Dreamspinner

  Perhaps Rùnach had done his best to do the same thing.

  “I told you before that Nicholas had sent me on a quest to take Mehar’s knife to the king of Neroche,” Morgan said, “but I didn’t tell you everything. Do you care to hear it now?”

  Aisling nodded. Truth was truth, wherever she found it.

  “Then what I didn’t tell you was that in my company north was not only Adhémar, the king of Neroche himself, but Miach as well. I didn’t know either of them, of course, because Adhémar was traveling in as much disguise as he could muster, and Miach was pretending to be a farmer.”

  Aisling considered, then smiled briefly. “I can imagine that.”

  “He doesn’t exactly put on airs, does he?” Morgan said, sounding as if she thoroughly approved. “Unfortunately, being one of Weger’s devotees, I had made no secret of my loathing for mages. This problem was made worse by Miach’s becoming convinced he knew the past I had forgotten, the one that cast me in the role of youngest daughter to one of the worst black mages in history.”

  Aisling blinked, realizing the connection she hadn’t made before. “Gair of Ceangail? He is your father?”

  Morgan lifted her eyebrows briefly. “If you want to be exact, then yes.”

  “Rùnach’s too,” she said, feeling slightly horrified.

  “Actually, that’s true as well,” Morgan agreed, “though Rùnach is nothing like him. As for the other, the particulars of our journey here are unimportant, but let’s just say that Mehar of Angesand’s sword—”

  “The one in the great hall that glows with a blue light?”

  Morgan looked faintly startled. “Aye, that one. And when I first saw it in the great hall, it not only glowed for me, it sang, then it leapt off the wall into my hand. I turned around and found Adhémar and his six brothers standing on the other side of the high table. It was then that I was told he was the king and realized that Miach was his youngest brother, the archmage of the realm and a liar of the first water.”

  “Ah,” Aisling said, beginning to suspect that things had not turned out well for Miach. “What did you do?”

  Morgan shifted uncomfortably. “I’m not proud of this, but I was so angry—” She had to take a deep breath. “Well, I took Mehar’s sword and slammed it against the table, shattering it into hundreds of shards.”

  Aisling felt her mouth fall open. “What did you do then?”

  “I ran.”

  “Ah,” Aisling said, finding the word surprisingly satisfying. She looked at Rùnach’s sister and felt as if she were truly seeing her for the first time. “Then you do understand.”

  “I do understand,” Morgan agreed. “Miach followed me, eventually, when he could. We came to an understanding.”

  Aisling sighed. “I don’t know if I can ever come to an understanding with your brother.”

  “Why not?”

  Aisling rubbed her hands, because they pained her a bit. Too much spinning, perhaps. At least her skin was soft from the lanolin in the wool, not scratched to bits from the coarseness of thread spun from who knew what. She looked down at her hands until she thought she could look at Morgan and not say too much.

  “He is a prince,” she said finally, “and I am nothing at all.”

  Morgan shrugged. “That is not how my brother thinks, though perhaps that may not be as clear as it should have been. But I understand your hesitation. His scars are quite off-putting—”

  Aisling looked at her sharply only to realize that Morgan was watching her with a half smile that wasn’t quite teasing but was definitely knowing. She pursed her lips.

  “I don’t see them anymore.”

  “I didn’t imagine you did.”

  “He lied to me.”

  “Before or after you told him the absolute truth about yourself?”

  Aisling blinked, then smiled. “You spent too many years at Gobhann.”

  Morgan laughed a little. “I fear Weger ruined me for polite company, ’tis true. But perhaps you can see where Rùnach might have a bit of room for hedging. As for this curse you seem to believe in, all I can say is that Weger would tell you to find out the truth of the matter for yourself. Though I imagine Rùnach has suggested the same thing already.”

  “He has,” Aisling said slowly.

  “And if something in your country needs to be changed, Weger would tell you to see it changed. If you’ve the courage for it.”

  Aisling looked down at her hands, hands that had done things she’d been forbidden to do for the whole of her life, and wondered what else her hands might do. She looked at Rùnach’s sister. “I don’t yet,” she said, “but I think I might do well to find it.”

  Morgan slapped her hands on her knees. “That was exactly what I wanted to hear. I will tell you, though, that I don’t think you should go alone.”

  “I don’t think there’s a swordsman alive who would come along with me when I could not guarantee either payment or success.”

  “You might ask Rùnach, you know. He’s handy enough with a blade.”

  “I don’t think he’s going to want to talk to me anymore.”

  “Now that you clipped him under the chin?” Morgan only laughed. “He deserved exactly what you gave him and more.”

  “He’ll be furious when he wakes.”

  “He won’t,” Morgan said cheerfully. “He’ll consider it penance.” She shot Aisling a look. “He is a bit bossy, though, and will likely dictate your actions to you, which you may not want. Best disabuse him of that notion right off. As for anything else, I’ll do for you what I can.”

  Aisling managed a smile. “You’re very kind.”

  “Blessed,” Morgan corrected, then she smiled. “And here is my page with your gear. I think you should steal my brother’s horse. I’ve had him saddled for you, as you can see.”

