Tied With a Bow

know it’s not over.”
    “That won’t happen here.”
    “Maybe you’re right. Benedict needs to know why you’re sure of that.”
    Aunt Robin grimaced and started walking—heading away from the barn on the winding stone path that led to Uncle Clay’s workshop and forge.
    Arjenie remembered when they’d laid that path. Uncle Clay had done most of the moving of rocks, but she’d helped dig and she’d put the smaller stones in place. Seri and Sammy had been too little to do anything, but Tony had helped scoop out gravel for the underlayment, using a trowel instead of a shovel. He’d really wanted a shovel, though.
    She smiled, but it faded quickly. She hated being mad at her aunt and uncle. Or not so much mad now—she never held on to anger for long—but its departure left this whole ache of sad behind.
    After several paces her aunt said, “Benedict, Arjenie tells me your people are meticulous about honoring your promises. I’ll need your word that you won’t repeat what I tell you to anyone.”
    “I can’t give you my word on that. First, I can’t promise to withhold information from my Rho. I could promise not to offer the information to him unsolicited unless in my judgment revealing it might avert a serious threat. Second, the promise as stated would restrict me from discussing what you tell me with anyone, including yourself and Arjenie.”
    Robin’s eyebrows climbed. She glanced at Arjenie. “Meticulous, you said. I didn’t grasp how literally you meant that.”
    “Lupi are careful with how they word a promise because they consider it truly binding.” She sounded stiff. She couldn’t help it. “Not binding in a magical sense, but personally.”
    Benedict spoke. “If I may suggest an alternate wording . . . I will promise to hold whatever secret you share with me as closely as I hold clan secrets.”
    “The way I understand it,” Arjenie said, “that means that torture couldn’t drag it out of him, but in certain dire situations where speaking of it might save people, he might do that. Or he might not. It would depend on the situation.”
    “You want me to trust his judgment.”
    “Yes,” she said. “I do. And I think you might trust me, too.”
    Robin gave her a look freighted with all sorts of things. Disappointment was part of the mix. Arjenie knew why. She knew what her aunt had hoped.
    “Very well,” Robin said after a moment. “Do I have your word, Benedict, as stated? You’ll hold what I tell you as closely as you hold clan secrets?”
    He answered without hesitation. “Yes.”
    “This land, Delacroix land, is protected and has been for generations.”
    “I’m familiar with wards. Wards wouldn’t stop a Humans Firster from crossing onto your land and shooting one of us.”
    “I’m not talking about wards. The land itself is tied to me, as High Priestess. It tells me about all who are on it. If anyone or anything crosses onto my land, I know. If he comes with violent intent—as a Humans Firster would—I will know and take action.”
    Benedict was silent a moment. “You would also know if a small dog left your land, then.”
    That surprised a chuckle out of her. “True. Havoc’s on his way back. He’ll be here any minute.”
    “Good.”
    “I would also know if a Native Power showed up in my barn.”
    “Would you?” He gave her a sidelong look. “Coyote is called Trickster for a reason.”
    “Hiding his nature being a form of trickery, you mean?” Robin considered that. Sighed. “I don’t know. It shouldn’t be possible, but . . . I don’t know.”
    “You’ve got a lot of confidence in your ability to read what the land tells you. It sounds like what sidhe lords do. Their power is tied to their land.”
    “Several hundred years ago, a Wiccan priestess did a great favor for a wandering sidhe lord. In recompense, she was taught how to link to the land. That teaching came with a price: she had to accept a binding such that she could pass it on to only one person, her successor. Both binding and teaching came to me from Clay’s mother, Belle, when she decided to step down as High Priestess after Samuel died.”
    Benedict studied her face, his own expression intent. “You will pass this land-tie on to someone eventually.”
    “I . . . yes, of course.”
    “Had you planned to pass it to Arjenie?”
    Arjenie’s breath sucked in. Benedict was being far too clever today.
    “I had hoped to,” Robin said steadily. “She tells me that won’t be