The House Of Gaian

world. And I’m thinking that, now that the minstrels and bards are looking hard for Aiden, when he shows up again, we’re all going to be listening a lot more carefully to what the Bard has to say.” He paused. “What will it be, Dianna?”
    “I can’t ride any more today,” she said, her voice breaking.
    Connor gathered his reins. “Good luck to you, then.” Giving his horse the signal to move on, he cantered off, passing the other escorts, who glanced back at her before urging their horses forward to catch up to him.
    Dianna stared at them. They wouldn’t leave her. Not really. Connor was just trying to make her do what he wanted. And who was he, anyway? The Lord of the Deer. The leader of the Clan’s huntsmen.
    Someone nowhere near as important as a Lady of the Moon... who would have no status at all if her own Clan wouldn’t acknowledge her.
    She waited for them to stop, to come back for her, to cajole her into going back to Brightwood.
    She waited—and then kicked her mare into a gallop to catch up to them. They’d stop at the Clan house for a bit of a rest and a bite to eat. Surely they would. That would give them the chance to tell her how important she was to the Clan. That would give Connor a chance to apologize for the harsh things he’d said. Surely they would stop.
    She was still too far away to catch up to them when she saw Connor lift a hand in greeting as he passed the stableyard and continued on to the bridge that would take him and the other escorts to the next Clan territory.
    She slowed the mare to a walk, letting the animal make its own way to the stableyard. She couldn’t see well enough to guide it since her eyes kept filling with tears.

    The mare stopped. A hand lightly touched hers.
    “Lady Dianna?”
    Sniffling, she looked at that Clan’s Lord of the Horse—and suddenly remembered that no one had ascended to become the Lord of the Horse after Ahern died.
    “Your escorts rode by a little while ago,” he said, studying her.
    “I couldn’t ride anymore today. My arm.” She lifted the heavily bandaged arm—and thought she still saw doubt in his eyes. “I told them to go on since the Brightwood Clan will be eager for the news.”
    “The news has traveled fast,” he said with a hint of grimness. “I expect they already know.”
    What could they possibly know without hearing her side of it?
    He held up both hands. “Here. I’ll help you dismount and take you over to the Clan house. Things are a bit... scrambled ... right now, but someone will see that you have a meal and a place to rest.”
    Dianna waited until he was leading her to the Clan house before asking, “Scrambled? Why are things scrambled?”
    “As I said, news travels fast. The men who have the skill and training to defend the Old Place are preparing to do so. And the elders are selecting gifts to bring to the witches.”
    Bitterness filled Dianna’s throat. “So you’re going to dance to the Huntress’s tune, is that it?”
    “Yes, that’s it. We don’t want to be closed off from the human world—and if the Black Coats defeat the humans in Sylvalan, there might not be any place for us in the world. So we’re going down to defend the Old Place and the witches who live there.”
    “I’ll only be staying tonight, so I won’t inconvenience you for too long,” Dianna said, holding on to her battered pride.
    “That’s fine.”
    It wasn’t the reply she wanted, but, she discovered as she stayed in her room and felt the hours drag by, it had been the only reply she’d received from any of them.
    If that’s the way they wanted it, so be it. Let them scramble to please the new Huntress. Let them see what it was like to live day after day in the human world.
    Let that bitch Huntress deal with the Black Coats. They deserved one another.

 

     
     

Chapter 21

 

     
     

     
    waxing moon
     
    It hungered. It hunted. The man had been a fine meal, but the feast was still up ahead. Running.
    Trying to escape, trying to hide. The woman couldn’t hide the feast, but it was amusing to let her try.
    It looked down at the man, at the torn flesh and the blood seeping into the forest trail. His spirit had been strong, delicious. Had whetted Its appetite for more.
    The woman would eventually stop running and fight to protect. No matter. It would have the woman—flesh, blood, and spirit — and then enjoy the feast of sweet young flesh and a spirit still so new in the world .
    It hungered.
    With a last