The Pillars Of The World

disappeared.
    “That didn’t tell us much,” Cullan said.
    “Didn’t it?” Morag replied softly. “There are riddles within riddles here, but one thing is clear: The roads are closing because the witches are being killed.”
    “You only have the dryad’s word for that,” Cullan said.
    Morphia gave Cullan a troubled look. She turned and hugged Morag, then whispered in her sister’s ear,
    “I know he didn’t stay because of me, even though I wished it for a moment. I also know who did stay in order to find me.” She stepped back. “What do we do?”
    “You’re going to take these children to our Clan. Find the nearest road that looks safe and travel through Tir Alainn. Don’t linger with any of the nearby Clans. If these Inquisitors are moving from place to place, there may be other roads closing soon. But warn those Clans about the fog. If they see it, they should go down the road as quickly as they can. And if there are witches still living in the Old Place that anchors their road, they should do what they can to protect them.”
    Morphia looked at her. They both knew the Fae might heed the warning about the fog, especially coming from someone who had seen it, but they wouldn’t spend time in the human world protecting the witches.
    Not until someone like the Huntress or the Lightbringer commanded them to.
    “And what are you going to do?”
    “I’m going to take the witches to the Shadowed Veil so that they can go on to the Summerland. Then I’m going to find the Bard to see what he can make of these riddles.”
    “I’ll join you there as soon as I can.”

    Morag didn’t ask Morphia if Cullan would be traveling with her. A sister didn’t ask such things—
    especially when she was fairly sure of the answer.
    Morag watched them sort out riders and horses. So few of them. She didn’t know if the others were dead or lost in the fog, living but trapped. If they still lived, how long could they survive that way?
    When they rode away from the glade, the sun stallion and a handful of mares were still there, grazing. She saw Morphia look back once, but none of the others did.
    “Are you thirsty?” a quiet voice asked. The dryad’s head appeared out of the trunk of her tree. “There’s a stream nearby, and the water is clean.”
    “Yes, I am. Thank you.”
    The dryad stepped out of her tree. “I’ll show you.”
    Morag glanced at the dead tree nearby. “Can you leave your tree unprotected?”
    “For a little while.”
    The dryad headed into the woods. Morag and the dark horse followed.
    When they reached the stream, she let the dark horse drink its fill before she knelt and drank. She sat back on her heels. “What will happen to the Old Place now that the witches are gone?”
    The dryad smiled sadly. “The same thing that has happened in the other Old Places. The Small Folk aren
    ’t strong enough to hold it, so the magic will die.”
     

 

     
     

Chapter Twenty-one

 

     
     

     
    “Hello, Ari,” Lucian said. It was barely midmorning, and she already looked sweaty and bedraggled. He liked seeing her that way when they were through with each other in bed, but it was less appealing when it was caused by work.
    “Blessings of the day to you, Lucian,” Ari replied, stepping out of the cow shed. She set two empty buckets beside it, a gesture that clearly indicated she was putting aside necessary work to entertain a guest.
    There was uncertainty in her eyes, and a little wariness, but not the warm welcome he had hoped for, even expected.
    “What brings you here?” Ari asked.
    “I came to see you.” When she seemed more troubled than pleased, he added with a suggestive smile, “I thought we might go for a ride.”
    She blushed, and he wondered if she was remembering the night she had ridden him as a stallion or one of the nights she had ridden him as a man. He’d been thinking of his other form and how one kind of ride could lead to another. He’d told himself he would act with restraint, but now that he was with her again, that wasn’t going to be as easy as he’d thought.
    “Did you send the Fae Lord?” Ari asked abruptly.
    His eyebrows rose. “The Fae Lord?”
    “The hawk who brought the rabbit.”
    He gave himself the pleasure of considering what fire could do to wings, but he decided he’d let Falco try to explain before reacting. It couldn’t have been anyone else from the Clan. Not in that form. But it did no harm to let her think he’d had a part in it,