The Pillars Of The World (4 page)

You were better than nothing, but not by much. A cold toss that wasn’t worth a second try. But I figure the magic in that fancy will warm you up a bit and make things interesting.”

Warm her up?
Warm her up
? If she were any hotter right now, she’d burn.

“Leave. Me. Alone,” she said, spacing out her words.

“As the lady wishes,” Royce said, giving her a mocking bow. Then his face hardened. “But I’m going to be riding toward the coast road that night, and I expect to meet you along the way.” He turned toward the village, then turned back and pointed a finger at her. “And if I find out you lifted your skirts for any other man before I’ve had my fill of you, you’ll regret it.”

She waited just long enough to feel sure he was really leaving. Then she grabbed the handle of her cart and hurried down the road in the opposite direction.

She managed half a mile before she had to stop. Feeling shaky and feverish, she stripped off her short cloak. “Don’t get sick now,” she said as she folded the cloak and put it in one of the baskets. “Don’t get

—”

She paused, focused, felt the thrum of power waiting to be released.

“Foolish,” she muttered, stepping away from the cart. “Foolish, foolish, foolish. How many times did Mother tell you that drawing power without awareness was as dangerous for the witch as it was for the world around her?”

She closed her eyes, feeling her heart ache as if she had brushed against the bruise that had been left on it by her mother’s death two winters ago.

Taking a couple of deep breaths to steady herself, she slowly, carefully, grounded the power she had unthinkingly summoned, giving it back to the Great Mother. When she was done, she felt depleted and fiercely thirsty, but also calmer.

There was a time, her grandmother had told her, when a witch could command the power of all four branches of the Mother—earth, air, water, and fire. But something had happened over the years, and the witches’ strength had waned. For the past few generations, the women of her family had been gifted with one primary branch and a trickle of power from another. She was the first in a long, long time who had almost equal strength in the two branches of the Mother that were hers to command—earth and fire.

“But even that much power isn’t very useful when it comes to dealing with the likes of Mistress Brigston or Granny Gwynn,” she said softly as she dug into her skirt pocket and pulled out the fancy. Just enough magic in it that she didn’t dare ignore it. So, if she couldn’t ignore it, what kind of lover would she like to draw to her?

“A man who has kindness inside him as well as strength,” she told the fancy. “A man who could accept me for what I am. A man who isn’t from Ridgeley.”
As I will it. .
.

Ari shook her head and stuffed the fancy back into her skirt pocket. Granny Gwynn might be a hedge witch with enough strength to do a bit of mischief magic, but
she
, like all the other women in the family who had come before her, was a witch full and true. And a witch did not send out idle wishing.

Retrieving the handcart, she continued the walk home while thoughts and memories chased her.

Royce had begun “courting” her shortly after her fifteenth birthday. He had been the first man in Ridgeley who had treated her with courtesy, and his sweet words had seduced her into believing that he was as much in love with her as she was with him— until the night she had met him in a meadow and he had pleaded with her to make their love a physical union. Since she had been raised to believe that intimacy was a gift from the Mother, she had been willing to celebrate their love. She had gotten no pleasure from the quick, rough coupling he had seemed to enjoy. And afterward . . . Afterward he had sneeringly thanked her for giving his rod some relief—. . . and for helping him win the bet that he could have her on her back within a moon’s cycle of beginning his “courtship.”

She had crept home, ashamed and brokenhearted. Her mother and grandmother had been understanding

—and never spoke aloud the sadness she knew they had felt that her first experience had left her with such bitter memories.

Taking a deep breath, Ari turned aside from those thoughts. It did no good to look back at something that had happened two years before—something that she had never allowed to happen since.

Maybe it was that feel in the air that made a budding summer day have an edge like an approaching winter storm. There was a message there, if only she could understand it. But earth and fire were the branches of the Mother that were her strength, and she couldn’t sense what the branches of water and air might have told her.

Think of something else
, she told herself sternly.
Your thoughts are your will, and you bring to
yourself what you will
.

Loneliness had brought today’s events down on her like an earthslide. Well, she would ignore it the next time it crept into her dreams. She’d been alone since her mother died a few months after Grandmother Astra. She would get used to it, wouldn’t let herself be ruled by it. She had no choice, since she was all that was left of her family.

