The Mage's Daughter

  “Do you sense any more of them?” Nicholas asked.

  Miach cast about the island, but felt nothing. Then again, he hadn’t known those were there either. “They are covered by something that eludes me,” he admitted unwillingly. “I haven’t yet been able to unravel their spell of concealment, though I will say I’ve never seen its like before. And they saw through my spell of un-noticing—which no one sees through. Well,” he amended, “except Morgan.”

  Nicholas looked at him sharply. “That is odd, isn’t it?” He looked at Morgan. “Did you know those brutes were there?”

  “Me?” she asked, sounding surprised. “I have no idea. I hadn’t considered that I might be able to.”

  “I think that the next time you encounter these creatures, children, you should both take another moment to see what spell covers them. Perhaps you’ll determine why it is they are coming for you.”

  Miach cursed silently. “I hadn’t thought about it before, but I suspect ’tis our magic that has drawn them here. I wasn’t careful at Gobhann and neither of us has been so here. The shapechanging alone could have been enough to do it. And I think that before we somehow draw more of them to your home, Your Majesty, we should be on our way.”

  Nicholas smiled at him. “That sort of deference, lad, might have earned you a pair of saddlebags packed by my cook, but I imagine you won’t be traveling on horseback, will you?”

  “I think we must fly,” Miach conceded, “but I can erase those tracks easily enough. No one will sense our passing, or the magic that made the shapechanging happen.”

  “Devious,” Nicholas remarked.

  “I learned the art from Lothar,” Miach said dryly. “I can hide quite a few things, but I’ll limit it to just our shapechanging for the moment.” He looked at Morgan. “We’ll make for Angesand first and beg a meal from Hearn. We’ll gather tidings, then head east.” He rose. “My thanks, Your Grace, for the refuge. We needed it.”

  Nicholas rose as well. He embraced Morgan, then put his hand on Miach’s shoulder. “I would tell you to be careful, but you are that already.” He smiled at them both. “I’ll expect you back at some point.”

  Miach put on a cheerful smile, watched Morgan and Nicholas do the same thing, then thanked Nicholas again and led Morgan from the solar.

  She was quiet as they walked through the maze of passageways and through the outer yard. In fact, she didn’t look at him until they were standing outside Lismòr’s gates.

  “I would like to come back here again,” she said quietly.

  “I know, love.”

  She took a deep breath, then put her shoulders back. “What shape?”

  He considered briefly. “Hawk until we reach Bere, I think, lest we draw any attention to ourselves. Then we’ll change to dragons over the ocean and not worry about being conspicuous. We’ll be to Hearn’s by morning if we hurry, in time for breakfast and a bit of sweet water.”

  “I’ll follow you.”

  Within moments, they were wheeling toward the east. He covered them as they went with a spell of un-noticing and counted on that being enough.

  He didn’t want to think about what might happen if it weren’t.

  Sixteen

  The sun had barely begun to rise when Morgan found herself once again in her own form, lying in a drift of snow. The only thing she could say for herself was that at least she was flopping onto softer landing spots. She lay there for a minute, then clambered out of the snow with a curse only to have to lean over with her hands on her knees until she caught her breath. Miach pulled her up and hugged her so tightly that she squeaked.

  “Leave me my dignity, would you?” she managed.

  “Impossible,” he said, holding her close and smiling down at her. “I love you.”

  “Because I’ll shapechange with you?” she asked crossly.

  “Because you’re fearless,” he said. “And you make a very lovely dragon.”

  She rolled her eyes and pulled out of his arms. “Let’s go find something to eat before all that dragon fierceness goes to your head and withers your wits.”

  “I imagine ’tis a bit late for that,” he said, catching her hand. “Let’s make haste and see if Hearn still has something on the fire.”

  She walked with him out of the woods and saw that they were farther from the castle than she’d suspected. She looked uneasily at the stretch of plain. The only good thing she could say about it was at least if there were things coming for them, they would be able to see them coming.

