Page 53 of Boy of Chaotic Making

Merritt’s voice caught in his throat.What?

Owein danced in place.The man, he can hear me! His name is Sean.

Merritt met the dark eyes of the stranger. “... Sean?” he tried.

“I would confirm that you are Merritt Fernsby,” said the man in a distinctive Irish lilt, “and this is Owein Mansel. I don’t know any other creature that has a mind like that.”

All right, Merritt admitted it. Hecouldstill be surprised.

As though sensing his thoughts, the woman said, “The royal family is not the only one with eyes and ears.” Her gaze lifted up toward the hawk in the tree. She stepped off the path, her footfalls oddly light, and walked around the wall, fingertips grazing it as she went. “We’re not armed,” she assured him. Her dialect matched the man’s. “When we heard of you, we wanted to meet you.”

Merritt turned, unsure of whether it was more important to watch the woman or man. “And since you’re familiar with us, perhaps you’d like to formally introduce yourselves.” He willed himself to relax. If nothing else, he could throw up another wardship spell and Owein could, oh, throw some trees or the like and give them time to run back to Cyprus Hall.

“My name is Morgance,” the woman said. “We’re Druids.”

That gave him pause. “Druids?”

She nodded. “We live off the land, outside of the queen’s rule. We let her believe we’re small in number and weak so we’re not bothered.” She stopped walking and smiled. Tipped her head. “If you want a better look, then come have it.”

The hawk sailed off the branch farther up the trail and took perch on Morgance’s arm.

Merritt dismissed his unseen spell. Tried to commune with the bird, but it didn’t answer. “And that ... is also a Druid?”

She nodded. “Fallon’s abilities allow her to see what many of us cannot.”

Owein turned his head, catching something behind them.

“And how many of you are there? Here?” Merritt asked warily.

“Only one more,” Sean answered this time. “Hurry up, boy!”

Once the demand came, Merritt heard what Owein must have—a trudging through the brush. Seconds later, a boy of about ten appeared, wearing clothing similar to Sean’s. Something about the arrival of the child immediately put Merritt at ease.

“This is Kegan, my son,” Sean said. “He’ll be able to hear you, too.”

Owein’s tail wagged. He was silent a long moment, presumably speaking mind to mind with the new arrival. It was awkward. Was this how Hulda, Beth, and Baptiste felt whenever Merritt and Owein had private conversations? He’d need to do something about that.

“Druids,” Morgance went on, “are those with Druidic magic. We have many in our numbers without gifts, of course, but that is how we started.”

“Druidic magic?” Merritt asked.

“Communion, elemental, and alteration spells.” She gently stroked the hawk’s—Fallon’s—neck. “Or anything else that lends to Mother Earth.”

Sean added, “We’ve a necromancer who specializes in equines back home.”

Merritt processed this quickly. “And home is ...”

“Wherever we choose, but our kind hail from Ireland,” Morgance answered, which made Merritt think aboutthat whole mess with Irelandthat Prince Friedrich had mentioned. She took the hawk off her arm, letting it perch on two fingers, then held her arm out so it could flap to a close branch. “We heard of you and wanted to see for ourselves. But Owein is not a shape-shifter, is he?”

“No. He’s human, or his soul is. A necromancer put him in that body.”

She nodded. Knelt so she could look Owein in the eyes. “It’s a beautiful body,” she offered.

A moment later, Sean stiffened. “A human one? Really?”

Merritt supposed Owein had just offered up information about the marriage contract.That’s private, Owein.

To you, maybe,the boy countered. Then, suddenly,Can I play?

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