The Pillars Of The World

along beside her, to walk the land and listen to whatever messages were there.
    “Are we ready?” Dianna asked quietly.
    “If the horses’ hind legs don’t sink into the ground from the weight of these saddlebags, then we’re ready,” Aiden teased. “I wouldn’t be surprised to learn we didn’t leave anything for the Clan feast.”
    “We aren’t bringing that much,” Dianna muttered.
    “That’s easy for you to say.” Lyrra said it in a grumble, but her eyes danced with amusement. “You weren’t the one who kept taking bits and pieces of the feast—or the jars to put them in. And you weren’t the one who requested a plainly roasted chicken.” She widened her eyes and shuddered. “ Plain chicken?” she said in horror, her voice a high, scratchy, perfect imitation of the Lady of the Hearth, who ruled the kitchens that produced the meals for the Clan. “The Huntress can’t be wanting plain chicken.”
    Dianna stared at Lyrra, not sure if she should laugh or run. “Did we get a plain chicken?”
    Lyrra, continuing her imitation, sniffed haughtily. “It’ll be basted with honey butter. That will be plain enough. Imagine. Plain chicken, No stuffings. No sauces.” Sniff. “So, yes,” Lyrra said in her own voice,
    “we got a plainly roasted chicken, and I’m sure between requesting that and snitching the rest I’ll never get another morsel out of the kitchens no matter how many amusing stories I tell.”
    “Oh,” Dianna said. She was very glad she hadn’t braved the kitchens. The Lady of the Hearth would have been doubly offended if she’d asked for the chicken directly. At least with Lyrra, such a request, while unusual, wasn’t too shocking. The Muse was known for moments of whimsy.
    “Are you sure we can’t bring a packhorse?” Aiden asked plaintively.
    “That would be too obvious,” Dianna said tartly. Then she looked at Aiden’s harp and caught her lower lip between her teeth. “Unless you need one.”
    He smiled at her, and she knew she’d swallowed the bait and never saw the hook.
    “I’m bringing my smallest harp,” Aiden said. “It doesn’t have as much range as the other, but it will do well enough for this evening. And Lyrra can manage her drum. It’s not that long a ride.”
    “Then let’s go while everyone else is preoccupied with dressing for the evening feast and festivities.”
    Except everyone wasn’t preoccupied. Falco met them before they reached the stables.
    “Take me with you,” he said.
    “This is a private celebration,” Dianna said, giving him her best Huntress stare.
    “You’re going to the cottage, aren’t you? That’s what you’ve been whispering about these past few days, isn’t it?”

    “This is none of your concern,” Dianna said sharply.
    “You’re taking Aiden and Lyrra, and they’ve never even been there before.” He gave her a sly look. “I’
    ve been there several times.”
    “And you wouldn’t be able to keep that to yourself,” Dianna snapped. “She knows the hawk is a Fae Lord, but she doesn’t know I’m Fae, and she’s not going to. Not yet. But you’d give out so many hints about rabbits and hawks she’d have to be deaf and blind not to realize you’re the hawk. And if you’re with us, it would make her wonder about us .”
    Falco looked sulky. “If I can’t go with you, I’ll just have to spend the evening with Lucian.”
    Dianna’s breath caught at the audacity of that threat. Lucian would find out about this evening sooner or later, but she’d prefer that it be later. Much later.
    “If wanting to go is making him stupid enough to utter a statement like that, we’d better take him with us,”
    Aiden said coolly. “At least that way we’ll know what he’s up to. But the Lord of Hawks would do well to remember just how sharply the Bard can hone words into a weapon.”
    “Especially when he has the Muse to inspire him,” Lyrra added.
    Falco looked nervous but didn’t back down. “I’ll behave. I just want to see how witches celebrate the Solstice.”
    Don’t we all , Dianna thought, wondering just what they would find when they reached Brightwood.
    Ari put on the long, sleeveless sea-blue vest, then looked down at herself. Her own brown skirt would stand for the earth. The ivory lawn tunic, which had belonged to her grandmother, would stand for air.
    Her mother’s vest would stand for water.
    “I doubt anyone would mistake me for a lady of fashion, but at least, in some way, the three