The Pillars Of The World

have time to find out how many are needed.”
    “And if you’re wrong and it doesn’t work, we lose this part of Tir Alainn.”
    “But not the Clan. Not your family.”
    “It’s not your Clan who’s being forced out of their home,” Dianna said bitterly. “It’s not your family who is at risk.”
    “Even if this was my Clan, my answer would be the same.”
    “That’s so easy to say when it isn’t.”
    Dianna clenched her fists, seething with frustration. For Morag to ignore the needs of the Fae because of one insignificant human . . .
    “I command you to gather this . . . Neall’s . . . spirit.”
    “I refuse.”
    Dianna pounded her fist on the table. “You forget who I am.”
    Morag’s eyes flashed. “And you forget who I am. I don’t just gather human spirits, Dianna.”
    Dianna’s breath whooshed out of her. “Y-you’re threatening me, the Lady of the Moon, in order to spare a human !”
    Morag’s smile was sharp and mocking. “Would you accept it easier if I was warning you in order to spare another of the Fae?”
    “We’re not talking about another of the Fae. We are the Mother’s Children. We have no equals.”
    Morag’s smile faded. “That’s what we’ve chosen to believe. I wonder if it’s true.” She walked out of the room.
    Dianna stumbled over to a bench, sank down on it.
    Morag couldn’t be trusted. That much was clear. Which meant there was only one thing to do if they were going to save their piece of Tir Alainn.
    Dianna stood up, waited a moment to be sure her shaking legs would support her, then went to find Lucian.

    “Morag!” a tired voice called. “Well met, sister.”
    Morag slipped her foot out of the stirrup and turned toward the voice.
    Looking unbearably weary, Morphia rode up to her.
    Morag knew her smile didn’t reflect the warmth in her heart. There was still too much anger stirring from her meeting with Dianna. And something else that was just out of reach but kept sending a shiver through her.
    So she did the only thing she could think of. She opened her arms in welcome.
    “You’re tired,” Morag said, hugging her sister.
    “In body and heart,” Morphia replied, returning the hug before stepping back.
    “The Bard has heard the warning you sent,” Morag said, wanting to offer some comfort. “He’ll make sure the bards carry the message to all the Clans.”
    Morphia looked at her sadly. “Yes, the bards I met listened and promised to send on the warning. A few of the Clans I talked to are angry about what is happening in the human world and intend to make themselves known to the witches who live in the Old Places so that they can be present and keep watch for these Inquisitors. But more of the Clans are blaming the witches for fleeing the Old Places and causing the roads to close before there’s any danger.” She sighed. “Were we always such fools, Morag? You don’t need to answer. I already know. I’ve had to learn in these past weeks what you’ve known for so long because of who you are. Sometimes I used to send sleep and gentle dreams to someone in the human world who was troubled or hurting in order to give them rest from the pain. But just as often I would snatch sleep from someone simply because I could. I never thought about how that person would feel after a restless night or what difference it would make the next day. I used my gift to indulge my whims. I feel ashamed of that now. We are the Mother’s Children. The children . I think, perhaps, we were aptly named.”
    “Perhaps,” Morag agreed. “But now that you see things differently, you can choose to act differently.”
    She gave Morphia’s arm a comforting squeeze. “Have you just ridden in? You should make your duty call to the matriarchs of the Clan and then get some rest.”
    “What are you going to do?”
    Morag mounted the dark horse. “I’m going back to Brightwood to keep watch—and to do what I can to protect.”
    “Neall,” Ahern said quietly. “We’re about to have company. Get out of sight. And take the mare and gelding with you.”
    Glancing over toward the lane that led to Ahern’s farm, Neall spotted the riders. He didn’t recognize most of them—or the horses they rode—but he recognized Royce and Baron Felston. Quickly turning his back and hoping Royce especially didn’t spot him, he murmured, “Come on,” to Darcy while he led the dark mare to the stables.

    When they got inside, the mare calmly walked to her stall and went in.