The House Of Gaian

coughed to disguise his laughter.
    Looking sulky, Donovan turned to Liam. “You’ve had news from the west?”
    “I’ll tell you when we’re all gathered,” Liam replied, fingering the folded sheet of paper.
    To distract Donovan—and satisfy his own curiosity—Aiden asked, “You’ve had news as well, haven’t you, Ashk?” She looked more exhausted now than she had during the days of the battle, so he was relieved to see a little color in her face again.
    “From Padrick,” Ashk said, smiling. “He and the children are well. And Ari gave birth to a strong, healthy boy. Padrick says Neall is hiding his disappointment in not having a daughter by wearing a silly grin, walking into walls, and generally making so much of a nuisance of himself that the Clan’s Lady of the Hearth has taken to locking him out of the cottage for a couple of hours every day so that Ari and the babe can get some rest. Of course, since he sounds too sulky to be complaining just on Neall’s behalf, I suspect Uncle Padrick has also been locked out of the cottage on a regular basis.”

    “That’s wonderful news,” Lyrra said, having paused in the doorway to listen. As she walked to her place at the table, she pointed at Aiden. “You should write a song.”
    “You should write a poem,” he countered.
    “We’ll collaborate,” she said primly, taking her seat.
    Aiden leaned close to her and whispered, “We did that quite well last evening.”
    Watching her color rise, he busied himself with examining his quills, fully aware of the interested, and speculative, glances the barons were giving Lyrra as they walked into the room.
    Ashk took her seat at the table, followed by Selena.
    The table had been pushed to one side of the room so that chairs for the surviving barons who had fought at Willowsbrook could be placed in rows facing the table. Fae Lords and Sons of the House of Gaian stood against the wall, and two chairs were set to one side for Breanna and Elinore. The barons had argued that their council should be private while they decided the fate of the eastern counties ruled by the barons who had followed the Inquisitors, but Liam had insisted that the Fae and the witches should be present if they so wished since they would be affected by any decisions made here.
    When everyone was assembled, Liam opened the piece of paper. “I have a message from Padrick, Baron of Breton. You are all free to examine the contents.”
    One of the barons waved the offer away. “Just tell us what it says, Liam.”
    Liam cleared his throat. “Recognizing that the fate of Sylvalan would have to be decided swiftly once the battle was won and that it would be better not to delay such discussion by waiting for those who would require days of travel to reach us here, Baron Padrick states that I have been granted a proxy vote—for all the western barons.”
    Stunned silence.
    Aiden made hurried notes. If his understanding was clear on the way the council worked, Liam’s vote counted for more than the rest of the men combined.
    When no one made any comment, Liam folded the paper and set it aside. “Shall we begin?”
    The door to the dining room opened. Aiden glanced up and dropped his quill, spattering ink all over the top sheet of paper. Pushing the paper aside, he retrieved the quill and dipped it in the ink pot.
    “Oh, my,” Lyrra whispered.
    Her hair was pinned up in a becoming fashion instead of scraped back in a tight knot, and her gown was as finely made as any gentry lady’s, but Aiden had no trouble recognizing Skelly’s sweet granny. And the way Breanna and Selena leaped to their feet when she entered the room made him very nervous.
    “Grandmother,” Selena said.
    The Crone smiled at Selena and Breanna. “Granddaughters.”
    “Take my seat, Grandmother,” Breanna said, touching the back of her chair.
    The Crone sat down and folded her hands in her lap. Her eyes touched every man in the room before they fixed on Liam. “The Crones have discussed what has happened in Sylvalan. Since I am the one who lives closest to this place, I have to come to tell you what has been decided.”
    “Begging your pardon, Lady,” one of the barons said. “But it is up to the barons to decide what happens to the land owned by-”
    “You do not own the land.” Her voice cut like a knife. “You have never owned the land. The Great Mother is held by her Sons and Daughters. It has always been so. It will always be so. We granted your people