They had been riding in silence so long it took a moment for Lara to understand Aeric’s words. Finally, she roused herself to speak.

“Who shall you say I am?”

Aeric shrugged. “A cousin. Pat could ha’ a niece they’d never met.”

“He didn’t grow up here, then?”

“No. He came from away and married Mat.”

An awkward silence settled once more over the pair as the reached the outskirts of the village. Near a single crossroads, Aeric dismounted.

“Watch th’ horses,” he spoke briefly as he headed off toward one of the cottages.

Lara stepped down and looked around slowly at her first view of a human village. Four dirt tracks coming from the cardinal directions met at a small square with a weathered post in the middle. “Haymarket,” she read, “30.” Thirty what, she couldn’t say. Along each track were neat cottages all lined up in rows. The thatched, low-eaved roofs and small windows betrayed the very practical intent of the builders. The only frivolity was an occasional wreath over a door. It was a far cry from the village Lara had known. There a single meandering path followed a brook, and houses were set haphazardly here and there in the surrounding trees. She remembered fondly the high ceilings and wide windows thrown open to the summer breeze. The human village seemed to her cold and cramped in comparison.

At least one thing was the same. The small yard nearest to Lara was filled with flowers and vegetable plants. Lara leaned over the fence and stroked a morning glory, whispering softly until it opened. She smiled with joy at its beauty.

“I can’t believe it!”

Lara started and looked up. A small, round woman stood a few feet away, hands on her hips.

“Th’ damned rabbits ha’ eaten everythin again!”

“Have you tried planting marigolds around the vegetables?” Lara asked her.

“What would that do?”

“Rabbits hate marigolds. It’s better than a fence for keeping them away from your greens.”

“How would ye know?” the woman asked, scrutinizing the stranger. The girl had a witchy, furtive look under her hood, she thought. “And who are ye?”

“My mother had a fine garden. She taught me a few things. I’m Lara, Kirrin ni’Mara’s niece.” Lara held out her hand.

The woman just looked at it. “Dam Bethen.”

Aeric, meanwhile, had come up behind the Dam. He held a finger to his lips and grinned. Then he grabbed her around the waist.

“Dame Bethen! You’re looking especially fine this evening! Have you gotten tired of that husband of yours yet? Please say yes, and I’ll tell my father business detained me…” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

After an initial squawk, Dam Bethen chuckled, pleased with the compliments.

“Don’t ye try yer city wiles on me, boy,” she said, slapping his hand lightly and frowning. “I saw ye i’ diapers, and ye aren’t any grander than th’ rest o’ us.”

“But that was a long time ago,” he replied, eyes wide. “I’ve grown…up!”

While Dam Bethen blushed like a maid, Lara fought to hide her astonishment. He had shed his provincial accent like an old shirt, and then picked it up again.

“Maerys, I see ye’ve met Lara. She was hopin t’ spend th’ night w’ ye before she starts back south tomorrow.

Lara had paled a little.

“Maerys?” she said distantly. “What an interesting name!”

“’Tis an old family name.” She smiled kindly. “Both o’ ye, come inside before th’ storm hits.”

“No.” Aeric shook his head. “I want t’ be back i’ my bed before….” He glanced toward the darkening sky when something arrested his gaze.

“Are there any riders due from th’ north?” he asked Maerys.

She paused at the tension in her voice, and followed his gaze to a plume of dust on the northern horizon.

“No,” she answered, concerned. “There’s only old Keth up that way, and he’s got oxen.”

“Rouse the village. There might be trouble.”

The rider came on the crest of the storm, water streaming from his midnight cloak, dripping from his snow-white mount. He came at a gallop into the square and reined in sharply in front of Da Bethen, who stood waiting by the signpost, holding a sputtering torch. Lightning flashed, deepening the shadows under the rider’s cloak so that it seemed darkness itself was staring down at the old man.

Huddled in the doorway of the Bethen cottage, Aeric and Lara exchanged a terrified glance.

“Where are ye bound, and what is yer business?” Da Bethen called clearly, raising his chin and standing a little taller. The fingers of his free hand twitched nervously.

In a move over almost before it registered on the eyes of the spectators, the rider drew a sword dark as himself. Bright white energy crawled over the blade. Without pause, the rider leaned over his horse’s neck and ran Da Bethen through.

