Wanting a few minutes of solitude, Liam almost retreated back to the house when he saw Aiden sitting on a stone bench in the garden, the Bard’s fingers gently plucking the strings of a small harp. Then Aiden looked up, and Liam, cursing gentry manners, walked over and sat on the other end of the bench.

After listening for a minute, Liam asked, “Is that a new tune?”

Aiden smiled. “No, it’s just a way of letting my mind wander while my fingers regain some of their skill.”

Since Aiden didn’t seem to expect conversation, Liam slowly relaxed, letting the drift of notes melt into the softening light and the scents of the flowers his mother fussed over.

There was nothing to do but wait now. The enemy had been sighted, but Falco, Sheridan, and the other winged Fae hadn’t been able to get close enough to get an idea of how vast the army moving toward Willowsbrook might be because archers were shooting any birds that came within range. Falco had a couple of wing feathers tattered by an arrow, and Sheridan had barely avoided being hit. If there were Fae who hadn’t made it back to the camps, neither Ashk nor Selena had mentioned it. Maybe because there had been no losses—or maybe because the weight of grieving for Nuala still hung over all of them, and the Hunter and Huntress had made the decision not to add to the grief, knowing there would be more to come in the days ahead.

Think of something else, Liam scolded himself. “Do you think I’m being an ass about Breanna and Falco?”

“I don’t think it’s my place to have an opinion, one way or the other,” Aiden said mildly.

Liam turned on the bench to look at Aiden directly. “You’re the Bard. I had the impression you have opinions about most things.”

Aiden chuckled. “Is that your impression? Well, you might be right.”

“So?” Liam prodded when Aiden didn’t say anything more.

“So, yes, I think you’re being an ass.” Aiden glanced over and smiled before turning his attention back to his harp.

Liam waited. “That’s it?”