The House Of Gaian

if a difficult student needed a whack on the rump to understand a point that was being made.
    “Blessings of the day to you, Grandmother,” Selena said.
    “Blessings of the day, Granddaughter,” the Crone replied. “You’ve brought guests.”
    “I have.”
    The Crone studied the Fae. Then she lifted her cane and pointed to the two young men who had hurried toward them from the stableyard. “The boys will see to the horses and have your saddlebags brought up to your rooms. Come in and be welcome.”
    Working to hide her relief—she hadn‘t been sure the Crones would welcome the Fae here—Selena dismounted. Mistrunner snorted, sat back on his heels in a way that indicated he was going to be stubborn, and laid his ears back in warning.
    “Ah, now,” one of the grooms said, holding out a hand. “We’ve got good grain and cool water, and a soft rain came by the other day to sweeten the grass. But if you’d rather stand here wearing a saddle in the hot sun ...”
    Selena wasn’t sure how much Mistrunner understood beyond grain, water, grass , and hot , but apparently those words were enough. His ears pricked, and the next snort sounded thoughtful.

    “Go on, then,” she said, stepping forward to hand the reins to the groom. “You deserve a bit of pampering. And I’ll be with the Grandmothers, so I’ll be perfectly fine.” Unless one of them decides I deserve a whack on the rump. Now that would certainly convince the Fae I’m a power to be reckoned with, wouldn’t it ?
    She felt a little stab of envy that the Fae’s horses didn’t show any obstinance about being led away. She wondered, again, why she’d ended up with a horse who thought for himself too much of the time.
    As the Crone led them to a shady part of the courtyard, Selena noticed the way Gwynith and the escorts were looking around, wide-eyed.
    “It looks like a Clan house,” Gwynith said quietly.
    “Or perhaps Clans houses look like this,” the Crone said, settling herself on a cushioned bench.
    No cushions for the guests, Selena noted as she sat on the hard wooden bench to the left of the Crone’s bench. Never any cushions for the students. Some things hadn’t changed. Gwynith sat down beside her.
    The escorts chose to stand. Selena wished she could do that without giving offense. The bench felt doubly hard after days in the saddle.
    “So, Granddaughter, you have brought one of the wiccanfae to visit us.”
    “I have.” Selena slanted a look at Gwynith.
    “I-I am pleased to meet you,” Gwynith stammered.
    The Crone smiled. “No, you’re not. But if you do no harm, you’ll come to no harm.” She looked at Selena, her woodland eyes taking measure with some invisible yardstick before she nodded, apparently satisfied. “And you, Granddaughter. You’ve become the Lady of the Moon. The Huntress and protectress.”
    “I have,” Selena replied carefully.
    Silence. Then, softly, “Was there no joy in it for you?”
    Selena closed her eyes. “The dance was glorious—and there was joy in it.”
    “There was no joy in the storm you shaped and sent into the world.”
    “No.” She swallowed hard. “That was fury ... and hurt.”
    “Who hurt you?”
    Was there something under the mildly spoken question? Oh, yes. In this place, she needed to choose her words with care.
    She opened her eyes, letting the Crone see beyond the words. “The former Lady of the Moon took offense at being replaced by a witch. I lost my temper.”
    “She challenged you after you ascended,” Gwynith said fiercely. “She had no right to do that. And you still gave her a chance to yield. If she hadn’t pulled the knife on you, you wouldn’t have hurt her.”
    Selena looked down and watched her hands curl into fists. “There was too much at stake and too much power in that clearing. Anger gave that power form.”

    “And mercy tempered that anger,” the Crone said quietly. “You did what you could to ease the nature of that storm.”
    “If Rhyann hadn’t been in the Old Place to help me, it could have harmed a great many people.”
    “Yes, it could have. But it didn’t. There will be other storms, Selena. The path you have chosen—or that has chosen you—will not be an easy one. The Huntress does not have the luxury of doing no harm. She is justice ... and she is vengeance. Perhaps the Fae needed to be reminded of that as well as being reminded of their place in the world.”
    Gwynith stiffened. “We know our place.”
    “Do you?”