Ashk shrugged. “It just does. More potent than the magic that flows through Bretonwood, but not so different. It soothes—and also makes me aware of how much I miss my home woods, my husband and children, my Clan. And it makes me realize again how much we can lose if we don’t drive the Inquisitors out of Sylvalan. The people in the east have been wounded. Lives have been torn in ways we cannot fix. But we can lance the wound and drain the pus from it so that it has a chance to heal.”

“There will be scars from those wounds,” Rhyann said quietly. “Scars that may not fade for generations.”

“Yes. And those scars will require careful attention to make sure nothing that may be festering beneath them has a chance to take hold.”

“We’ll all have to make some changes if we want to keep Sylvalan safe.”

“Then we’ll make some changes.” Ashk looked over the fields. “We’ll learn from one another, come to know one another better. We can learn to see the whole of the land that anchors all of us instead of our individual pieces of it.” She smiled. “And I know just how to begin—with music and stories.”

“You can’t expect Aiden and Lyrra to spend the night going from camp to camp singing and telling stories,” Rhyann protested. “They’ve put in a hard day’s travel, too.”

“There are bound to be a few bards and minstrels among the Fae here. A few storytellers, too. What Aiden and Lyrra begin will ripple through the rest of the camps. Others will pick up the tunes, tell the tales.”

“And humans and Fae will take comfort in the songs and stories they discover they have in common and pleasure in the ones one side or the other hasn’t heard?”

“Exactly.”

Rhyann crossed her arms over her chest. “And what about the House of Gaian?”

“I imagine you have a few stories to tell, too,” Ashk replied blandly. Was it just the way the firelight had flickered over Rhyann’s face at that moment, or had she really seen a flash of mischief in the witch’s face?

“I know some stories,” Rhyann said, her voice equally bland. “But I think the storytellers among us would have more suitable fare.”

Oh, how I’d love to give you one glass of wine too many and hear the stories you might tell about your sister. She’d been very careful not to ask Rhyann anything about Selena. She wanted to know about the Huntress. Oh, how she wanted to know. But it didn’t seem right to lure Rhyann into revealing family matters, and Rhyann hadn’t offered any information after the night they’d met her.