Shadows and Light

morning.

Chapter Ten
    Aiden’s hand hovered over the case that held his small harp. He shook his head, let his hand fall to his side. Under normal circumstances, he would have met with any bards who lived in the Clan or were there visiting. He would have listened to any new songs they had created and shared his own. But these weren’
    t normal circumstances, and he wasn’t in the mood to bring his harp to play idly in one of the common rooms.
    Crossing to the window, he looked out at the garden that made up part of this courtyard. Beautiful.
    Perfect. No tangles of weeds, no blighted flowers. Nothing out of place. That was Tir Alainn. The rain was always soft, gently soaking into the ground. No storms here to turn roads into mud. No lack of food, so the belly never tightened with hunger. Beautiful rooms, beautiful clothes, sprawling Clan houses that could rival the finest estates in the human world. And all of it required so little labor from the people who lived here.
    A sanctuary. A place to rest from the toil of the human world. But the Fae weren’t the ones who toiled in the human world. What had they ever done to earn the right to be here?
    Sighing, Aiden left the room that had been granted him and Lyrra for their stay, although he doubted either of them wanted to stay very long. A cold welcome didn’t encourage a person to linger in a place.
    No matter. There was work to do here. Witches were still dying. Pieces of Tir Alainn, and the Clans who lived there, were still being lost. But here... If the Clan ignored the warnings here, it would be Breanna and Nuala and Keely who would die.
    He entered one of the common rooms in the Clan house. Lyrra stood at the other end of the room, her lips set in a tight, grim line as she listened to several older women.
    No doubt haranguing her for turning her back on the Lady of the Moon and leaving Dianna to shoulder the burden of keeping the shining road open so that her Clan’s territory in Tir Alainn remained in existence.
    If they knew we weren’t just lovers but had made a vow of loyalty in the human fashion, they’d probably exile us on the spot, Aiden thought sourly. He started to scan the room—and was surprised to see a familiar face this far north. Smiling, he walked over to the brown-haired man whose attention was fixed on the group of women with Lyrra.
    “Falco! Well met,” Aiden said.
    “Aiden.”
    There was just enough tension, just enough hesitation in Falco’s voice to stop Aiden from taking another step forward.
    “What brings you here?” Falco asked, his brown eyes now scanning the room.
    Aiden studied the Lord of the Hawks. There was too much anxiety in Falco’s eyes. “We’re here to rest
    —and catch up on any news that has been passed along through the Clans.”
    “Aiden ... maybe this isn’t a good time for you—”
    “So,” a male voice said loudly from another part of the room. “The Bard has decided to grace us with his presence. Where’s your harp, Aiden? Aren’t you going to subject us to another mewling song about witches?”
    Recognizing the voice, and seeing the way Falco’s face paled, Aiden turned slowly to face the man who now stood in the center of the room.
    “Lucian,” Aiden said politely. “Well met.”
    Lucian, the Lord of the Sun, the Lord of Fire, said coldly, “We aren’t ‘well met,’ Bard. You saw to that.
    No, we are not ‘well met.’ I doubt we ever will be.”
    “I regret the loss of your esteem, but I don’t regret the reason for it. I can’t. Not after the things I’ve seen. And, yes, Lucian,” Aiden said, his voice rising, “I will sing my mewling songs about witches, and I will say the words that need to be said, and I will keep saying those words until the Fae start listening, start heeding, start doing instead of standing back and watching witches die and then wailing because there’s a cost to not listening, not heeding, not doing. How many of them have to be tortured to death before you’ll listen?”
    “We are doing what is necessary to make sure the witches don’t leave the Old Places,” Lucian said.
    “What?” Aiden demanded. “Hemming them in? Taking away whatever means they might have to flee before the Black Coats kill them? If the Fae are doing what is necessary, where were they when the Inquisitors destroyed the witches in the villages south of here? Where were they, Lucian? Where were they when the Mother’s Daughters were dying in agony?”
    “The witches are