I wouldn’t trust my sister to a man like you. So go back to Tir Alainn and stay away from us.”

The man glared at him. Then he disappeared and a black horse, with flickers of fire in its mane and tail, reared, wheeled, and galloped up the shining road.

Liam took a deep breath and blew it out. He gathered the reins carefully, too aware that if he lost control of the power now, he could burn himself and Oakdancer. He didn’t dare try to ground the power out here in the woods. He didn’t have the skill yet to do it safely. Which meant doing it the only way he knew wouldn’t harm anyone.

“Well,” he said to Oakdancer as he turned the stallion and headed back to Breanna’s house, “there are a lot of people living in the Old Place these days. Someone is bound to need hot water for
something
.”

“What do you think?”

Perched on a stool in the pressing room, Breanna watched her grandmother fold camisoles and pantalettes, finding comfort in the familiar. Nuala always seemed to know when talking required her undivided attention and when giving hands a simple task made it easier to find the words. She’d taken one look at Breanna’s face, led her to the pressing room, and shooed the girls who had been folding clothes out the door.

“About what?” Nuala asked, folding another camisole and putting it in the stack. “You’ve given me a great deal to think about.”

Too restless to be idle, Breanna plucked a camisole out of the basket. With so many people living in the house now, there was always laundry to be done—and plenty of hands to do the work. No one was idle in Nuala’s house, and even the children had assigned chores. No one resented doing their share of the work.

Breanna’s hands curled into tight fists.

Except Jean.

Nuala tugged the camisole out of Breanna’s hands. “It’s a good thing this one is yours. You can’t complain about the creases in it since you made them.”

Breanna shrugged. Nuala calmly continued folding clothes.

“Do I think you were wise to threaten a Fae Lord?” Nuala said. “I don’t know. Based on what you told me, he looks at us and sees a surplus of witches in one Old Place and sees nothing wrong with selecting one or two to take elsewhere to suit his own purpose and the needs of his own family. While I sympathize with his desire to help his family, thinking of us as servants or tools for the Fae’s use is unacceptable.”

“You think my threat was excessive.”

Nuala hesitated. “You frightened a powerful Fae Lord. What he will do with that fear is something we can’t know. Did you act rashly? Yes. Did you act honestly?” She reached over and rested a hand against Breanna’s face for a moment—and smiled. “I would have been surprised if you’d said anything more ...

tactful.”

Breanna snorted softly, then reluctantly returned Nuala’s smile.

“As for Jean,” Nuala said, returning to her folding, “I’m not blind to the girl’s faults. I can tell when sweetness is a deep well and when it’s nothing more than surface water. So I’m troubled by Fiona’s suspicions. More troubled by the fact that Jean was hunting for plants and didn’t want any of us to know.

” She sighed quietly. “Her mother was a hedge witch, and that kind of magic is connected to plants and charms rather than the branches of the Great Mother. Like any gift, it can be used for good or ill. In Jean’

s case, she has enough connection with earth to draw some power from that branch of the Mother. That’

s a dangerous combination in someone who believes her every wish and whim should be indulged and becomes resentful when it isn’t. Fiona’s always been able to see people clearly, so her suspicions that Jean has used magic to cause mischievous harm can’t be dismissed.”

“Does she see me clearly?” Breanna asked, not sure if she wanted the answer.

Nuala folded clothes for a minute, saying nothing. Finally, she said, “We are not all the same, Breanna.

We do not all have the same skills, the same abilities, the same strength. For some, the power we can draw from our branches of the Great Mother is no more than a trickle. For others, it is a small brook, or a deep stream, or a strong river. I am a deep stream, but you and Jenny ... you are rivers, fast and strong. So, yes, you are different from our kin from the east—but you are not so different from many who live in the Mother’s Hills. Power runs deep there, and it runs strong.”

Thinking of Jenny, Breanna asked, “If Jenny and I are rivers, are there any witches who are the sea?”

Nuala hesitated. “If there are witches that strong, they would be very dangerous if provoked.” She made a visible effort to push that thought aside. “Enough talk with me. Go on now and find out what’s troubling Falco.”

“The threat I made frightened him. That’s what’s troubling Falco.”

“That is not the only thing.”

“What else could be troubling him?”

Breanna squirmed as Nuala turned and gave her That Look.

“That,” Nuala said, “is what you need to find out.”

He was still sitting on the bench under the tree, looking lost and lonely.

As she walked toward him, Breanna wondered just how much he had given up in order to give whatever help and protection he could against the Inquisitors. She knew he’d been shunned by the Clan whose territory was anchored to Old Willowsbrook, but had he just forfeited his family as well?

When she sat down beside him, Falco said, “Liam returned. He said he needed to soak his hands in water.”

Breanna sighed. “He needs more work in learning to ground the power.”

“The women in the washhouse were glad to see him.”

She let out a huff of laughter. “I’m sure they were. They’ll have plenty of hot water for laundry without having to stoke fires and sweat. Still, it will be easier on him when he learns to ground his power in a more traditional way.”

Falco smiled, but the smile faded quickly.

“What troubles you, Falco?” Breanna asked. “Do you miss your home?”

He shook his head. “It isn’t a happy place. Hasn’t been since...” He sighed. “Dianna resents having to live at Brightwood to anchor the magic.”

“Dianna?”

“Lucian’s sister.”

“I see,” Breanna said. But she didn’t see, didn’t understand. “She’s from that Clan?”

Falco nodded. “There’s something about her that allows her to anchor the magic in the Old Place to keep the shining road open—as long as enough Fae stay in the Old Place with her.”

“So that Clan doesn’t really need a witch.”

He made a frustrated sound. “She’s the Lady of the Moon, Breanna.
The
Lady of the Moon. The Huntress. She wants to live in Tir Alainn. She
doesn‘t
want to be burdened with staying in the human world.”

“But she’s doing this for her family.”

He studied her, an odd expression on his face. “If it were your family, and you had to give up something special in order for the rest to have it, you would do it, wouldn’t you?”

“Of course,” Breanna said, puzzled. “They’re family. I’m not saying it would be easy, or that there wouldn’t be times when I would wish it could be otherwise, but, yes, I would do it.”

“That’s what makes you different from the Fae. One of the things, anyway.”

“Falco—”

He shot to his feet, paced a few steps away from her, then returned to the bench. “I don’t understand your ways.” Frustration shimmered in his voice. “If this was a Clan, I would know what was expected of me, but I don’t understand your ways.”

“What don’t you understand?”

“I don’t know if you expect me ... if your female kin expect me ...” He slumped back down on the bench. “I don’t like Jean. I don’t want to bed Jean.”

Breanna felt her jaw start to drop. “Whoever said you had to?”

“Since I’m visiting your ... family ... and you haven’t said you want me for yourself, I’m obliged to... to ...

”

He was on his feet again, pacing in front of her.

“It’s not that your female kin aren’t fine women—most of them—but I—”

“Don’t want to bed them.”

“Yes!”

“You want to bed me.”

“Yes!”

“Why?”

He stopped pacing and looked at her as if she’d just asked him to count every leaf on every tree in the Old Place.

“Because ... you’re you.”

Breanna blew out a breath. What was she supposed to say to that?