confirmed for Breanna that, however powerful Selena might be, she was still one of the Mother's Daughters at heart.
"I don't think so," Selena said just as Gwenn limped into the room.
"Is the tea still hot?" Gwenn asked, sounding grumpy.
"Hot enough," Breanna replied, setting her own down to pour some for Gwenn. "What took you so long?"
"Donovan." Gwenn flopped on the couch with no grace whatsoever. "First he tries to convince me to stay upstairs, in bed, to rest my ankle, which wouldn't have gotten twisted in the first place if he hadn't shoved me to the ground and thrown himself on top of me. Then, when I tell him I'm going to come down and have tea with the two of you, he wants me to have a bowl of chicken soup. I don't want chicken soup. I don't like chicken soup."
Breanna glanced at Selena, relieved to see the same puzzled expression she
was sure was on her own face. "Chicken soup for a twisted ankle?"
"I swear gentry fathers take their sons aside on the night before the wedding and tell them that chicken soup is the secret to a happy marriage, that it is the cure for anything that ails a wife," Gwenn grumbled.
"I never would have guessed chicken soup as the subject to discuss on the
night before a wedding," Breanna said blandly.
Selena leaned forward, her expression innocent. "Do you eat a lot of chicken soup, Gwenn?"
Gwenn just grunted. "Then, when I tell him to go on since Liam's waiting for him, he waits for me and carries me down the stairs."
"It would have been difficult to get down the stairs otherwise," Selena said.
"No, it wouldn't. I could have slid down the banister most of the way."
Selena made a strangled, gurgly sound. "Oh ... Gwenn. You're not still doing that, are you? You're a baron's wife. When the Grandmothers caught you at it, you used to tell them you were checking for dust."
"Which is exactly what I tell the servants if they catch me at it," Gwenn said. She sniffed primly. "Besides, how am I going to teach my daughters how to do it if I don't practice once in a while?"
Breanna choked on her tea.
Selena's face was turning red with the effort not to laugh.
Gwenn gave Breanna a helping swat on the back that almost shoved her nose
into the teacup, then said, "Breathe, Selena. You're starting to look like a
holly bush."
Maybe it wasn't right to fill the room with laughter when there was so much death just beyond the door.
And maybe, Breanna thought as she wiped her streaming eyes with the napkin Gwenn handed her, laughter was exactly what she needed to see Selena as a woman who could be a friend instead of a power to be feared.
Liam noticed the tremor in Donovan's hand as his friend raised the glass of
whiskey and downed its contents in one swallow."Do not wake the Mother's Hills," Donovan said softly, staring into his glass. "Well, they're awake now, aren't they? Mother's mercy, Liam. Gwenny said Selena was powerful, and I hadn't doubted her word, especially after seeing the storm that passed over Willowsbrook, but I'd never imagined a witch could do ... that. And I've met some of the women who come from the Mother's Hills."
"Nobody imagined they could do that," Liam said wearily. But he looked toward the closed study door and shivered, remembering the whirl of wind
Breanna had created when he met her. She'd captured the earth Keely was flinging at him in a misguided effort to protect Breanna from the baron. If she could create a small whirling of wind and earth, could Breanna create something larger, something more destructive? If she needed to protect her family, would she create a funnel of earth and air that could be used as a weapon?
Would he have used the fire at his command to burn men as he'd burned the nighthunters? Yes, he would have. He didn't like knowing that about himself, especially after seeing the bodies that had been caught in that rage of wind and fire, and understood now why the creed to do no harm was constantly reinforced every time Breanna or Nuala gave him another lesson hi using and controlling the power that lived inside him.
"Liam? Where have you gone?"
Liam looked at Donovan and shook his head. A knock on the study door saved him from a discussion he didn't want to have.
Varden walked in, and said bluntly, "We need to talk."
Before he could say anything more, two Fae led a prisoner into the room.
Liam studied the man dressed in the homespun tunic and trousers that were
commonly worn by farmers. A pleasant-looking man in his mid-twenties, who appeared more relieved than fearful.
"Sit down," Liam said, indicating the chair in front of the desk.
"Yes, sir," the man said. "Thank you, sir."
He'd never dealt with prisoners before, but it baffled him that the man was acting more like a tenant farmer talking to his landlord than a man who'd just been captured in battle.
"You do understand that you're a prisoner," Liam said.
"Yes, sir, and grateful to be so."
"Why?"
The man shifted in the chair. "You stand against the eastern barons." Not
quite a statement; more a request for confirmation.
Liam nodded. "I stand against everything the Inquisitors brought to our land-and I stand against any baron who supports them."
The man nodded. "That's why the lads and I were grateful for the chance to
surrender. We didn't want to fight you. The Black Coat kept stirring up the men by saying you were a servant of the Evil One and had to be destroyed to keep our homes and families safe." Bitterness filled his face. "We've seen
what the baron and the Black Coats did to our families, and if that's keeping them safe-" He swallowed hard.
"If that's how you feel, why did you come to fight at all?" Donovan asked.
"No choice. Any man who refused was condemned on the spot and hung for being ensnared by the Evil One. A man isn't much good to his family once he's dead. And it wouldn't have done any good to try to slip away at night because the rest of the army is just a few days behind us, and the Black Coat said the Witch's Hammer himself is leading them."
"If that's true, why did your troops attack us now?" Liam asked.
The man shrugged. "Don't know. They weren't for telling us much. But the lads and I talked it over last night and decided that if you were against the Black Coats you had to be a good man, and it wasn't right to be fighting against you. So we decided we wouldn't raise a hand against your people
and we'd surrender as quick as we could." He shuddered. "Nobody expected that lady witch to ..." His voice trailed off.
Liam rubbed his forehead, trying to soothe the headache building behind his
eyes. "I've never had prisoners before. I'm not sure what to do with you."
The man leaned forward. "There's work to be done, isn't there? Your people can't do all the work and get ready for the fight."
Liam frowned. "You want to work for me?"
"We're farmers, most of us. We can chop wood, take care of livestock.
Baron ... Baron, you have to win. You have to. You can't give us back what our baron and the Black Coats took from us, but we want Sylvalan to be what it used to be. We don't want to be afraid of what might happen to our wives or our sisters or our mothers anytime a guard rides by. We don't want to be afraid anymore. If you win, you can force the barons to change things back to the way they were before the Black Coats came."
"I'll think about it," Liam said. "That's all for now."
The man nodded and walked to the door, the Fae guards behind him. When he reached the door, he looked back. "Baron? We didn't raise a hand against
your people. But if you give us back our weapons, we'll fight alongside them when the Witch's Hammer comes."
The door closed behind the prisoner and guards. Liam leaned back in his
chair and closed his eyes.
"I'll send out messengers to warn the Clans east of here," Varden said.
"Won't be enough Fae to stand against an army, not alone, but if they can get down the shining road in time, they may be able to save the witches in
the Old Places and make sure a few less men arrive at Willowsbrook."
"What makes you think they'll listen now when they never did before?"
Liam asked.
"Your sister is entertaining the Huntress and you ask me that?" Varden