Shadows and Light

circle with a stag in a way that was highly suggestive of a mating dance, moved on again to do a few steps with a vixen, stepped within the circle to twirl and dance on her own, always moving with the others in a way that was clearly intended to celebrate life.
    Then the music changed, becoming darker, deeper—and Ashk changed with it.
    Chilled by her slight smile, Aiden watched her raise her arms as if she were drawing an imaginary bow.
    The masked Fae moved faster now. She loosed the imaginary arrow, and three of them dropped to their hands and knees.
    She drew back another arrow. More of the Fae fell. As the arrow pointed at them, the elder Fae moved out of the circle to stand with their heads bowed. A vixen staggered before she fell. A stag leaped high, his back arched, before he crumbled to the ground. Ashk kept pivoting, firing her imaginary arrows as the music filled the meadow. As the last masked Fae fell to the ground, the music suddenly stopped.
    Aiden felt Lyrra shivering beside him. A dance that had celebrated life had become a circle of the slain.
    A heartbeat of silence. Two.
    The music began again, the same part of the tune that had begun the dance, but quieter this time.
    Ashk walked the circle, one hand extended. As she passed, the masked Fae got to their feet and began walking the circle with her again. When they passed behind the bonfire, they stepped out of the circle, forming lines beyond the fire.
    Once. Twice. Three times. As the last notes faded, Ashk stood behind the bonfire, with the rest of the masked dancers spread out behind her.
    Aiden couldn’t breathe right. The faces staring back at him were feral and alien, something a part of him recognized—and feared. And Ashk...
    In the flickering light, he finally made out the details of her mask. Not a human face decorated with vines and leaves, and yet it was. Not an animal face, but it held that quality, too.
    The dancers were breaking formation now, helping each other untie the leather straps that held the masks in place. The spell of the dance should have broken with those ordinary movements. It didn’t. Instead, Aiden had the sense that those ordinary movements were simply a way of donning a different kind of mask.
    “What are they?” Lyrra whispered, her voice shaking.
    “They’re the Fae,” Morag said softly.
    Aiden looked at her. Morag’s eyes were wide and staring. Her lips were slightly parted to help her breathe. And as she watched Ashk, still masked, walk around the bonfire and move toward them, she looked as if she’d finally seen the answer to something that had puzzled her.
    “They are the Fae,” Morag said. “And Ashk...”
    Ashk walked up to Morag, stood close enough that if either of them had extended a hand, they would have touched.
    That close, Aiden saw the mask and shivered. It was the woods come alive. Life and death. Shadows and light.
    Ashk stood in front of Morag, a strange smile curving her lips.
    “And Ashk,” Morag said softly, “is the Hunter.”
    Morag carefully closed the shutters over the window, adjusting the slats to let as much cool air in as possible. Until the nighthunters’ appearance in the Old Place, there’d been no reason to shutter the windows at night. Now it was a sensible precaution.
    She climbed into bed, pulling the sheet up around her, not relaxed enough to sleep despite the fatigue pulling at her. Perhaps she should have stayed with Neall and Ari. The cottage was her home, after all.
    But Morphia and Sheridan had stayed at the cottage, and she’d come back with the rest of the Fae to the Clan house.
    Who are you, Ashk?
    She’d been asking that question in one way or another since she’d arrived at this Old Place. Now she finally had the answer.
    Someone tapped softly on her door. Before she could move, Aiden slipped into her room, carrying a small harp. When he reached the bed, he sat near her feet, shifting until he could hold the harp comfortably.
    Morag’s chest tightened. She pulled her feet up and hugged her knees. There’d been a moment this evening, after the spiral dance, when she’d felt sad and wistful that there wasn’t a man like Aiden or Sheridan or Neall who looked at her with the heat of passion in his eyes. But she didn’t want a man who was committed to another woman, and she didn’t want pity from the Bard. “Aiden—”
    “Lyrra knows I’m here,” Aiden said quietly. His hands rested on the harp strings for a moment before he began playing idle