Seeing the flash of pain in Aiden's eyes broke the chains of fear that had kept Morag silent. "Ashk, that was cruel."
Ashk turned to look at her. "Cruelty resides in the shadows. Didn't you know that, Morag?" She looked at the ground. "But, sometimes, so does mercy." Taking a deep breath, she turned back to Aiden. "My apologies, Bard."
"Accepted, Hunter."
Just as Morag breathed a sigh of relief, a huntsman, deathly pale and trembling, approached them."Hunter?" he said.What now? Morag thought wearily. The day had barely begun, and she suspected Ashk would set a grueling pace the rest of the day.
Ashk studied him. "You're one of Gwynith's escorts."
"I am, Hunter. She entrusted me to find you and deliver this." He reached
into his leather, thigh-length vest, withdrew a folded piece of paper, and held it out to her.
Ashk took it, then asked, "Will you be returning to Gwynith?"
He shook his head. "She has other messages for me to deliver."
Aiden stepped forward. "If you meet up with a bard or minstrel who is coming east with messages, perhaps you could exchange them. That way each of you would have less of a journey."
The huntsman tipped his head. "I thank you for the suggestion, Bard. I would like to return to Lady Gwynith as soon as possible."
"She is well?" Ashk asked.
"She is well, Hunter." He hesitated. "She rides with the Lady of the Moon."
"I see. Safe journey, huntsman."
As the huntsman followed Ashk's men to the stables, the Hunter walked away from all of them, then broke the seal on the letter and began to read.
With shaking hands, Aiden helped Lyrra to her feet.
"Mother's mercy, Aiden," she said, clinging to him. "Did you know any of this when you decided to find the Hunter?"
"No."
"Would you have still searched if you knew?"
"I don't know." Aiden led her to a bench near the edge of the open ground.
"It wouldn't have mattered. The Black Coats attacked her Clan, her family.
She would have come east to gather the Fae whether we'd found her or not."
But we wouldn't have been riding with her, probably wouldn't have been at this Clan house on this day to experience what she could do. The Inquisitors were a vicious threat to all of Sylvalan, but for the Fae personally, the Hunter was more terrifying.
Sinking down on the bench beside Lyrra, he rubbed his chest. He'd always felt embarrassed that his other form was a tiny whoo-it owl, and he seldom changed to that form to enjoy the gliding flight through woods and over fields except when he was alone-or with Lyrra, who ran beneath him, her red fox coat shining in moonlight. Knowing how easily it could be taken away from him, he didn't think he'd ever feel embarrassed about his other form again. He didn't want to lose it, didn't want to lose a vital part of what made him Fae.
Ashk would have come east anyway. And some foolish Lord of the Woods would have challenged her because she was female-and the Fae would have learned why they should fear her.
"He challenged her," Lyrra said, her voice sounding shaky. "It was within her rights to kill him."
"I know." He felt Lyrra shudder.
"Bard?"
He looked over at the young, terrified minstrel who stood a man's length away from the bench.
"I'm the Bard."
"W-what are we supposed to do?" The minstrel began to cry. "What are we supposed to do?"Aiden was up and leading the youth to the bench. He hugged him, kissed his forehead to soothe as he would a frightened child. "We do as the Hunter
commands.""But we can't," the minstrel wailed. "If we don't obey the Huntress, she'll be angry with us."
A chill swept through Aiden. "You have a message for me about the Huntress?"
The minstrel nodded, his head resting on Aiden's shoulder.
"What is it?" Aiden asked, working to keep his voice gentle.
The minstrel sniffed, then pulled a wax-sealed paper out of the inner pocket of his traveling vest.
With a comforting squeeze, Aiden withdrew enough to break the seal and read the message.
He read it twice-and then a third time.
"Aiden?"
He closed his eyes and savored the warmth of Lyrra's hand on his arm. He didn't want to give the words power by speaking them out loud. Not yet.
He handed the paper to her. With his eyes closed, the world faded to the
sound of the minstrel's quiet sniffles and Lyrra's ragged breathing.
At least they didn't have to choose, Aiden thought. Which was something the young minstrel didn't fully understand or was too frightened right now to realize. Between Ashk's demonstration and Selena's threat, the minstrel had good reason to be frightened.
"Mother's mercy," Lyrra finally said.
"You have news, Bard?"
