Shadows and Light

her when Morag was standing in front of them?
    They rode into the stable yard and dismounted. Ashk murmured, “Walk,” to her horse and heard Morag murmur the same. Two grooms came out, touched two fingers to their foreheads in a salute, then stood back. They knew better than to try to take the reins of a Fae horse. When the horses were cooled down, the grooms would offer water and wait for further orders.
    She paused, noting the small wagon, the two horses in the paddock for visitors that Padrick had built next to the stable—and the two men leaning against the paddock rails where the shade tree outside the paddock offered relief from the sun.
    Turning away, Ashk strode to the manor with Morag easily matching her stride. How must they look to a stranger? One dressed in the brown-and-green trousers and tunic that were favored by the Fae of her Clan and the other dressed in slim black trousers and a split overdress that floated around her.
    The front door opened before she reached it. Finlay, Padrick’s butler, said, “Lady Ashk, this gentleman asked to speak with you.” Nothing in his voice implied that she’d been anywhere except for a long ride from which she was just returning.
    The man, who had been sitting on a bench next to six boxes, rose quickly to his feet. Whatever greeting he’d intended to give died when Morag walked through the door. His eyes widened. His breath seemed to catch in his chest. The healthy color in his face drained away.
    “Blessings of the day to you,” he said—then winced a little when he realized what he’d said.
    “Blessings of the day,” Ashk replied, studying his face more intently. Not the greeting he’d intended, but the one that came more naturally to him. He had woodland eyes, that brown-flecked green like her own.
    And she suspected that, like her, there had been a witch somewhere in his lineage. Perhaps fairly close, considering that it was a witch’s greeting that flowed from his lips when he was too startled to think.
    “I beg you’ll forgive the intrusion, Lady, but—”
    “I might,” Ashk interrupted, “if I knew who you are.”
    His face flushed. With effort, he focused his attention on her. “I’m Mihail, the captain of a merchant vessel. I’m here to deliver these boxes to Baron Padrick.”
    “Why? The baron didn’t mention he was expecting anything.”
    Mihail looked uncomfortable. “He’s not. That’s why I wanted to talk to him.”
    Ashk smiled. “Since he isn’t here, you’ll have to talk to me.”
    He shifted uneasily, as if recognizing there was a threat in those words but not knowing why it was so.
    “What’s in the boxes?” Ashk asked.
    “Books,” he replied promptly.
    Books? That could be good. Padrick always brought back a book or two when he had to go to Durham for the barons’ council. He had a fine library, the best in the county and probably beyond. He’d even brought some books for her, which she’d puzzled over, both fascinated and appalled by the actions and behavior of the people until he’d explained that these were stories that had been written down and were to be taken in the same way as the stories and story-songs that were told or sung by the Fae. Once she understood that, she was still fascinated and appalled—and grateful that the humans who lived near the Old Place had never done anything like the people in the stories—but she’d also come to appreciate that the books were a fine entertainment on a winter’s night. Sometimes she’d end up howling with laughter when Fae were mentioned in a story, because it was obvious the person who wrote it had never set foot in an Old Place let alone met any of the Fair Folk.
    “Why did you bring them here?” Morag asked.
    Ashk jolted, suddenly aware that she’d dropped her guard when Mihail mentioned books. Fool. Stop acting like a gentry woman who doesn’t know how swiftly a predator can strike.
    “There’s a bookseller in Durham,” Mihail said. “He and I have had an arrangement for the past few years. I take some of his books and sell them to shopkeepers in the ports where I transport goods that come into Durham. Neither of us makes much profit, but it’s a tidy little business, since it’s easier to take the books along the coast than sending them overland.” He shifted his feet, cleared his throat. “When I was there recently, he had the regular order waiting—but he also asked me to take these books and find a safe place for them. The barons