We are witches. I’ll not deny it
, Astra had told her once.
Whether that’s a gift or a burden is
something each must choose for herself. But, child, it’s only a word, and only you can decide what
that word will mean. When you let others define you, you give up the greatest power of all
.

Wise words from a strong, wise woman. But even Astra couldn’t have foreseen a time when there would be only one of them left, and that one being a seventeen-year-old girl struggling to define herself while an entire village strove to reshape and diminish her.

Willing herself not to cry, Ari looked around and spotted a hawk watching her from a nearby tree. She felt her mood shift, as it always did when she saw one of the Mother’s wild children, and she smiled for the first time that day. Raising her hand in greeting, she called out, “Blessings of the day to you, brother hawk.”

The hawk chose not to answer. But she noticed that, every time she looked back, it was still watching her.

It’s only a hawk
, she thought as that feel in the air began to press in on her again. Of course it was only a hawk. Then again, it could have been a Fae Lord or Lady from Tir Alainn. It was said that each of them had another form that could be taken at will.

Tir Alainn. The Fair Land. The Otherland. The land of magic—and the home of the Fae, who were the Mother’s most powerful children.

It was better to believe the hawk was only a hawk. Despite what Odella and the other girls might think about a romantic encounter with a Fae Lord on a moonlit road, the Fae were not always kind when they dealt with humans.

Suddenly shivering, Ari hurried toward the safety of her home.

She had two days to understand the magic Granny Gwynn had set into the fancy, two days to see if there was some way to safely counter the spell. If she couldn’t she would have to abide by that spell and swear a promise that invoked the two most powerful Fae—the Lady of the Moon and the Lord of the Sun, the Lord of Fire. The Huntress . . . and the Lightbringer.

Dianna stood on one of the terraces overlooking the gardens of the Clan house, watching her brother until the path took him out of sight.

“He’s has been prowling the gardens all morning,” Lyrra said, settling herself on the low terrace wall. “

And he’s got that look in his eyes that bodes ill for anyone offering him company.”

“You mean for anyone offering him a romp,” Dianna replied defensively. “Lucian accepts invitations when he chooses and takes his pleasure where he wills.” Her voice ripened with impatience. “Besides, men don’t
always
think about
that
.”

“Really?” Lyrra said dryly. “Even on this day, when the first moon of summer rises?” She made a rude noise that expressed her opinion quite adequately.

Turning her back on the garden, Dianna sat on the terrace wall near Lyrra. She sighed. As much as she’d tried to pretend she didn’t know why the Fae men were acting so restless, Lyrra was right. They viewed the night of the Summer Moon as other men might view a banquet table filled with a variety of dishes to be sampled. And the dishes that were the most familiar had the least appeal.

Which is neither here nor there to me
, Dianna thought.
The Wild Hunt also rides tonight, and
anyone crossing our path is fair game
.

“Will Aiden be among those traveling the road through the Veil tonight?” Dianna asked.

“I wouldn’t know,” Lyrra said too casually.

Oh, you know
, Dianna thought, seeing the way Lyrra’s eyes fixed on the gardens without seeing them.

You know, and the casual way he seeks other lovers hurts you
. “If our paths cross tonight, shall I bring you back his heart?” She said the words lightly, but there was nothing light about the question.

“Haven’t you realized it yet, Huntress?” Lyrra said with equal lightness. “Fae men have no hearts.”

Not knowing what to say, Dianna remained silent until Lyrra retreated inside the Clan house.

That wasn’t true, Dianna thought as she left the terrace and meandered the garden paths. Not exactly. It wasn’t in the Fae’s nature to be ... warm . . . with each other. Not that way. Physical coupling was pleasant, but it wasn’t
supposed
to involve the heart. Why should it?

And since it didn’t, there was no reason why the males shouldn’t enjoy females from the human world. It required little of them and meant even less. Besides, it was the women from a handful of extended families who made up each Clan. The woman and their offspring. Fae males tended to make lengthy visits to other Clans to avoid sowing their own meadow. It was a woman’s male relatives, her brothers and cousins, who helped raise the child, not its sire. Fae women seldom found a human interesting enough to take as a lover, but if the males took their ease in a human’s bed, what difference did it make?

A whine made her look to her left. Her lips softened in the beginning of a smile.

The shadow hounds were her joy—sleek and lethal, with beautiful gray coats streaked with black. When they ran, they were moonlight and shadow in motion, and there was no prey, on four legs or two, that was fast enough or clever enough to elude them when they hunted.