  “Rùnach won’t be happy.”

  “They never are,” Morgan said with a wink. “Always overattached to their horseflesh, but Rùnach will survive.”

  Aisling took the satchel and her bow and arrows from the lad who bowed respectfully, then moved to stand a discreet distance away. The satchel contained nothing but Ochadius’s book and the book Nicholas of Lismòr had given her, but it was enough. She looked at Morgan.

  “I think this is all I need.”

  “Perhaps you’ll find other things in your saddlebags,” Morgan said. She looked at Aisling. “If you want one suggestion, it would be that you find out who you are, and very quickly before someone you won’t like does.”

  “Does that happen?”

  “I’m afraid it does.”

  Aisling didn’t want to know how Morgan knew, so she didn’t ask. She simply stood and waited until she heard the sound of horse hooves.

  Iteach whinnied when he saw her. Aisling was so surprised, she felt her eyes burn with tears she couldn’t manage to shed.

  “He knows me,” she murmured.

  “Of course he does,” Morgan said. “Likes you too, apparently. Look at that lovely saddle he’s conjured up for you.”

  Aisling looked at Rùnach’s sister. “He has magic.”

  “I would hazard a guess he does,” Morgan agreed, “but Rùnach admitted that already, if memory serves.” She turned and faced Aisling squarely. “I want you to know, Aisling, that you may come back here any time you like. You will always be welcome in our hall.”

  It took a moment before Aisling could find her voice. She looked at the queen of Neroche and attempted a smile.

  “Thank you,” she managed. “It is a very great gift.”

  “I understand needing a place to land,” Morgan said. “I was very fortunate to have such a place in my youth. I’m pleased to be able to provide the same for you here. As for anything else, what can I do?”

  “Don’t tell Rùnach where I’ve gone,” Aisling said. “He’ll just follow me and jam up the works.”

  “Men tend to do that,” Morgan agreed.

  “He doesn’t like me very much.”

  Mo
rgan smiled. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that.”

  “He’ll like me even less when he finds out I’ve poached his horse, but I’ll send Iteach back when I’m finished. You could apologize for the theft to him, if you like.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Morgan said with a smile. “We’ll see how he behaves when he wakes.”

  Aisling returned her smile, accepted reins, then led Iteach out of the stables into the courtyard. She climbed on, waved to Morgan, then held on as the horse leapt up into the air. She supposed it said something that she merely gasped instead of shrieking.

  Life was, she had to admit, full of things she hadn’t expected.

  She landed two hours later, because she’d seen something in a clearing below her that she thought she might have to have a closer look at.

  Rùnach, as it happened.

  Iteach wasn’t particularly enthusiastic about landing, but she insisted. She had forgiven Rùnach before Morgan had even told her details about her own little scuffle with Miach’s family sword. It had taken but another hour to make her think that she had leapt where she should have looked first. When she’d seen the man in the clearing below, looking up into the sky, she’d known that she’d been given a gift.

  She would have landed in the clearing, but Iteach balked. She supposed if she managed to get him on the ground, that was perhaps all she could ask for. She slid off the saddle when she was able, took a moment to gather not only her legs beneath her but her thoughts in her head, then walked into the clearing to find Rùnach standing there with his back to her.

  He was a little more travel-stained than she remembered him being, but perhaps he had come in haste. That was almost enough to bring a smile to her face.

  “Rùnach?”

  The man was very still, then he turned around.

  It was at that moment that she realized she had made a very serious mistake.

  Twenty-five

  Rùnach woke. It took him a moment or two to realize that no one had bothered to pick him up off the floor where he’d fallen when he’d been felled—

  By a slip of a girl who had apparently learned more at Weger’s bony knee than he’d suspected.

  He looked up to find Miach in the same place he’d seen him before, sitting on the lord’s table, swinging his legs idly back and forth, as if he simply didn’t have anything better to do. Rùnach sat up, clutched his head until it stopped spinning, then glared at the king of Neroche.

  “What in the hell was that?”

  “You,” Miach said, “being bested by a wraith of a wench who I will tell you is absolutely furious.”

  “She was hedging as well,” Rùnach muttered.

  Miach laughed a little. “Rùnach, my friend, if you haven’t learned for yourself that it is a far different thing when they do something than when we do the same thing, then there is no hope for you. I suggest a quick trot after her and an apology.”

  “Where did she go?”

  “I have no idea. Ask Morgan.”

  Rùnach staggered to his feet, then had to lean back against the table. He watched his sister saunter into the great hall as if she hadn’t a care in the world.

  “Where is she?” he rasped.

  “Gone,” Mhorghain said cheerfully. “Is there wine?”

  Miach reached behind him and poured her a cup, which he then handed to her. He looked thoughtfully off into the distance. “You know,” he said to apparently no one in particular, “there is something very different about that gel, but I can’t quite lay my finger on what.”

  “She spins air,” Mhorghain said. “That’s something different.”

  “And she pulled my spell of Un-noticing right off its frame and spun it into something that is no longer there. Interesting, wouldn’t you say?”

