"Ashk—"
"It's necessary," she said sharply, cutting him off. "If something happens to Padrick, Evan becomes the next Baron of Breton. But he's still a child, and he'll need someone who can teach him what it means to be a good baron. You lived in a baron's house when you were growing up. You understand how to run an estate and what the people need. You can teach him those things." She took a deep breath to steady herself, feeling her stomach clench at the thought of having to say the next words. "And if something should happen to Evan, Padrick has named you his second heir."
"Ashk—"
"It's proper," she said, giving him a slashing look that silenced him. "It's customary for the title of baron to be passed from father to eldest son, but a baron can name anyone his heir, whether he has sons or not. Padrick has cousins, but none that he feels would rule Breton and this county the way it needs to be ruled, none who would understand the wants and needs of all the people who live here—the Fae, the humans, the wiccanfae, and the Small Folk, too." Watching him, she smiled at his discomfort. "The Small Folk have always been wary of the Fae, even here where we live in the world and walk the same woods, but they do talk to the Green Lady, and I've heard quite a bit about the young Lord of the Woods and the witch who has taken him for her husband. 'Look here now, Lady Ashk' "—she lowered her voice to imitate one of the small men—" 'It's a fine thing for Lady Ari to be giving us a bit of cream or butter that's more than she has use for, and it's a fine thing for the young Lord to offer us a bit of beef. It's a treat to have them, so it is, but we're a wee bit worried that they're leaving their own table too lean, if you see what we're saying.' And I lie with an honest heart and assure them that I've never known the stew to be thin of meat or that either of you did without butter or cream," she finished in her own voice.
"We have enough," Neall muttered.
"And it harms no one if the stew is a little thin on meat every now and again. The fact is, the Small Folk feel easy with you and Ari, and that's not something to dismiss." Ashk hesitated, then sighed. "There's one other thing. If the fight comes to Breton, I want you to take Ari up to Tir Alainn. I want you to take Evan and Caitlin and the other children as well. And I want you to stay with them."
Temper flashed in Neall's eyes. "A baron's heir, when he's a grown man, doesn't run from a fight. Neither does a Lord of the Woods."
"It would be easier to stay," Ashk agreed. "I—and Padrick— need you to go."
"There are enough elders who stay in Tir Alainn who could look after the children."
"The Fae children, yes, but not the human ones. Tir Alainn will be strange to them, and they'll need someone they can look to who understands their way of looking at the world."
Neall stared at her.
Ashk huffed in exasperation. "If the fight comes here, it's not just the Fae at risk."
"You mean all the children, don't you?" Neall said slowly.
She nodded. "From the Clan, the village, the gentry homes, the tenant farms. Yes. All the children. And your horses."
"You can't protect things just because they're mine."
"I want Ari protected because she's a witch, one of the Mother's Daughters, and as she grows heavier with the babe, she won't be able to outrun an enemy if it comes to that. You have two of the finest Fae stallions anywhere in the west, not to mention the Fae mares that were bred by the Lord of the Horse himself. We can't count what has already been lost because of the Inquisitors coming to Sylvalan. We can't know what else will be lost before we're able to drive them out. But we can do our best to protect the people and things we'll need to rebuild our land and our lives. So you'll do what I need you to do. I can't look back, Neall. When I ride out of here, I need to go with an easy heart. And that is a burden I place on your shoulders."
Neall looked away. When he looked at her again, his eyes were years older. "I'll do what you need."
"Thank you."
Neall sighed. "This is just talk anyway. Nothing is going to happen to Padrick, and nothing is going to happen to you. You'll still be the Hunter when you're a wrinkled great-grandmother."
"No, I don't think so," Ashk replied quietly. "Power waxes and wanes, Neall, and it doesn't always follow the years. There are some who have ascended to command their particular gift and remained strong for decades, and there are others who have burned brightly for a few years before their power faded and another's power blazed. I was twenty when I became the Hunter. In a few more years, you'll be a seasoned man in your prime, and I'll be quite content to be nothing more than a Lady of the Woods playing with my grandchildren."
"You've got some years to go then," Neall said. "Evan's only eleven years old."
"And you're twenty-two and will soon be a father," Ashk replied. "There's a river of living between where he is in his life and where you are, but in another ten years, that river won't be as wide as you seem to think." She stepped up to him, cupped his face in her hands. "I hope you have a long Green Season. I hope when this is over, there will be years and years when you and Ari need to do nothing more than raise children and horses. I hope that with all my heart, for your sake and Ari's—and for my sake and Padrick's as well. But if that isn't to be, then know, here and now, that you're strong enough to be what you have to be." She kissed him lightly, then stepped away. "You'll do, Neall. You'll do just fine. Come along now. The others are waiting. Padrick wants to talk with all of us."
"If you're gone, how will I know how to be the Hunter?" Neall asked softly.
Ashk's hand froze over her gear for a moment. Then she settled her quiver comfortably on her back and picked up her bow and canteen. "The knowing is part of the gift. There are some things that aren't spoken of between the one whose power is fading and the one who ascends. But when that moment comes, the knowledge comes with it."
Including knowing why the Fae have good reason to be wary of the Hunter. But that's something you don't need to know until the time comes. That's something Kernos wouldn't tell me. If the Fae aren't careful, they'll discover they have a more vengeful enemy than the Inquisitors. The Inquisitors can only kill them. I can destroy them. I wonder if Aiden knew that when he came looking for the Hunter to help him convince the Fae to protect the witches and the Old Places against the Black Coats.
"Let's go, young Lord."
Morag, the Gatherer of Souls, leaned against a tree that gave her a clear view of one of the trails that led to the Bretonwood Clan house. Shivering, despite the warmth of the summer day, she wrapped her arms around herself. It didn't help.
"Are you cold?" Aiden asked quietly, coming to stand beside her.
In body and soul, she thought as she studied the black-haired, blue-eyed man who was the Bard, the Fae Lord of Song. "Why do bards and minstrels romanticize war? What is so glorious about men coming together at a certain place and time to die by the hundreds, by the thousands?"
"I don't know," Aiden replied. "The courage, perhaps, and to acknowledge that the presence of a few determines the outcome for so many."
"Will it, Aiden? If they have an army, and we have an army, will the battles between them really determine anything? If the eastern barons and Inquisitors lose, will they go away and let the rest of us go back to living the way we want to live? If we lose, will the people of Sylvalan just submit?"
"They submitted in the east. They watched the witches die. They watched the lives of their mothers and sisters and wives be torn apart. They stood aside and did nothing when the barons and Inquisitors ordered the . . . maiming . . . of all those women."