The bitch whined again, wagging her tail hesitantly.

Dianna almost extended her hand to welcome the hound. Then the three puppies from the bitch’s last litter joined their mother, and Dianna remembered why this bitch was no longer her favorite, why she could no longer give the petting and praise that had once come so easily.

Two of the puppies were perfect. But the third . . .

The tan forelegs that marred the lovely blend of gray and black were a constant reminder that the bitch had pursued a different kind of hunt the last time Dianna had taken the pack through the Veil.

It was one thing for a Fae male to plant a child in a human woman. After all, the woman was getting a better offspring than she ever could have gotten from a human male, even if the child
wouldn’t
have any magical gifts. It was quite another to allow inferior creatures to live in Tir Alainn.

She should have had the pups destroyed the minute she’d seen that one. They couldn’t be allowed to breed since the sire’s influence could well show up in the next generation, even from the pups who showed no sign of him now. But the bitch had been so fiercely protective, allowing no one to get near her pups until Dianna came into the kennels. The animal had been so pleased to see her, so willing to share her pups with her mistress . . .

She had given the bitch the praise and petting it had wanted, and she’d given no orders that would end the puppies’ existence, but she hadn’t been able to force herself to touch the bitch since that day.

Dianna turned away, ignoring the bitch’s unhappy whine.

There had been times when a Fae woman would find a human male enticing enough to enjoy him. And there had been times when that enjoyment had resulted in a child. But no Fae woman kept such a creature in Tir Alainn. That kind of child was left on the sire’s doorstep for him to do with as he chose.

Now that the pups were weaned, perhaps she should do the same with them. Just leave them in the human world the next time she passed through the Veil.

No, that was unacceptable. The shadow hounds belonged to the Fae. If humans were to acquire even mongrel pups, the shadow hounds would no longer belong exclusively to the Fae. They would become . .

. diminished, ordinary. And
that
was unthinkable. Which meant she would have to find something else to do with the worthless puppies.

“Shadows surround the moon, sister,” a baritone voice said. “Is it your mind or your heart that travels a dark path?”

The voice made her focus on the man standing in front of her.

“I could ask the same of you, Lucian,” Dianna replied.

Saying nothing more, he offered his arm. As they strolled the gardens together, Dianna studied him out of the corner of her eye.

He was her twin, her opposite, and her equal. Their mother once said that they must have gotten mixed in the womb because they reflected the opposite of what they were. In a way, that was true. She, who was the Lady of the Moon, was the golden one—fair hair and amber eyes, and skin that warmed to the sun’s kiss— while he had black hair, gray eyes, and fair skin the sun couldn’t touch. But he was the Lord of the Sun, the Lord of Fire. The Lightbringer.

“Are you going to cross the Veil tonight?” Dianna asked.

“I haven’t decided,” Lucian replied curtly.

Lyrra was right
, Dianna thought.
This mood of his bodes ill for everyone
. “I think you should. You didn’t seem to enjoy your last visit to one of the other Clans. It was mentioned that you weren’t a receptive guest.” Which is why she had felt defensive when Lyrra had pointed out that Lucian was avoiding company. It was unusual for a Fae male to refuse an invitation to a woman’s bed when he was guesting at a Clan house. It was, in fact, considered ill mannered for him to repeatedly refuse unless he was already having an affair and had promised a modicum of fidelity. So the veiled complaints that had been entwined in the flowery phrases of the messages she’d received had disturbed her and made her quick to take his side of the argument—even before an argument had actually surfaced. He was her brother. It was second nature to take his side in any disagreement—unless, of course, he was disagreeing with her.

She almost jerked away from him when she felt his temper begin to rise. It took effort to keep her arm lightly linked with his when he turned his head to look at her and she could see his eyes clearly.

“I don’t keep track of what you do in your bed, sister,” he said with deadly control. “What makes you think you have any right to keep track of what I do in mine?”

Dianna swallowed carefully. “It is less in my nature than it is in yours to seek that kind of company.” She knew it had been the wrong thing to say a moment before he pulled away from her. “Lucian—”

“What favors haven’t I granted that they should complain to my
sister
?” he snarled. “What is it that they feel they can’t get from me by making an honest request instead of tying it to the bed?”

“It isn’t like that,” Dianna protested.

“Isn’t it?” Lucian paced away from her, turned, came back. “Who is it that refused their invitation, Dianna? Lucian ... or the Lightbringer?”

