Shadows and Light

was a trick of the light or if fatigue was making him imagine things.
    “Blessings of the day to you,” Aiden said, deliberately using a witch’s greeting.
    She looked mildly surprised, but replied, “Blessings of the day.”
    “I’m Aiden, the Bard.” He reached out, clasped Lyrra’s hand. “This is Lyrra, the Muse. We’ve come to speak to Lady Ashk.”
    “Have you?” Her smile was slightly feral—and amused. “First you should eat and recover a little from your journey. Then we’ll talk.”
    “You’re Ashk?” Aiden couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice. He’d expected someone older, considering how wary everyone seemed to be when her name was mentioned.
    Ashk just turned her head to look back at the group of Fae still gathered near the table. A couple of younger males immediately headed for the Clan house.
    “Sit,” Ashk said, making a gesture toward the benches on either side of the large table.
    He would have preferred to stand and stretch his back and legs, but he took a place beside Lyrra. Ashk sat on the opposite bench, across from them, her feet on the bench, her arms loosely clasped around her knees.
    The youngsters returned with two wooden serving trays. Plates of sliced bread and cheese, a small bowl of fresh butter, and a plate for each of them that had a generous portion of some kind of white meat.
    Last, they set down two small cloths and a steaming bowl of water.
    Since there was only a dull knife to spread the butter, Aiden decided the cloths and water were to be used to clean fingers that had gotten messy. He swirled his hands in the water, reluctant to pick up food with hands soiled from traveling. He dried his hands on one of the cloths, then buttered a piece of bread for Lyrra while she washed her hands.

    Ashk tipped her head. “Do you like chicken? Most of the Fae here find it too bland, but I’ve acquired a taste for it, and the cooks indulge me on occasion.”
    “Oh, we’ve had chicken before,” Lyrra said. “But not often since they’re mostly kept for the eggs.”
    “There’s only so many eggs that can be used,” Ashk said blandly. “And some of those eggs that are laid become little chickens that grow up to be big chickens that lay more eggs. Or they become cocks eager to announce the dawn. And, really, how many cocks does a woman need first thing in the morning?”
    Aiden choked on the mouthful of ale he’d just tried to swallow. Lyrra’s mouth dropped open before she burst into laughter. Aiden glanced at the men standing near the table. The younger ones were blushing.
    The older ones just returned his glance and shrugged.
    No help there.
    “You have a different opinion about cocks in the morning?” Ashk asked.
    “Oh, Aiden doesn’t— I mean, he— This looks delicious.” Lyrra turned her attention to her meal.
    Aiden was tempted to give his lover and wife a hard kick under the table, but it wouldn’t have done him any good, so he applied himself to his meal.
    When they’d eaten their fill and the plates were taken away, Ashk said, “What brings you to Bretonwood?”
    “We came to talk to you,” Aiden replied.
    “Why?”
    “We’re hoping you can tell us how to find the Hunter.”
    “Why?”
    Irritated by that bland voice that didn’t match the something almost hidden in her eyes, Aiden got up, walked a few paces to stretch his legs. He turned back to look at her. She just watched him, her expression bland. Too bland.
    “Since you know the greeting used by witches, it seems reasonable to assume you’ve known a witch at some time,” Aiden said carefully.
    “I know, and have known, several witches,” Ashk replied.
    “They aren’t servants for the Fae to order about.”
    “Whoever said they were?” Ashk’s expression was still bland, but her voice had an edge to it.
    Had they finally found an ally, someone who wouldn’t dismiss what he’d been trying to tell the Fae for the past year? The edge in her voice lifted his spirits while warning him that he needed to be very careful to explain this in just the right way.
    He took a step toward Ashk, held out his hands in appeal, and put everything he had into his words. “
    Witches are the Mother’s Daughters. They are the House of Gaian.”
    No change in her face. No change in her eyes. Nothing.

    “They’re being killed, brutally, by men called Inquisitors. And when they die, the shining roads that lead to Tir Alainn die with them, trapping the Fae whose territories were