Shadows and Light

with bitter honesty, resentful that this village was pretty only on the surface.
    “I think they’re scared,” Lyrra said so quietly he had to lean to one side to hear her.
    “Scared of two Fae?” he asked just as quietly.
    She lifted a piece of cheese to her mouth. Her hand partially hid her lips. “The little girl... She had woodland eyes. So did her mother. So does the tavern owner.” She popped the cheese into her mouth.
    Woodland eyes. The one physical attribute that seemed common to anyone who had some kinship to the House of Gaian. Of course, not everyone who had woodland eyes was one of the Mother’s Daughters.
    Lyrra was proof of that. But if there were people in this village who had strong ties to the witches in the Old Place, and if they’d been warned about the Black Coats, that would explain why they were wary of strangers.
    It didn’t make it any easier being on the receiving end of those cold, hard stares.
    They finished their meal in silence, and Aiden felt grateful that the price wasn’t so dear as he’d expected.
    If the feel in the room had been different, he might have offered to pay for part of the meal with a few songs, but he didn’t think the offer would be welcome—and he didn’t trust the temper of these men.
    When they left the tavern, the men followed them outside, watched them mount their horses.
    Aiden pressed his heels into the dark horse’s sides. “Come on, Minstrel, let’s go.”
    Minstrel just planted his feet and shifted his weight in a way that warned Aiden the horse had no intention of going anywhere.
    Aiden leaned down, bringing his face closer to the horse’s ears. “Not now, Minstrel. We have to go.”
    Minstrel wig-wagged his ears. His feet didn’t move at all.
    Aiden felt the weight of all those hard eyes watching him.
    He sat up and handed the packhorse’s lead rope to Lyrra, who looked at him with wide-eyed apprehension. Twisting around, he unbuckled one of the buckles on a saddlebag and pulled out the whistle he’d taken to carrying there.
    Giving the men a weak smile, he said, “He expects a song before we start out.” Fitting his fingers over the whistle’s holes, he began to play a sprightly tune.
    And Minstrel started trotting. In place.
    Aiden had no idea why the horse had learned to do that— or why anyone would teach the horse to do that, but there they were, with him playing the tune and Minstrel trotting— and going nowhere.

    He glanced at Lyrra, who had one hand clamped over her mouth to stifle the laughter. He glanced at the men, who were scratching their heads or rubbing their hands over their mouths. Their mirth filled the air, but they held the laughter in—probably, Aiden thought sourly, so they wouldn’t distract the horse.
    He reached the last note of the song.
    Minstrel planted his feet firmly in the street.
    Lyrra was laughing so hard, her face had turned a bright red that was not a complement for her dark red hair.
    The men watched him expectantly.
    Feeling the heat rising in his face, Aiden stuffed the whistle inside his shirt and cleared his throat. “Uh... I guess that was the wrong tune.”
    Minstrel bobbed his head as if in agreement.
    It could have been worse, Aiden thought as he gathered up the reins. He could have done this at a Clan house and destroyed what little reputation I have left. Taking a deep breath, he began singing the traveling song.
    He got through the first verse and the chorus.
    Minstrel refused to move.
    When he got through the second verse, he made a “help me” gesture with one hand. The men were laughing so hard, none of them could hit the right notes, but they sang the chorus with him.
    Minstrel bobbed his head and trotted down the street.
    Aiden was an embarrassed bard.
    Minstrel was a happy horse.
    If he hadn’t needed a Fae horse, he would have traded the music-obsessed animal for anything that could be saddled and carry a grown man.
    But as they trotted down the street, with Lyrra and the packhorse following, he heard two the men call out, “Good luck to you, Bard!”
    “Hope you run out of road before you run out of songs!”
    Aiden just raised one hand and waved to acknowledge he’d heard them—and he kept singing.
    They’d gone a couple of miles past the village before Lyrra stopped giggling every time she glanced at him. He’d sung the traveling song—all ten verses with a chorus after every one of them—and a few other songs before he dared quit. Fortunately, by then