“Pater!” came a shrill scream from behind them, and before anyone could react, four-year-old Sana Bethen was running down the muddy track.

Without thought, Lara was out of the cottage with Aeric behind her. She was drenched in the few seconds it took to close the gap between the cottage and the inevitable confrontation.

Images of her mother and sister flickered through her mind, and Lara could almost hear them urging her to hurry. She left Aeric lagging behind as she leaned into the wind. Incredibly, she was there between the blade and the child as it began its descent.

“No!” she screamed, whether at the rider or the sky was anyone’s guess.

As if the storm god himself had pointed a finger, hundreds of bolts of lightning rained down on the crossroads. The concussion of hundreds of thunderclaps shattered crockery and sent everyone sprawling to the ground.

The whole village saw Lara for what she was before they were completely blinded. Only Aeric noticed a split-second’s hesitation in the rider, as of recognition. When the violence passed, only Lara was left standing in the middle of the square. There was no sign of the rider, and the rain hid any trail he might have left.

The people climbed to their feet shakily, and stared aghast at the fey.

“’Twas ye,” someone whispered. “Ye’ve brought this upon us!”

The word passed from mouth to mouth like quicksilver, and it was already too late to run by the time Lara recovered her senses. She was surrounded.

“O’ course she’s not my cousin.”

“Then why would ye protect her?”

Aeric sat with his head in his hands at the kitchen table, Dam Bethen across from him. With Da Bethen dead, only she knew of his lie, and he was at her mercy. The fey was locked in the root cellar, awaiting the judgment of the town. Da Bethen had been well loved. Aeric knew they would hang her.

“She came t’ our farm i’ need and offered no harm. Pater welcomed th’ extra hands while I was away. He trusted her. I trust him.”

“I always fancied ye yer mater’s son.”

Aeric looked up. “I am,” he said simply, “and Tinde trusted my pater.”

Maerys Bethen only shook her head, disappointed. Finally, she spoke.

“I’ th’ mornin, go back home.” She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “That much I’ll do for th’ memory o’ yer mat. But know ye’ll never be welcomed i’ my house again.”

Aeric nodded slowly, resigned, and made his way to bed.

Sleep passed over without touching him, however. Hours later he rolled onto his back and stared blindly at the ceiling. Instead of the darkness, a vision of Lara’s defiant stand plagued him. He saw her again as he had seen her then: arms spread as though to protect the child, hair bronze as it fell past her shoulders, eyes flashing in the glare of the lightning. She had saved little Sana’s life, Aeric was sure. As much as he still distrusted her, he couldn’t help but believe she deserved better than hanging.

Dam Bethen was also wide awake, but no doubts came to plague her. Hate held her in its grip. Dry-eyed she sat watching the fey as it slept, a knife clutched in one white-knuckled fist. Long ago her family had consorted with the evil creatures, and it had brought them ruin. All her life she had hidden that shame. Now another fey had appeared, and her beloved husband was taken from her.

The murderess was asleep atop a pile of old potato sacks, her wrists and ankles bound tightly. Deep in dreams that Dam Bethen knew were base visions of past and future evil, they fey twitched, her brow furrowed. Her mouth opened, drew in a deep breath, and snapped shut. She rolled onto her side and bowed her head. Then she twisted it sharply first left, then right. She bit her lip and struggled briefly with her bonds. She gasped a sob and renewed her struggles. Panic flickered across her features, and she began to sob in earnest. For a few minutes while Dam Bethen tensed herself in preparation for some trick, the fey writhed and twisted. As blood started trickling from her wrists and ankles, her eyes snapped open. Her struggles ceased abruptly, and her face crumbled. Almost silently she began to weep, tears streaming down her face.

Dam Bethen watched impassively. “If ye think faerie tears are goin t’ save ye, ye’d best think again.”

Lara looked up at her incredulously, startled to find she had company. “You think I’m crying for your benefit?” She coughed out a sob that was probably meant for a laugh.

“Fey can’t feel human emotion. Everyone knows that fey tears are just a trick.”

“You’re right. We’re not human.” Before Dam Bethen could smile her triumph, Lara went on. “We share a blood bond. Do you know what that is?”

Dam Bethen held her silence.