  “I would,” she agreed. “Very interesting, that.”

  “I’ve been thinking other thoughts,” Miach offered helpfully.

  “Which ones, my love?”

  Miach patted the spot next to him on the table, then put his arm around his wife when she hopped up to sit next to him. “You know what they do in Bruadair, don’t you?”

  “I’m not sure I do. Do you?”

  Rùnach growled before he could stop himself. His sister and brother-in-law looked at him briefly before they continued their conversation with each other.

  “They’re dreamweavers.”

  “Dreamweavers?” Mhorghain echoed. “How interesting. How is it they weave dreams?”

  “I’m not sure,” Miach said thoughtfully. “There must be an art to it, wouldn’t you suppose?”

  “I would,” she agreed. “It begs the question, does it not, where it is they get the dreams to weave? Someone has to spin them, I should think.”

  “I couldn’t agree more—”

  “They can’t,” Rùnach said flatly.

  Mhorghain and Miach looked at him as one.

  “They can’t?” Miach asked politely.

  “They aren’t allowed to spin,” Rùnach said, realizing he was coming very close to growling again. “The penalty for spinning is death.”

  “But,” Miach said slowly, fixing him with a look Rùnach couldn’t quite decipher, “your lady can spin and not die, can’t she?”

  “Well, of course she can—” Rùnach stopped, then felt as if he’d just run into Aisling’s fist again. His mouth fell open. “What are you suggesting?”

  Miach shrugged. “She spins air.”

  “And spells,” Mhorghain added helpfully. “That’s unusual. I wonder what the penalty for that is.” She looked at her husband. “Because didn’t you say they weren’t allowed to spin there in Bruadair?”

  “No, Rùnach said that. Didn’t you, Rùnach?”

  Rùnach found that he was beginning to regret having regained consciousness. “What are you saying?”

  “I think you should go get her now,” Miach suggested, “and do your damndest to keep her safe.”

  “I was already planning on that.”

  “And don’t lie to her anymore,” Mhorghain added.

  Rùnach was tempted to clack their heads together, but it was his sister after all and he was a gentleman. He was willing to sharpen his tongue on her husband, though, without the slightest regret. He opened his mouth to do just that, but Miach held up his hands before he could even start.

  “Don’t shout at me,” he said evenly. “I didn’t let her go; I’ve been here watching over you. Blame Morgan.”

  “Coward,” she said, elbowing him companionably.

  “He’s cranky,” Miach said with a shudder. “I don’t want to tangle with him in this mood.”

  Rùnach turned a dark look on his sister. “What is this go get her now of which your husband speaks?” he asked with an attempt at politeness. “I suppose I don’t dare hope you managed to talk her into stomping about safely in a chamber here until her pique has subsided, can I?”

  “She wanted to leave the keep,” Mhorghain said. “Who was I to stop her? She’s a woman full grown and obviously about some noble quest.”

  “To Diarmailt,” Rùnach said through gritted teeth. “The library at Diarmailt. You sent her off to that hellhole by herself!”

  “Nay,” Mhorghain said reasonably, “I sent her off with your horse.”

  “What!”

  “You’re awfully interested for a man who said he didn’t care for her,” Miach said.

  “I never said I didn’t care for her.”

  “Then perhaps you weren’t vocal enough in your declarations of affection,” Mhorghain offered. “That’s important, you know.”

  Rùnach threw up his hands and left the great hall. It was either that or tell both his sister and her husband exactly what he thought of them.

  Which was that they were a very lovely couple and he envied them their happiness to the very depths of his soul.

  By the time he reached the chamber he’d been sharing with Aisling, his own fit of pique had subsided to be replaced with something that left him feeling cold eno
ugh that he had to stand in front of the fire for several minutes before he thought his hands would work as they should.

  He couldn’t follow her, because if he did, he would lead Acair to her.

  And if Acair had any idea what she could do…

  He forced himself to pack his gear without emotion. He started to leave the chamber, then saw what had been left on the table there.

  It was the yarn Aisling had spun. Mistress Ceana had turned it into a skein and tucked a pair of knitting needles into it. He considered, then placed it carefully in the top of his pack. He left the chamber and started back through the castle. He didn’t bother to cover his face, for what need was there? He wasn’t going to put Aisling in danger by being anywhere near her, so it didn’t matter who knew where he was.

  He continued to repeat that to himself as he made his way out to the stables, drawing the perfect sensibility of that around him like a warm cloak. After all, who could fault him for his reasoning? Aisling would be fine. In fact, she would be far better off without him than she would be with him. He had nothing to offer her, no means to see to her, no way to keep her safe, not even a plan to elude those he could hardly fathom would be looking for him.

  Besides, he didn’t care for Aisling. She had none of the social graces he had come to expect in his women, no regal pedigree, no long list of suitors she had rejected in order to be free to receive his attentions.

  But she could spin air.

  By the time he reached the stables, he had a blinding headache. He squinted against the faint sunlight and wasn’t terribly surprised to find his sister and her husband waiting for him. A horse stood there as well, wearing wings on all four hooves. He looked at Miach.