The House Of Gaian

Shadowed Veil. She remembered loud voices, angry voices, hands grabbing at her. Dead flesh. She’d done that to a Black Coat, too—unfurled enough of her power to kill a piece of a man without taking his spirit, without killing all of him. She should have killed the Witch’s Hammer that day. That moment of mercy, that moment of pity that she’d felt when she’
    d seen him on the wharf at Rivercross had cost so many so much. It hadn’t been pity that had stopped her at the Clan house where they’d tried to keep her from pursuing the Lightbringer. Perhaps it had been nothing more than a hesitation to harm her own kind despite their clear intention to harm her. There was no pity in her anymore, no hesitation. The dreams that haunted the little sleep she’d gotten had burned those feelings out of her.
    “Here, Morag.” The stable master was back, holding a bowl with a thick cloth under it. “Here’s soup, and some bread and cheese there. Eat now, and we’ll fix you a place to sleep.”
    “Can’t stay.” Her hands shook with the effort to hold the bowl. He took it from her, knelt down, and held it for her. “Can’t. He’s too far ahead of me.”
    “He won’t be far ahead of you for long. Eat up now. It won’t do you any good inside the bowl.”
    She picked up the spoon and began to eat. The first taste made her want to gulp it down. When had she last eaten? She couldn’t remember. The days had blurred. So she ate slowly, chewing the small chunks of bread and cheese when he offered them to her.
    She almost wept when she put the spoon down, unable to eat any more with the bowl still two-thirds full.
    “That’s good,” the stable master said, setting the bowl on a bale of hay. “We can warm it up again if you get hungry later. Now.” He took her hands. She couldn’t tell him how painful simple kindness was right now. “I know you’ve no time to waste, so we can put a cot in one of the stalls here. We keep a couple handy in case we need to keep a close eye on a sick horse. We can put it in the same stall with your lad if that will make you both rest easier.”
    “I can’t.”
    “You can and you will.” He shook her hands. With effort, she focused on him—and realized there was no longer any kindness in his face. “He’ll not be as far ahead as you think.”
    “He can run until he tires, then use another horse—”

    “And where would the Lightbringer be getting another horse? There’s not a spare horse to be had, what with the huntsmen needing riding horses and pack horses to join the other Fae heading for the coast. And the rest of the horses are needed to protect the Old Place. No, Morag. Whether on four legs or two, they’ll be his own. If he wants food, no one will stand in his way of going to the kitchen and getting some for himself, but there’s no one who will fetch and carry for him. He’ll have to travel harder and won’t get as far. As for you, you’ll get a few hours sleep. Tomorrow, we’ll give you a horse you can ride through the next Clan territory or two. You can leave him there, and the Clan will send him back to us.”
    The dark horse snorted, stamped a foot.
    The stable master grinned as he looked over his shoulder. “Never fear, lad. She’ll not be leaving you. But you’ll run easier if you’re only carrying yourself, and I’m thinking she’ll need you strong at the end of the journey.”
    Morag frowned. “You said there weren’t any horses to spare.”
    He turned back to her, no longer amused. “We’ve none to spare for the likes of him . You’re in the west now, Morag. Things are different here. The Lightbringer will get no help from us, and you’ll get all the help we can give.”
    The west. She’d reached the west.
    She let him lead her to the cot in the stall. Before she could collapse on it, female voices suddenly filled the stable. Women came into the stall carrying a basin of steaming water and bundles of cloth. They shooed the stable master out and closed both halves of the stall doors before she could warn them not to.
    The next thing she knew, she was stripped out of her clothes, given a hurried sponge bath, bundled into a clean nightgown, and tucked into bed like a weary child. The women promised they’d have her clothes washed and dried by first light. Then they were gone.
    She heard the quiet creak of a door opening and struggled away from the sleep that pulled at her.
    “There now, lad,” murmured the strong voice. “Don’t