The Pillars Of The World

at him with eyes that were suddenly far too old. “I would like to say goodbye to Morag,” she said quietly, “but that’s not the reason I have to go back.” Ari reached for his hand. Her fingers curled around his and held on. “I have to say goodbye to Brightwood, Neall. I have to let go of the land. If I don’t, it will always feel unfinished.”
    Neall sagged, defeated. If Ari always looked back on this day with regret, what kind of future would they have? Brightwood would always stand between them. He looked at Ahern, hoping the older man would have some argument against this, but Ahern just stared at the distant hills.
    “All right,” Ahern said reluctantly. “You go back. You say your goodbyes. But you do it quick—and then you get in the cottage and stay inside until Neall comes for you. The warding spells around the cottage will protect you, but they won’t help if you go beyond the cottage walls.”
    Ari seemed about to protest, but she caught herself and simply nodded. She picked up Merle, handed him to Neall, and said, “You’d better shut him up somewhere so he doesn’t follow me ho—” She pressed her lips together for a moment. “Back to Brightwood.” She gave the puppy one last caress, then turned and ran.
    “Come on,” Ahern said. “We’ll shut him up in the gelding’s stall. He’ll be fine there for now.”
    Neall hugged the squirming puppy, but it was the man he looked at. “I’ll miss you.”
    Ahern shook his head. “Don’t look back, young Neall. You go and don’t look back.”
    “That philosophy the Fae live by makes it very easy not to take responsibility for anything.”
    Ahern didn’t speak for a long time. Then, “There are times when it’s an arrogant fool’s excuse. But there are other times when it’s simply the wise thing to do.”
     

 

     
     

Chapter Thirty-one

 

     
     

     
    Adolfo drained his wineglass. The tavern didn’t offer the same quality of wine as Felston’s wine cellar, but it was sufficient. “We have fortified ourselves for the difficult tasks to come.” And at the baron’s expense . “Let us go to Brightwood and capture the foul creature who lives there so that we can bring her back to the baron’s estate for questioning.”
    “Questioning?” Felston glanced around the inn and lowered his voice. “There’s no need for questioning.

    You have my daughter’s statement and the confession you got from the Gwynn woman yesterday.”
    “I have those confessions,” Adolfo agreed, watching the baron pale at the significance of those words.
    Yes, the baron was going to be most generous when it came to settling his account. “But the witch must confess to her crimes. She must admit her guilt. She must have time to regret the harm she has done.
    Therefore, she will be taken to the room at your estate my Inquisitors prepared for such questioning, and she will confess.” And then she will die .
    Morag paused at the edge of the meadow, watching the wounded mare graze. Ari must have taken the other horses to Ahern’s. She looked to the west, wondering if she should go to that hill where the wind always blew and tell Astra that Ari was leaving.
    Astra.
    Something had been nagging at her, trying to catch her attention. But meeting Morphia and then trying to persuade the dark horse to gather his courage and go down the shining road again had pushed it aside.
    Now . . .
    Astra. What was it about Astra?
    The Fae are the Mother’s Children. But we are the Daughters. We are the Pillars of the World.
    Aiden had mentioned something about the Pillars of the World.
    The answers are in plain sight, if you choose to look for them.
    I want to ask him if he would bring the journals over to his house. I don’t want them left here. . . .
    My family’s history. Brightwood’s history, really.
    “Hurry,” Morag said, pressing her legs against the dark horse’s sides. He galloped across the meadow, right to the kitchen door.
    Sliding off his back, Morag threw the kitchen door open. “Ari?” When she got no answer, she closed the door and hurried to the dressing room adjoining Ari’s bedroom. She’d seen the glass-doored bookcase the other day when the sun stallion and the dark horse had played “tease the puppy,” but she hadn’t thought of it since.
    She opened the glass doors and pulled out the last journal on the right.
    I am Astra, now the Crone of the family. It is with sorrow that I have read the journals of the ones who came