“We were. Now we’re not.” Selena attached her own canteen to Mistrunner’s saddle and mounted. While Gwynith and the two escorts who had remained with them scrambled to mount their horses, she studied the Mother’s Hills rising up in the distance. A hard day’s ride would take them to the foothills. By midday tomorrow, she would reach her destination.

Written on water. Whispered on the wind. How long had the Crones been sending the messages? Should she take the time to call up a wind and send back an answer? No. Best to get there as quickly as she could.

Written on water. Whispered on the wind. But not in Tir Alainn. Barren air. Barren water. Barren earth in another generation if the Fae didn’t come to understand the reality of their land hidden above the world.

She shouldn’t have gone back to the Fair Land after she went down to the Old Place and guested with Ella’s family overnight. She shouldn’t have listened to Gwynith’s argument that they could travel north faster by using the bridges between the Clan territories—and also that it would be wise to let other Clans meet the new Huntress. Had Gwynith known staying in Tir Alainn would isolate her, would keep her from the information she could draw from the Mother’s four branches?

She looked at the woman anxiously waiting beside her. No, Gwynith hadn’t known, and her arguments for continuing to travel through Tir Alainn had been sound. Hopefully the Crones would see it the same way.

“Huntress?” There was a hint of wariness in Gwynith’s voice. “If we’re not going north, where are we going?”

Selena pointed. “There.” She looked back and saw the tension in the escorts’faces. She looked at Gwynith and noticed how pale the other woman had become.

“We’re—We’re going into the Mother’s Hills?” Gwynith asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“That’s where I have to go,” Selena replied. “It’s not something you have to do.” She didn’t understand the Fae’s reaction to the Mother’s Hills, but she’d quickly realized where she came from had frightened the Clans who had been her reluctant hosts as much as what she could do. “It’s just land,” she added soothingly. Which wasn’t quite true. Not after so many generations of witches had lived there, loved there, danced there, taken their last breaths there.

“It’s the House of Gaian,” Gwynith said.

“Yes, it is. Why does that bother you? You live with witches in your own Old Place.”

“Not so many. And—” Gwynith faltered. “What if they object to Fae being in their land?”

“Do no harm, and you’ll come to no harm.” Selena gathered Mistrunner’s reins. His ears pricked. “I have to go, Gwynith. When the Grandmothers send a message, a Granddaughter does not ignore it.”