  “Don’t worry,” Miach said quietly.

  She blew stray wisps of hair out of her eyes. “Miach, we can’t tell when they’re coming, we don’t know who’s sending them, and we always find ourselves outnumbered when they attack. Tell me what about that shouldn’t worry me?”

  “Our magic is stronger,” he said simply. “And we don’t use it for ill.”

  “Honestly, Miach, I don’t think those creatures care what you do with your magic—and I doubt they even know I have any.” She shivered. “Magic. What was I thinking?”

  “Unfortunately, I don’t think you had much choice.” He squeezed her hand. “Let’s run. Hearn’s walls will provide some bit of safety.”

  “I hate to bring this inside his gates,” she said in a low voice.

  “I’ve hidden our tracks. And we won’t stay long.”

  She nodded, but she was no more at ease than she had been before.

  She ran with him across the plain toward the castle in the distance. It was Aherin, the home of the lords of Angesand and their very remarkable horses. She had been there in the fall with Miach, hoping to find a way to get herself to Tor Neroche that didn’t involve walking for hundreds of leagues. Miach had sweetened one of Hearn’s wells and she had put in a few hours with Hearn’s garrison lads and that had earned them enough horses for their entire company. She supposed, now that she had the luxury of thinking about it, that Hearn had given them the horses because he’d known who Miach was.

  “He didn’t.”

  Morgan looked at Miach in surprise as she slowed to a walk. “Stop that.”

  He smiled. “I’m not peering into your head, Morgan. I was thinking on the last time we were here and how you had done the heavier labor. I looked at you and gathered you were thinking the same thing. And I will tell you now, Hearn did not give us those horses because of me. He did it for you. I hardly did anything.”

  “It took you four days to do hardly anything?” she echoed in surprise.

  He shrugged unrepentantly. “It was completely self-serving on my part. I wanted an extra day or two alone with a certain lovely mercenary and I was fully prepared to drag things out in order to have them.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “Well,” he amended, “I did do some work. I could have sweetened that well with a single piece of magic, but I didn’t want anyone to know I’d done it—and Hearn wanted the enchantment to last a thousand years. It took a fair bit of effort, but I did it very slowly. I’ll tell you all about it if we manage to win ourselves a nap in that same loft. For now, let us make haste. I don’t remember having any supper last night.”

  She supposed it wouldn’t serve her to point out that he hadn’t wanted to stop for supper. She merely walked with him through the village and up the way to the keep. He stopped with her at the gate and inclined his head to the guardsman posted there.

  “We’re here to see his lordship, if you please.”

  The guardsman looked at him doubtfully. “And who’m I to say has come?”

  “Miach and Morgan. He’ll know the names.”

  The guard shot them one last look of distrust, motioned for his fellows to train arrows on them, then walked off shaking his head. Morgan hoped Hearn would let them in. She didn’t want to think about what she might be eating if he didn’t.

  Hearn himself appeared at the gate within minutes. He looked at them in surprise, then looked behind them. “Where are your mounts?” he asked.

  Morgan su
ppressed a smile. How like a lord of Angesand to inquire first about horseflesh.

  “Our mounts are safely tucked away at Tor Neroche,” Miach reassured him. “We, on the other hand, are rather unsafely in the sights of a few unsavory characters. We’re here to beg a few hours of sleep.”

  Hearn looked at him assessingly. “Not long enough to work on my other well?”

  “Not now, unfortunately,” Miach said. “But I will return and see to it another time.”

  Hearn nodded toward the keep. “Come and eat with me first, then you’ll sleep the day away if you like. You both look weary. But first I’ll know more about why you left your horses behind in the mountains. Surely it would have been easier to ride than walk.” He looked at Morgan. “Was it your idea to leave them behind, Mistress Morgan?”

  “Nay, my lord,” she said honestly.

  Hearn looked over her head at Miach. “It was your brother’s doing, wasn’t it?”