“You
are
the Lightbringer, so how—”

“Which one?” he demanded. “When they pouted to you, which one did they say failed to accept their lures?”

She didn’t answer him. Didn’t dare. Not with the mood he was in. What was wrong with a woman wanting the strongest and the best for a lover and, possibly, to be the sire of her child? When had this bitterness in him started? It was rooted too deep to be solely because of that last visit to another Clan.

Why hadn’t she seen this in him until now? And how could she aim that fury at a target that wasn’t his own kind?

“It is customary to grant a boon for the pleasure of the bed,” she said carefully. “That is our way.”

“Have you considered that the price may no longer equal the pleasure?” he said softly. His face hardened.

“I dance to no one’s tune. You can send
that
message back to the Clans.”

This time, when he turned away from her, he kept going.

Dianna didn’t follow him. There was no argument she could have made that would have softened his mood. And the truth was, she
hadn’t
made the distinction that he had. Now, thinking back on the way those messages had been worded, she wondered if he was right. Had the women in the other Clan been disappointed that none of them had enjoyed Lucian as a lover, or had they been disappointed not to have a required favor from the Lightbringer, who could command anything and everything in Tir Alainn except the Lady of the Moon?

Dianna headed back to the Clan house, needing the solitude of her own rooms.

She hoped Lucian
did
take the road through the Veil tonight, but she felt a moment’s pity for whatever, or whoever, crossed his path.

Hearing Aiden’s harp, Lucian headed in another direction. He wasn’t interested in talking to anyone, and certainly wasn’t interested in being on the receiving end of the Bard’s sometimes-barbed speech. So he headed to the one place in the gardens he had avoided all morning.

He hesitated a moment, then walked down the steps under a stone arch. Stone rose up around him.

Above him, the trees formed a canopy, letting in dappled sunlight. He could still hear Aiden’s harp, but now it blended with the stir of leaves, a natural song that offered comfort.

Like this place, he thought as he followed the path, his fingers brushing against the stone. He couldn’t say why this place felt different from the rest of the gardens, but the silence here was richer, rooted in a peace that could drain the heart of any sorrows.

Maybe his anger wasn’t fair. A handful of the roads that led from Tir Alainn to Sylvalan had closed, and many of the ones that were still open were harder to use. The Fae couldn’t stop a road from closing, nor could they create a new one. They were the Mother’s most powerful children, but that piece of magic had been lost to them. It was even getting harder to travel between Clan territories. They were islands of land connected by bridges that spanned mist. Sometimes, even when a road
wasn’t
closing, the mist claimed a bridge, breaking the connection between two Clans.

So he could understand why the Clan women would want the use of any male who wasn’t kin while they still had access to him. But fire was too much a part of his nature, and he didn’t like the coldness that had crept into the bedding. In the past two years, since he’d become the Lightbringer, the gleam in the eyes of Fae women who invited him to their beds had seemed more calculating than lustful, more shrewd than desiring.

Perhaps it wasn’t coldness that crept into the bed with him lately. Perhaps it was simply boredom. He knew what to expect, knew what was given and what was taken, knew it so well it had all become less than what it had been. What he didn’t know was
why
it felt that way.

He was twenty-four years old. That was far too young to have become bored with sex. But, perhaps, the number of women he’d enjoyed during his first year as the Lord of the Sun accounted for his waning interest now. Or perhaps his passion had slumbered like the winter sun and had not yet quite reawakened. He felt the waxing and waning of power now more than he had when he was just another young Lord of Fire.

Waxing and waning. Like the sun through the seasons. Like the moon through its cycle. Like the Fae who were the leaders of their respective gifts.

It seemed like every other Clan had a Lord of Fire, but only one might feel his power swell on Harvest Eve as he stood before the man who already held the title. Only one might eclipse the old Lord’s waning strength and became
the
Lord of Fire, the Lord of the Sun, the Lightbringer. And while a challenge wasn

’t issued every year, the young Lords of Fire still gathered on that night wherever the Lightbringer chose to measure their strength against his. And sometimes an impatient fool tried to wrest the title from the one who held it before the old Lord’s power had sufficiently waned. A fool could discover that defeat was sometimes brutal—sometimes even fatal. But when the time, and the challenger, was right, the challenge was merely a formality, a ritual that allowed the old to yield to the new.