Shadows and Light

family of witches living in the Old Place that the magic has spread beyond the borders.”
    “Maybe,” Aiden said. He’d like to believe that. “Shall we ride in and see what the tavern might be offering for a midday meal?”
    Lyrra nodded.
    Aiden studied her. She looked more tired than she should have, and she’d alternated between snapping at him about anything and turning weepy about nothing. She couldn’t, or wouldn’t, tell him what was bothering her, and he didn’t have the nerve to ask if she was pregnant because, if she was, he was fairly certain whatever response he made to the news would be the wrong one. Instead of asking about something that would create a strain between them, he said, “If the tavern has a room available, we could stay here until morning.”
    He saw a yearning in her face that changed to hard resolve.
    “It’s only midday,” Lyrra said. “We need to keep going. That bard either lied to us or had never made the journey to Bretonwood and has no idea how long it really takes.”
    “I figure by taking this road instead of continuing on the main one, we’ve saved a day’s travel.”
    “That bard didn’t mention this road. It’s not marked, but it wasn’t that hard to find.”
    The sharpness under her words made him uneasy. Her referring to Taihg as “that bard” didn’t bode well.
    But she was right. Taihg hadn’t mentioned this road, which seemed to head northwest—exactly where they needed to go.
    Lyrra sighed. “I’m tired, Aiden.”
    “I know, love. I know.”
    “I just want it done. I want the journey to end. I want to find the Hunter and finally know if there’s any use in our trying and trying and trying.” She sniffled lightly. “And I don’t want to stay in that village more than an hour, because if I do, I won’t want to leave, and that will make leaving so much harder.”
    Aiden hesitated. “How would you feel about living among humans?”
    She gave the village a long, thoughtful look. “Here, I would be willing to try.”
    “Then let’s find out if it would be possible.”
    Her mouth dropped open.
    Aiden smiled. “Taihg did say it was safer to wear our true faces. Let’s find out.”
    The hope and anticipation in her face made him as uneasy as her sharp tone had a moment ago. All he could do now was hope an hour in the village didn’t spoil her pleasure.
    They rode down to the village at an easy pace. There were plenty of people around as they rode up the main street. Aiden’s heart sank as he watched those people study him and Lyrra with cold eyes before hurrying into the nearest building. So. That answered the question about whether or not Fae might be accepted by these villagers.
    As they dismounted in front of the Hunter’s Horn, a little girl pulled away from her mother, darted across the street, and stopped in front of Minstrel.
    “Pretty horse,” she said, raising one small hand.
    Minstrel obligingly lowered his head so she could pet his nose.
    “Kayla!” the woman said, rushing over to pull her daughter to safety.
    “It’s all right,” Aiden said soothingly. “He’s very gentle.”
    The assurance didn’t seem to ease the woman’s fear.

    “He’s pretty, Mama,” the little girl said. She looked at Aiden. “Whaz his name?”
    “Minstrel.”
    “Does he sing?”
    Aiden grinned. “He would if he could. Since he can’t, he just likes to listen.”
    “I’m gonna be a minstrel when I’m bigger,” the girl said. “But I won’t be a horse.”
    Minstrel moved his ears so they stuck out from his head, giving him such a woebegone expression, even the woman smiled.
    “Don’t be sad,” the little girl said. “I’ll sing you a song.” She began to sing in a sweet, clear voice.
    Aiden snapped to attention, his blue eyes intent on the girl. He shouldn’t have done it— knew he shouldn’
    t have reacted that way—but it was a song he’d never heard, and it pulled at him with a force he couldn’t resist.
    “Kayla!” The woman grabbed her daughter’s shoulders and pulled her back a couple of steps. “That’s enough!”
    “But Mama—”
    “What kind of song is that?” Aiden asked, taking a step forward.
    “It’s a wic—”
    “Enough!” the woman shouted. She picked up the little girl, hurried across the street, and went into the nearest shop.
    Aiden’s shoulders sagged with disappointment. What was so wrong about letting the child sing? What was so wrong about letting him hear the child