In the deepening twilight, Ashk watched cookfires bloom in the fields like exotic flowers. She was in the Mother’s Hills. The House of Gaian lived here. The House of Gaian ruled here. Power breathed here, in the land, in the water, in the very air. She drew in air slowly, savoring its richness—and caught the slight stink of fear from the army of humans and Fae that were spread out over the land.
Yesterday evening, she and her companions and huntsmen had ridden into that army camped near the hills. Thousands of men, human and Fae, waiting for the midland barons and the Fae leaders to decide how to reach Willowsbrook. The quickest way lay right in front of them, but none of them had dared send as much as a small party of men into the Mother’s Hills to request passage to the other side.
Then she rode up to the tents that were the barons’ quarters and both sides dumped the decision on her shoulders with a swiftness she’d found a bit staggering. The Fae would follow her because she was the Hunter. The barons would abide by her decision because, they were relieved to discover, she was Baron Padrick’s wife and, therefore, would not dismiss the safety of humans simply because they were humans. She had no idea how or why they came to that conclusion, even though it was true, but it had allowed all of them to get a few hours’ sleep instead of arguing half the night about choices that weren’t choices at all since they couldn’t go around the hills without tangling with another piece of the Inquisitors’ army. So, early the next morning, with Rhyann as their guide to show them the closest road, she led her companions into the Mother’s Hills—and an army marched behind her.
She took another deep breath. Power seeped into her, brushing away cobwebs of fatigue. She would sleep well tonight—and hopefully not dream too intensely about Padrick. It was a bit embarrassing to wake up aching and wet and wonder if she’d made any sounds that had disturbed the other sleepers around her.
“Does it feel strange to you?”
Relieved to have her thoughts pulled away from that particular path, she smiled at Rhyann. “No. It feels like home. It’s the first place since I left the west that feels like home.”
Rhyann studied her, looking slightly puzzled. “How does it feel like home?”
Ashk shrugged. “It just does. More potent than the magic that flows through Bretonwood, but not so different. It soothes—and also makes me aware of how much I miss my home woods, my husband and children, my Clan. And it makes me realize again how much we can lose if we don’t drive the Inquisitors out of Sylvalan. The people in the east have been wounded. Lives have been torn in ways we cannot fix. But we can lance the wound and drain the pus from it so that it has a chance to heal.”
“There will be scars from those wounds,” Rhyann said quietly. “Scars that may not fade for generations.”
“Yes. And those scars will require careful attention to make sure nothing that may be festering beneath them has a chance to take hold.”
“We’ll all have to make some changes if we want to keep Sylvalan safe.”
“Then we’ll make some changes.” Ashk looked over the fields. “We’ll learn from one another, come to know one another better. We can learn to see the whole of the land that anchors all of us instead of our individual pieces of it.” She smiled. “And I know just how to begin—with music and stories.”
“You can’t expect Aiden and Lyrra to spend the night going from camp to camp singing and telling stories,” Rhyann protested. “They’ve put in a hard day’s travel, too.”
“There are bound to be a few bards and minstrels among the Fae here. A few storytellers, too. What Aiden and Lyrra begin will ripple through the rest of the camps. Others will pick up the tunes, tell the tales.”
“And humans and Fae will take comfort in the songs and stories they discover they have in common and pleasure in the ones one side or the other hasn’t heard?”
“Exactly.”
Rhyann crossed her arms over her chest. “And what about the House of Gaian?”
“I imagine you have a few stories to tell, too,” Ashk replied blandly. Was it just the way the firelight had flickered over Rhyann’s face at that moment, or had she really seen a flash of mischief in the witch’s face?
“I know some stories,” Rhyann said, her voice equally bland. “But I think the storytellers among us would have more suitable fare.”
Oh, how I’d love to give you one glass of wine too many and hear the stories you might tell about your sister. She’d been very careful not to ask Rhyann anything about Selena. She wanted to know about the Huntress. Oh, how she wanted to know. But it didn’t seem right to lure Rhyann into revealing family matters, and Rhyann hadn’t offered any information after the night they’d met her.
“I’d better tell the Bard and the Muse their gifts are needed,” Ashk said. She walked away from Rhyann—and temptation. By her estimation, they were a day and a half away from Willowsbrook, so she’d find out soon enough what she needed to know about the Huntress.