Shadows and Light

ensnared... and don’t dare refuse to carry out any other suggestions the Inquisitors now make about controlling females.”
    “I can’t believe the barons who voted on the decrees would agree to have this carried out throughout Sylvalan. I won’t believe it.”
    Padrick gave Liam a long, thoughtful look. “I wonder how many barons in Wolfram and Arktos said the same thing at one time. And I wonder how many of those barons who refused to follow the Inquisitors’
    dictates met with accidents. If you had died and the Inquisitors came to Willowsbrook to eliminate the witches and the female power they represent, would your successor have stood against them? Would he have risked his newly acquired wealth?”
    “I— I don’t even know who my successor would be,” Liam said. “Probably some cousin on my father’s side.”
    “You don’t know,” Padrick said quietly. “I think they do. I think the Inquisitors control the eastern barons now, and whoever controls the Inquisitors ... If you ever see him, you will see the face of evil.”
    A child laughed. Was quickly shushed by the others.
    Such a normal sound, Liam thought. A child laughing.
    Would his father have ordered this “procedure” done to Elinore? To Brooke?
    Oh, yes. And the bastard would have smiled while giving the order. And he would have rejoiced if they’d taken Nuala and Keely and Breanna and...
    No. That had been a nightmare, a fever dream while they’d ridden through that Old Place. Just a nightmare. Had to be just a nightmare.
    But Padrick had cried when they’d ridden away, too late to do anything, too fearful of who might be coming after them to stay a moment longer.
    “What can I say to my mother?” Liam asked. “What can I possibly say to her about this?”
    “I don’t know. But I think, if they are willing, we need to talk to the Daughters.”
    “Not Keely. She’s ... damaged. Nuala and Breanna... yes, I think they’ll talk to us.” Folding the letter carefully, Liam tucked it in a pocket. He stood up—and felt old, used up. “Let’s get it done.”
    As Padrick rose to stand beside him, a boy raced toward them, skidding to a stop a few feet away.
    “Rory and Clay say there’s a rider coming. Clay says it’s Squire Thirsty and wants to know if the men should let him come in.”

    “His name is Thurston,” Liam said, “and, yes, you should let him come in.”
    The boy raced back to the arch where the armed men waited. Liam and Padrick stayed where they were. Since the children had moved toward the stables, the bench under the tree was a good place for private conversations.
    Squire Thurston rode through the archway, dismounted, and threw his horse’s reins to the boy standing closest, then trotted toward the tree where Liam and Padrick waited. He was a middle-aged man who doted on his wife and was a good father to his four children. His land was well tended, his tenant farmers and servants well cared for. A cheerful man who was content with what he had, his opinion about almost everything was respected by villagers and farmers alike, which had always incensed Liam’s father.
    The man trotting toward them didn’t look cheerful or content. There was fear, almost panic, in his face.
    “Baron Liam,” Thurston said, panting. “Thank the Mother you’re back! Is it true, sir? What did the barons say? What are they going to do?”
    “Do about what?” Liam asked.
    Thurston gaped at him. “About what happened in Pickworth!”
    Pickworth. Moira’s village. “What happened?” Liam said sharply.
    “I—I thought that’s why you were delayed,” Thurston stammered. “I thought the riders had reached Durham before the council ended and that’s why ...”
    “Mother’s tits, man,” Padrick snapped. “Just tell us what happened.”
    “Baron Padrick and I left Durham on the night of the Summer Moon, after I... became ill,” Liam said.
    Thurston stared at them for a moment, as if he couldn’t quite understand what they’d said. Then he whispered, “That’s when it happened. On the night of the Summer Moon. The women...”
    Liam’s stomach churned as he remembered Moira’s words. On the night of the Summer Moon, a night when the women of Sylvalan have traditionally celebrated their sexuality, we will gather at the Old Place for the last time. “What about the women?”
    Thurston’s eyes shone with tears. “They killed themselves. They killed their daughters, even the babes.
    They— They’re all dead,