Free Betraying Season by Marissa Doyle Page A

the voices said again, quiet but authoritative.
    “I can’t,” Pen forced out from her dry mouth. “I can’t see where to go.”
    “You don’t need to see to find us. Come.”
    At first her feet would not respond.
    “Do not fear us. Know us.”
    She took one jerky, hesitant step forward, and another.
    “Yes.” It was a soft sound in her head. “Yessss.”
    Another step and another. Pen held her hands out before her, trying to feel, but there was nothing to feel.
    “Knowledge, not fear, is where the power is. Power. Strength. Life.” The words washed over her, through her. Pen took another step, then two more. She dropped her hands and walked faster, then broke into a run.
    Light bloomed around her, like warm golden lightning. It came from the three candles being held by two women who weresuddenly there in front of her, bouncing and reflecting off the thousands of tiny golden crystals that lined the cave.
    One of the women was tall and robust, with shining reddish brown hair and a wide, happy smile on her handsome face. She wore a robe of red silk that clung to her full breasts and ample hips, and she had something white draped over one arm and held a red candle in her other hand.
    The other woman had once been as tall as the first, but a slight hunch to her shoulders made her appear shorter. Her white hair glittered in the light of the candles, her lined face was calm and dignified, and she wore a black woolen robe. In her hands she held two candles, one black, one white.
    “We have been waiting for you,” the first woman said, her voice deep and resonant.
    “I knew you would arrive,” said the second, in a thinner, more silvery voice, like a bell. “You followed the path. Now you know us.”
    “Here,” the first woman said, and offered the white object she held out to Pen. It was a shift made of white linen. Pen obediently slipped it over her head.
    The second woman nodded her approval. “Take this, child, and we will be complete.” She held out the white candle.
    Pen stretched her hand out to take it. As her fingertips touched its smooth whiteness, she felt a sense of fulfillment, of wholeness.
    “Remember,” said the silver-haired woman to her. “Always remember who you are, and who you will be, and who you were. Changing and unchanging. Different and the same. Knowledge, not fear.”
    The cave, and the women in it, faded, and Pen drifted into a deeper, dreamless sleep.

    Before she went in to breakfast, Pen peeked into the drawing room. She had heard Michael helping Ally down the stairs with murmured words of encouragement, heard Ally’s clipped, monosyllabic replies. Her heart sank a little. Evidently Lady Keating’s elixir hadn’t helped after all.
    “’Scuse me, miss,” said Norah from behind her. She carried a tray with a small covered china basin and a pot of tea on it.
    Pen sidled in after her as Norah set the tray down on the low table by Ally’s couch. Michael Carrighar looked up at her from where he knelt on the carpet, holding Ally’s hand. A patch of morning sunlight from the front windows made his odd bicolored eyes even more obvious.
    “’Tis a grand milk puddin’ Cook’s made,” Norah coaxed. “Won’t ye but sample it, Mrs. Carrighar?”
    “If you won’t try it, I might,” Michael said. He lifted the lid off the pudding basin and sniffed. “I used to look forward to getting a quinsy in the throat when I was small so Cook would make me one of these. They go down very easily.”
    “Do they come back up as easily?” Ally asked, sounding peevish.
    “Did you sleep well, Ally?” Pen thought it would be a good time to interrupt.
    “Good morning, Penelope. Yes, I did, thank you.” Ally smiled faintly. “I don’t know what was in Lady Keating’s concoction, but I slept all through the night without feeling ill.”
    “That’s wonderful! In that case, why don’t you try eating a little and having more of her remedy? Maybe it will help you keep it down,” Pen