He opened his eyes and looked at Ashk, standing before him, with Morag
beside her. He licked his lips. "The Huntress has sent a message to all the Clans. They have until the full moon to send fighters down to Sylvalan to defend it against the Inquisitors' army. If they don't defend Sylvalan, she will close the shining roads in a way that won't destroy Tir Alainn but will lock the Fae out of the human world. Forever." He glanced at the paper she held in one hand. "And you, Hunter? Have you also had news?"
"The same," Ashk replied. "With two additions. Having personally witnessed the power the new Lady of the Moon wields, Gwynith believes Selena can do exactly what she says she can do."
"It's fortunate the Fae don't have to choose which of you to obey, since you're both commanding them to do the same tiling," Morag murmured, echoing Aiden's thoughts.
"Yes, it is fortunate," Ashk agreed.
Aiden watched Ashk, a sick feeling in his belly. "What's the second addition?"
"The Huntress wants to meet me before the full moon. At Willowsbrook."
Breanna. Mother be merciful. He could imagine how Breanna was going to
react to Fae pouring into the Old Place.
"I hope Baron Liam's brief encounter with the Fae was sufficient to educate him." Ashk smiled with grim amusement. "It would seem he's about to have a houseful of unexpected guests."
Chapter 22.
waxing moon Ubel strode down Seahaven's waterfront with two hundred of his warriors behind him. They broke off in companies led by captains to swiftly search the warehouses and the ships. Buckets, used as chamberpots, were being emptied over the side in the darkest hours of night. The stench was strong. Ship captains might be able to sneak people into the cargo holds and hide them, but they couldn't hide the evidence of those people.
In the end, it would be simple. Loyal merchant captains and fishermen would keep their ships-and would prosper since they would have fewer rivals for their business and could set a higher price for their goods. They would need that income to pay for the license each ship would be required to carry in order to prove that loyalty-income that would build ships, as Wolfram had done, to keep the harbors and seaports clean of unsuitable traders or visitors. Income that would finance an estate for the Inquisitors who would have to remain here to keep the barons under control and continue the search for escaped witches.
Right now, however, his goal was to flush out the witches and witch sympathizers who had fled from Durham and the southern counties of Sylvalan, flooding into Seahaven in the hope of finding any kind of seaworthy craft that would take them away from the Inquisitors' justice. Rats and witches. Both vermin. Both plague carriers in their own way. He'd find plenty of both on this waterfront. And when he was done cleansing Seahaven, only the rats would remain.
Right now, his eyes were on that merchant ship at the far end of the docks-a ship, according to the harbor master, that had slipped in and out of Seahaven several times in the past few days, taking on some cargo, but nothing like the usual amounts. And having nothing to unload to speak of. Most unusual, the harbor master had said, since the ship was one of several belonging to a well-to-do merchant family.
A merchant family that was also a filthy nest of witches and men so ensnared by the bitches that they pumped good seed into foul wombs to produce more filth. Oh, plenty of those vermin had already been eliminated, burned in their very ships or taken by the Inquisitors and the barons to be questioned and exterminated. But that nest was being rebuilt somewhere by the witches who had escaped, and he suspected the captain of that ship would be able to tell him the exact spot-after he'd softened the man sufficiently.
"Why do you accost me this way?" said a loud, panicked voice. "I've done nothing. Nothing! I'm an honest merchant just trying to catch the evening tide to take my goods to Wellingsford!"
Ubel hesitated. Stopped. Finally, with a last look at the merchant ship at the end of the docks, he motioned the guards to continue on as he turned toward the commotion behind him.
"You shouldn't have come back," Craig whispered fiercely, his tone a mixture of gratitude and anger. "You shouldn't have waited for me." "You're family," Mihail replied. And we've already lost too many. He shifted a little, easing the strain of leg muscles that had been in a crouch position too long. Something was happening at one of the other docks, but he couldn't quite see around the crates he and Craig were hiding behind.
Craig was right. He shouldn't have made this last trip, shouldn't have waited one more day for one man when his cargo hold was filled with people-strangers who had offered him their last coins for standing room in the holds of his ship. But among them was a woman, with her daughter, who had lived close to Durham. So he'd stayed one more day, hoping Craig had gotten out of Durham, too, and had managed to reach Seahaven.
If he'd left yesterday evening, he'd be out in the open sea right now, and Sweet Selkie's sails would be full of a Mother-blessed wind that would take him back to Sealand, back to Jenny and the boys, back to safe harbor.
If he'd left yesterday... before the Inquisitors' ships had sailed into the harbor and the harbor master had sent bellringers to make the announcement that no ship was permitted to leave Seahaven until it had been inspected by the Inquisitors and duly licensed as a ship loyal to the barons.