  “Not entirely,” Miach said with a grave smile. “I bear some responsibility for it.”

  Hearn grunted at him, then looked at Morgan. “That lad walking next to you irritated you and you fled without your horse, didn’t you? Or did he finally tell you who he was and it angered you so that you fled without your horse?” He shot Miach a dark look. “The material point being you are without your horses.”

  Morgan smiled up at him. “I am very sure they are being taken care of as befits their kingly status. And as for Miach, aye, I now know who he is.”

  “Did you beat the truth out of him, or just threaten him with your sword until he burst into tears and confessed everything?”

  Morgan laughed in spite of herself. “Actually, neither. He lied about himself all the way to Tor Neroche, then he was forced to admit to me who he was at a most unfortunate moment. He’s been attempting to put himself back in my good graces ever since.”

  Hearn looked briefly over her head at Miach who walked on her other side. “A daunting task, no doubt. So, Mistress Morgan, how has he attempted that? Did he actually pick up a sword and try to impress you with it?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” Morgan agreed.

  “I think I might have to see that to believe it,” Hearn said with a snort.

  Morgan listened to Miach and Hearn begin a discussion of what was more useful, magic or blades, which lasted until they had reached the great hall and were sitting down to an eminently edible breakfast. Then they turned to discussing Adhémar’s potential offenses. As she listened, she found herself not a little surprised at how comfortable she felt. For so many years her world had been limited to Lismòr and Nicholas, Gobhann and Weger. Perhaps her heart had grown to include her companions, Paien, Camid, and Glines, but even then she supposed she’d always held herself aloof.

  It had taken Miach of Neroche, with his small smiles and relentless affection, to make her see that her heart could include so many more good, honest people.

  “I think she likes you,” Hearn said loudly.

  Morgan realized with a start that she was watching Miach and he and Hearn were watching her.

  She pointedly ignored them and had laughter as her reward. Miach tapped the side of her boot with his and winked at her. She glared at him briefly, then turned her attention back to her meal. Miach and Hearn ceased to tease her, but found many other things to feed their mirth. Miach laughed more than Morgan had heard him laugh in days. She wasn’t sure what it was about Aherin that made him so lighthearted.

  Perhaps there was something in the water.

  An hour later, she was crawling up toward the hayloft in Hearn’s stables, a hayloft that kings despaired of sleeping in. She knew this because Miach had told her as much in the fall. It was no less an honor this time than it had been before, but she was almost too tired to appreciate it.

  By the time she had yawned her way to the top, Miach had already spread out the blankets Hearn had given them.

  Side by side and a substantial distance apart, as it happened.

  She stood on the top rung of the ladder and frowned. “Why so far apart?”

  “Because,” he said, looking as if he were trying very hard not to laugh yet again, “the last time we were in this loft, you almost stabbed me for merely trying to hold your hand.”

  “I did not,” she said stiffly, which earned her a bit of a grin that he apparently couldn’t stifle. She scowled at him. “I was very rude to you then. I apologize. And I want you to know that I’ve marked all the times you’ve laughed at me this morning and I’ll repay you for them properly when I have the energy. For now, stop being ridiculous and come share this blanket with me.”

  “Ridiculous?”

  “Well, aye, ridiculous,” she said. “You’d think I had plans to ravish you—Miach!”

  One moment she was standing on the ladder, the next she found herself sprawled in the hay. She lay there for a moment or two, surprised beyond measure. Then she sat up and looked at him.

  He looked as surprised as she felt.

  She felt her eyes narrow of their own accord. She got to her knees and very deliberately unbuckled her swordbelt. She set it aside.

  “You’ll regret that,” she said seriously.

  He took off his sword quickly and tossed it behind him. “I imagine I won’t, but—”

  She flung herself at him. She realized immediately that she would not best him. He was far stronger than she was and far cannier than she would have expected. She did her best, almost rolled them both off the edge of the loft, and tried various other things that should have earned her at least a grunt from him. It occurred to her, at some point during that brief skirmish, that Miach had grown up as the youngest of seven brothers and that he likely had participated in all sorts of wrestles.

