Murtagh watched the courtyard entrance a moment longer before turning to Aiden. “They’re a pair, aren’t they?”

“Yes,” Aiden said softly, “they’re a pair.” And he wasn’t sure he’d sleep easy tonight if he started thinking about the journey he was about to make with two women who embraced Death, each in her own, but equally deadly, way. He gave himself a mental shake. They were exactly what Sylvalan needed for the fight ahead.

“Well, then,” Murtagh said.

Aiden shifted his foot and nudged Taihg’s boot. The other bard jerked, stared at him blankly for a moment, then jumped to his feet.

“My Clan would be pleased to have you guest with us tonight,” Taihg said.

Murtagh smiled and shook his head. “You just want another target available in case either of those two become annoyed about something.”

“True,” Aiden said, pitching his voice over Taihg’s stammered protest. “But if you decide to stay, I can promise you’ll hear a new song or two.”

Murtagh laughed. “You set a mean bargain, Bard, but it’s not one I’ll refuse.”

Good, Aiden thought, picking up his harp. Of course, he fully intended to hear a few of the songs Murtagh knew, since he suspected many of those “old” songs had never been heard beyond Selkie Island, but there was no reason to mention that.

It hunted. Vicious. Almost mindless. Hungry. It hunted.

She raced through the trees at Bretonwood, desperate to find It before…

The rattle of a ponycart’s wheels on a forest trail. A babywailing in fear. She saw Ari looking back, terror turning the young witch’s face into an almost unrecognizable mask.

Flesh. Blood. Souls. Food. It hunted.

She ran. Ran and ran and ran…and still couldn’t find the enemy. How could she get between It and the ponycart if she couldn’t find It?

Closer. Closer. It could hear the female’s raspy breathing, even over the baby’s cries.

She ran faster. The enemy was too close to those she loved. Too close.

A stag hidden among the trees leaped out, landing in the center of the forest trail.

For a moment, she thought he was the old stag, thought this was the memory of that terrible leap that had saved a boy from the nighthunters. But this stag was younger, blue-eyed, the build not yet as mature and powerful as it would one day be, the rack of antlers smaller than the one she remembered.

Food!

The stag charged, fought with antlers and hooves. Screamed in pain as claws sank into shoulder muscles, ripping, tearing. Screamed as sharp teeth pierced the throat, and It gulped the blood gushing from the wound. More. More. It wanted more. Its insatiable hunger always wanted more. First the blood. Then It would devour the soul.

No!