Trinity Rising: Book Two of the Wild Hunt (Wild Hunt Trilogy 2) Read Free Page B

behind her she heard the bleat of bagpipes and the throb of a drum; a ragged line of figures was silhouetted against the blaze, men and women with arms linked as they laughed and stumbled their way drunkenly through a dance. Pledges would be exchanged tonight and no doubt maidenheads broken long before any marriage vows were said.
    Marriage. That thought left an ache in the pit of her belly more powerful than her grief for Drw. Her mother Ana had been talking to her aunt about the wedding fair again, though she had not realised Teia could hear as she and her sister reckoned up what price they might get for her at the Gathering. Afterwards, Teia had cried herself to sleep. Next morning, she had looked into the water for her future and seen only clouds.
    Teia glanced around, biting her lip. She was alone with the soughing grass, the burble of the stream. No one was close enough to see her, even if she was missed. With the Gathering drawing nearer, less than two weeks away now, she had to know what was waiting for her there.
    She dragged one of the buckets between her knees. When the water had settled and the silver disc of the wandering moon floated undisturbed in the centre, she placed both hands on the rim and closed her eyes. Then she reached down inside herself for the music.
    Slow to respond at first, it leapt suddenly into the forefront of her mind. Quickly she tamed it, narrowed the flow until it was the merest trickle, then let it out. Bluish sparks crawled around her fingers, writhing out over the water. The reflection of the moon shimmered. It was waning gibbous; not as powerful as a full moon, but still a good sign for scrying. White light filled the circle described by the bucket rim then became utterly still, mirroring a perfect image of her face.
    Show me .
    The image shivered then cleared. Still her face, but surrounded now by a cloudy grey sky. Blood smeared her cheek and her hair was a bramble-thicket of wet dark curls. Her eyes were dull as a dead bird’s.
    No matter how many times she saw it, that vision always dismayed her, hinting as it did of a future no woman could want. Gripping the bucket’s rim, she took a deep breath to steady herself for the next scrying, in case it was the black warrior again.
    Show me .
    The image changed to the boy. Dark-haired, blue-eyed, gazing solemnly out of the water at her, with a woman’s hands resting on his shoulders. Protectively or proudly? She was never sure. His square, blunt features and stocky frame left no doubt whose line he sprang from, even without the glint of gold at the neck of his shirt.
    Show me .
    This time she saw a view from a high place, looking down first on forested mountain slopes, then rolling silver-beige plains threaded with bright rivers. The landscape resembled the plains south of the camp, near the an-Archen, but it was not a view she had ever seen during her winters there. Besides, it appeared to be summer, or at least spring, because the sun shone and there were flowers amidst the grass. Far off, nearly at the limit of her vision, antlike figures walked away.
    ‘What are you doing, child?’
    Ytha! The Speaker was right behind her, moving through the grass as quietly as a huntress. Letting go of the music, Teia swirled her fingers through the water to dispel the image and scrambled to her feet to face her.
    ‘N-nothing, Speaker! I was just fetching water—’ She realised she was gabbling and took a deep breath, pressing a hand to her chest as if she could still her racing heart. ‘I was daydreaming.’
    ‘Ah. I’m sorry if I startled you,’ said Ytha pleasantly. ‘I thought for a moment I sensed someone scrying.’
    ‘Scrying?’ Teia’s heart flung itself against her ribs like a trapped bird. Had the Speaker seen? ‘No, not at all. I don’t know how.’
    ‘Of course not. Because if you had the gift, you would have come to me, wouldn’t you?’
    Ytha took a step closer and made a twisting gesture with her hand. A ball of cool