  She had never stood a chance.

  Far too quickly, she found herself pinned in the hay by a grinning fool.

  Well, for a moment at least. His grin faded abruptly and he looked at her with an expression she couldn’t quite identify. It wasn’t horror, or distaste—it certainly wasn’t embarrassment for having bruised her dignity. Before she could decide what it was, he had heaved himself to his feet. He shook himself off like a dog, sending hay flying all over her.

  “Stop it, damn you,” she spluttered.

  He reached over and pulled her up. He brushed the hay off her shoulders and back, then paused.

  “You’d better do the rest,” he said, sounding rather uncomfortable.

  Morgan shook herself off, then turned and frowned at him. “Well?” she demanded. “What have you to say for yourself?”

  He reached out and picked hay from her hair. “I apologize?”

  “You’re mad.”

  “I might be,” he agreed. He smiled at her ruefully. “My mother would have been appalled by my lack of chivalry.”

  “Then why did you do it? Surely this isn’t on your list of appropriate wooing activities.”

  He laughed. “I daresay not, but it was either that or ravish you and I thought it the lesser of two things I shouldn’t do. And I want you to concede that the ravishing was your idea—”

  She put her hand over his mouth. “You should have stopped with the apology.”

  He kissed her palm, then took her hand away. “Very well. I’ll admit that both the throwing and the ravishing were my ideas. I apologize. I was looking for a distraction.”

  “You’re daft,” she said with a scowl.

  “And you’re beautiful,” he said, tilting his head to look at her fondly. “I’m having a hard time concentrating on anything but you.”

  She sighed. “I think I understand that, at least. I should be thinking of sieges and swordplay and how to better my own, yet all I can think of is when I might next be in your arms.” She met his eyes. “Along with, heaven help me, a few other things.”

  He closed his eyes briefly, then looked at her.

  She almost had to sit down.

  “A prince of the house of Neroche does not kiss a princess of the house of Tòrr Dòrai
nn without wooing her properly first,” he said, through somewhat gritted teeth.

  She looked at him in surprise. “Is that written down somewhere?”

  “I just made it up.”

  “You’re an idiot.”

  His mouth worked for a moment or two, then he hung his head and laughed. “I’m not,” he said, looking at her from under his absurdly long eyelashes. “I’m trying to save my sanity. I vow, Morgan, if I start kissing you, it’s entirely possible I won’t be able to stop. I would prefer to be in a place where someone else’s spells were keeping us safe so when I wasn’t able to stop kissing you, at least I wouldn’t be responsible for seeing us dead thanks to my preoccupation with other things.” He paused. “Put simply.”

  She removed a particularly long piece of straw from where it stood out from his tunic like the blade of a sword. “And if you were Miach the farmer instead of…well, that other business of yours? What then?”

  “If I were Miach the simple farmer and you Morgan the simple village gel, we would have been wed an hour after I first clapped eyes on you and we would be right now taking advantage of this luxurious hayloft to do far more than just kiss.”

  She looked at him, then realized what he meant. “Oh,” she managed, with an alarming amount of breathlessness. “I see.”

  “So you do. Unfortunately, we are who we are and I’m still trying to keep my wits about me. So, despite all the other things I would prefer to be doing, I must allow that sleep is what we need most.” He smiled at her. “Come with me?”

  Morgan couldn’t muster up anything inconsequential to say. All she wanted to do was stick her fingers in her ears and see if she could clean them out.

  Had he said wed?

  She sat down next to him on that very fine blanket, then squeaked as he pulled her back to lie beside him. He turned on his side, propped his head up on his hand, and smiled at her. Then a frown creased his brow. She reached up to smooth it away before she thought better of it, then curled her fingers into her palm and put her hand back down at her side where it couldn’t do anything else untoward.

  “Morgan, what is it?”