Shadows and Light

down to the human world in order to keep enough magic in the Old Place to hold the shining road open and their piece of Tir Alainn intact. Given enough time, would they eventually build a Clan house in the human world? Or would they continue to live a mean existence in Brightwood, doing only what they had to do to survive? “You’ve done so much work here.”
    The man gave her an odd look. “We live here.”
    “What about Tir Alainn?” Aiden asked.
    “There’s a Clan house there, as well. The elders usually stay there during the winter months since the damp weather can be hard on old bones, and there are others who stay there much of the time to tend to things. The rest of us go there for a few days each season to rest. It’s a simpler place. It was meant to be.” He hesitated, looked a little puzzled. “I’ve heard it said that the Fae in other parts of Sylvalan live in Tir Alainn all the time. Is that true?”
    “Yes,” Aiden said. “It’s true. Most of the Fae only come down to the human world to ... visit.”
    The man shook his head. “Foolish thing to do, becoming a stranger to your own land.”
    “If this is the Clan’s land, where do the witches live?” Lyrra asked. She saw the man’s expression, which had slowly warmed a little toward curious friendliness, change back instantly to wariness and suspicion.

    She felt the way Aiden suddenly gripped her hand in warning, and realized why he hadn’t asked if there were witches living in the Old Place. He’d intended to keep some things between themselves and the bard of this Clan, and she, caught up in comparing this place with memories of the Fae struggling through their first winter in Brightwood, had blurted out their interest in witches.
    “That I can’t tell you,” the man said sharply. “The bard’s suite is this way.” He led them up a set of stairs to another archway that opened on the second floor of the building. A wide walkway stretched between one building and the next, ending at a rooftop courtyard.
    A door at the opposite end of that courtyard took them down into a communal room for that part of the Clan house. The room was empty, which didn’t surprise her. If these Fae lived in the Old Place, there was plenty of work to be done in the daylight hours.
    A brisk knock on an inner door a few doors down from the communal room. A muffled grumble behind it.
    The man opened the door and gestured for them to go inside. “Taihg,” he said. “You’ve got visitors.”
    She saw a man who looked a little older than Aiden hunched over a slant-top desk, busily scratching notations on a sheet of paper.
    “I don’t have visitors until I’ve got this line down,” Taihg said irritably.
    Before the man could speak again, Aiden just smiled and shook his head.
    Lyrra saw a hint of warmth return to the man’s eyes. Apparently, he approved of the Bard showing that much courtesy to the Clan bard.
    Raising two fingers to his temple in a salute, the man left, closing the door quietly behind him.
    Silently, Aiden crossed the room and moved to a place where he could read the notations over Taihg’s shoulder.
    “Stand back,” Taihg snapped. “I said I’d get to you in a moment. Pest.”
    Aiden obediently returned to a place across the room. He picked up a small harp, settled on a padded bench that stood against one wall, and waited.
    Lyrra sat on the bench with him, stifling the urge to wince—or give Aiden a hard poke in the ribs. Those blue eyes of his had that blend of interest and fire that meant something musical now had his full attention.
    Having seen Aiden when he was intensely focused on music, she felt a little sorry for the hapless bard who was about to be pounced on by the Lord of Song.
    Taihg set his quill carefully back in its holder, stretched his back, then turned to his visitors. His mouth fell open when Aiden set his fingers on the harp strings and played the tune Taihg had just written.
    “A few chords could be adjusted to give a little more to the song, but it’s a lovely piece,” Aiden said, quietly playing a few measures of the song again. “The contrast between the melody line and the chords you’re using gives it a bittersweet feel. Have you written the lyrics yet?”
    “A couple of verses,” Taihg said, stammering slightly. “You’re—”
    “Aiden.”
    “—the Bard.”

    “Yes.”
    Taihg glanced at Lyrra. She gave him a bright smile, and said, “I’m Lyrra, the Muse.”
    Taihg half rose from the