“I’ll tell you what it means. It means that when a whole group of those riders came to my village, I saw it through the eyes of my blood kin. When the riders attacked, I felt the fear in my mother and sister. When they raped my sister, I was violated too.”

“Ye expect me t’ believe that?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Believe what you will.” Lara glared at the woman through tear-reddened eyes. Dam Bethen thought, finally her true nature comes through.

“I didn’t need your belief that night to feel their pain.” Fresh, hot tears fell from her eyes. “I didn’t need your belief to feel the flames creep over my flesh as it crept over theirs, their panic at being trapped. I didn’t need your belief to feel when they began to burn. When they burned alive that night, I burned with them. I died with them. Nothing you could do to me could ever equal that.” Shaking, Lara bit off her last words.

Dam Bethen was shocked to feel wet tears on her own cheeks. Here in this dark room, Dam Bethen was forced to confront the stark truth of the girl's suffering. While her mind kept telling her to close her eyes and not let the girl deceive her, her heart was crying, "True! All true!" She found herself answering the girl, and listened wonderingly to her own words.

“D’ye think it was so different for me, then?” she whispered. “D’ye think I didn’t feel that blade cut my own heart as it cut my husband down? D’ye think the only thing that died tonight was one old man?”

“If you know that,” Lara said softly, “then you must know that I would never have inflicted such pain on another.”

For a few moments, they shared their tears. Dam Bethen looked past her grief and anger, and saw Lara clearly for the first time. She was surprised to find herself empathetic to the girl’s pain. Then something struck her that she had pushed away to the back of her mind.

“Ye saved my daughter.”

Lara shook her head. “I tried. I couldn’t let them do it again. Not when I might stop it.”

Maerys Bethen considered a moment. “Is it ye they hunt?”

“I don’t know.”

She made a decision. “Ye’d best get far away, just in case.”

Lara blinked as Dam Bethen stood and crossed the floor of the root cellar with her knife. She laid a hand on Lara's shoulder as she leaned over her. Dam Bethen nodded to herself and began cutting the rope.

Freed, Lara sat up and rubbed the circulation back into her arms.

“Why?”

Dam Bethen stood. “If those bastards that killed my husband hunt ye, I’ll not do their work for them by helpin kill ye.”

The sky had just begun to lighten as they entered the kitchen and surprised Aeric as he was tying his pack shut. His dark-circled eyes widened as he noticed Lara.

“That can’t be the only reason,” Lara was saying.

“It in’t.” Dam Bethen went to the fireplace and began fiddling with one of the hearthstones. “A hundred years ago my family was friendly w’ th’ fearie folk. It cost them their fortune and their station when th’ war came. Since then, we’ve been tryin to live down th’ shame. If they were right…” she looked up at Lara, “and th’ Fey were better than monsters, then our name is cleared. ‘Twould mean a lot to me.”

She lifted a wrapped bundle from a cavity under the hearth and carried it to the table.

“We’ve carried this w’ us all these years as a reminder o’ our shame,” she said. “Th’ time has come t’ let it go.” She folded the cloth back and revealed a sheathed sword. Runes were worked into the tooled leather of the scabbard. The hilt of the sword was deceptively simple, but Aeric sighed in wonder as he leaned close to examine the fine workmanship.

“Tis said that one o’ my ancestors made this, and his fey friend spelled it, so the bearer o’ th’ sword could see past faerie illusion. ‘Tis also said it can be used t’ break spells, but th’ stories don’t say how.” She lifted the sword reverently and handed it to Aeric. “Ye might need this.”

“On th’ farm?” he asked, confusion wrinkling his brow.

“Ye’re my explanation o’ how the fey escaped. She obviously spelled ye t’ help her.” Dam Bethen’s mouth crooked wryly. “Aside that, ye were i’ that monster’s line o’ sight last night. Ye should leave, too.” She held up a hand to forestall his objections. “I’ll tell yer pater what really happened. Now, ye’d better get goin before anyone wakes up.”

She ushered them outside toward the barn and stabled horses. “Gods go w’ ye.” Lara paused to take one of Dam Bethen’s weathered hands in hers.

“Maerys is a faerie name,” she said, tears glistening in her stormy blue eyes. “It means ‘always remember.’”

“I will,” she promised. “I will.”