The Pillars Of The World
were built differently because they were so much smaller?
“It’s the crone’s room,” Ari replied. “At least . . .it is when there are three,“ she finished quietly. She hurried through the arch that led to another room.
While Ari rummaged around in the other room, Dianna studied the bedroom—but slid her eyes quickly past the bed.
Tie the knots and fiddle them, Dianna thought crossly. Being Lucian’s sister didn’t make her less a woman, and any woman worthy of her gender would be curious about what was taking place in that bed, especially if she knew the man involved was the Lightbringer. Especially after spotting the gold filigree necklace set with amethysts that was on the dressing table. That was a trinket that was usually considered sufficient for a parting gift after a brief, pleasant affair. She didn’t think Lucian was ready to part quite yet since there were still several days before the dark of the moon. Was he preparing the way to be able to continue the affair when his promised time was done?
“This will do ... I think,” Ari said, returning to the room with a pile of clothing.
Dianna turned away from the dressing table and the thoughts that were making her uneasy. The bards knew enough stories and songs about Fae males becoming ensnared by human females. The lesson in all those stories, which were always tragic, was to enjoy and move on—and not look back. To linger too long was to become trapped by feelings that were best left unfelt, to be lured into wanting things that were best left unwanted.
Pushing away the desire to rush back to Tir Alainn and demand that Lucian tell her his intentions, which would only make his refusal to discuss it a certainty, Dianna took the clothing Ari was holding.
“They were my mother’s,” Ari said. “She was taller than me, so I think her things will fit you better. I’ll see to the mare while you change.”
By the time Dianna exchanged her riding habit for the loose-fitting tunic and trousers, the mare was staked to a long lead in the meadow, contentedly grazing, and Ari was back in the garden.
“Your mother and I may have been the same height, but her figure was more . . . generous,” Dianna said, pinching the fabric under her breasts and holding it out before releasing it.
“She was the mother of the three,” Ari said, sadness shadowing her eyes for a moment. “She looked . . .
ripe.”
Dianna narrowed her eyes. That was the second time Ari had mentioned “the three.” And there was something about the way she said it that made Dianna sure it wasn’t a meaningless phrase. “Who is the third?”
“The maid,” Ari said, busily digging a small hole. “There have always been three. Now only the maid is left.”
Dianna knew she was prodding a bruise, if not an open heart wound, but she didn’t stop. “What happened to the mother and the crone?”
“They died.”
Dianna looked around, feeling as if the landscape had shifted on her somehow. The cottage wasn’t a manor house, but it was considerably bigger than most of the cottages that were scattered around the countryside. “If you do the work in the garden, who tends the house and does the rest of the work?”
“I do.” Ari planted a seedling in the hole she’d just dug. “Although the cottage is tended better in the winter than in summer.”
“Then you’re alone here. Truly alone.”
Ari sat back on her heels. “The Great Mother is always here. And so are the ones who came before me.
It is not our custom to set up markers, but when I take a walk around Brightwood, I can tell when I pass a place where one of us was laid to rest.”
“But—” She’d seen human burial places. Of course there were markers, and land set aside for that purpose. “So parts of Brightwood are sacred ground?”
“Brightwood is one of the Old Places,” Ari said gently. “All of it is sacred ground. To some people anyway.” She took a breath and blew it out. “Would you like to plant some seeds?”
What a strange girl , Dianna thought a few minutes later as she followed Ari’s instructions for planting peas. She talks about “the three” and sacred ground and being able to tell where the dead rest even when there are no markers. I’ve never heard anyone talk this way. I’ll have to ask Lyrra if she’s ever heard anything like this. She spends more lime among humans because of her gift as the Muse. The three. Why is that significant ?
“Dianna . . . you’re
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