by Lynn Kurland
She rose, then felt something catch on the edge of the finely wrought bench where she’d been sitting. She frowned at the sight of a thread pulled from one of her sleeves. She paused, then carefully worked it out until she held a long, pale blue thread in her hand.
Something began to run under her feet. She looked at her hand and saw that the thread had gone from being a simple thread to being a waterfall that cascaded down to the floor and became a pool around her feet.
It was then that she realized she was beginning to understand the words the water was whispering to her.
It was Fadaire, the language of Tòrr Dòrainn.
She stood there, drenched thoroughly in the language and the magic and the beauty that was the birthright of the elves of Tòrr Dòrainn. She felt tears slipping down her cheeks, she who hadn’t wept even when she’d realized that she would be spending the better part of her life in a weaver’s guild, put there by her parents.
She had looked into the face of absolute beauty.
She stumbled across the room, sank down into the chair and leaned her head back against it, then closed her eyes.
She wasn’t sure she would ever be the same.
Four
Rùnach strode toward his boyhood chamber, sparing a brief moment to think about how many times he had walked the same path in his youth. He supposed the fact that he still had a bed in his grandfather’s palace said something about the nature of his grandmother’s sight. He had never asked her if she’d saved any other chambers for siblings who might or might not have been alive. His older brother was definitely gone, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know with certainty the fate of his three younger brothers. There was simply no possible means for them to have escaped the devastation at the well.
He took a deep breath and continued on. The past was dead and gone, and the future was full of things he feared might cost people their lives if he didn’t find answers sooner rather than later to questions that perplexed him.
Elves bowed to him as he passed them. They were servants for the most part, though there were a few of his younger cousins here and there who seemed to think he deserved the reverence. He tousled hair when appropriate and inclined his head politely when it wasn’t. He was relieved to be where he was under different circumstances from the last time he’d been at Seanagarra some two months earlier. Then, he had spent most of his time trying not to scream as Miach and Ruith had rebuilt his hands.
He turned the corner, then almost ran bodily into his grandfather before realizing the hale and hearty elf was standing just outside Rùnach’s bedchamber, waiting for him. He sighed silently, then put aside his own burning questions about the book that lay in his backpack. He would have to satisfy his grandfather’s questions first, obviously, before he could see to his own. It was possible Sìle might also gloat. Rùnach wouldn’t have been surprised.
He stopped in front of his grandfather to make him a bow. “Grandfather.”
Sìle grunted. “That I am, my boy. I can only hope that you have finally brought to mind who you are. Your presence here indicates that you may have come to your senses.”
“One could hope,” Rùnach agreed.
“Have you given up the idea of wasting your life in some questionable garrison?”
Rùnach clasped his hands behind his back. “For the moment, I suppose.”
Sìle only grunted, then gestured for Rùnach to proceed ahead of him. Rùnach walked into his bedchamber and stopped involuntarily. He had been there, of course, a pair of months earlier as he’d come home to attend Mhorghain’s wedding to Miach of Neroche. For some reason, though, the sight of it hadn’t affected him then as it did now. The truth was, everything was as he had left it the morning he and his family had left Seanagarra for the last time.
It was perhaps an unremarkable chamber in a glorious palace, but it was nonetheless startling to realize that he could have walked inside with his eyes closed and laid his hand on any number of things he’d owned in his youth. He knew what lay in the drawers in the small chest next to the bed, knew what clothes found themselves still in the wardrobe to his right. He supposed he wouldn’t have been surprised to have sat in one of the chairs before the hearth, reached down the side of a cushion, and found pencils or ink pens or, heaven help them all, something he might have filched from the kitchens.
He took a deep breath and pushed those memories aside. Instead, he walked over to the hearth, dropped his pack onto the floor, and nudged it out of the way with his foot. No sense in giving his grandfather any opportunity to examine his belongings. He shrugged out of his cloak, then turned his back to the fire that some enterprising soul had obviously lit for his comfort. He sighed in pleasure before he could stop himself.
“You’ve been out of decent accommodations for too long,” Sìle said with a snort, casting himself down into one of the chairs.
Rùnach looked at his grandfather steadily. “There is nothing like home, Your Grace, especially when home finds itself at your hall.”
Sìle made a few gruff noises that Rùnach had no doubt were meant to cover his pleasure over the compliment. The king of Tòrr Dòrainn had a reputation for being impossible, but Rùnach knew better. That wasn’t to say that his grandfather didn’t have his opinions, which he tended to voice rather loudly, but when it came down to it, he loved his family more than his own life.
Rùnach could bring to mind several occasions during his youth when he’d compared his grandfathers to each other. Sgath was certainly as full of noble blood as anyone, but he preferred to wander about in as much obscurity as possible. Rùnach had passed many happy hours with him in a fishing boat on his lake, talking of simple things and, occasionally, less simple things.
Sìle, however, had always seemed a towering figure from legend, demanding, terribly proud of his heritage and his progeny. From him, Rùnach had acquired arrogance, true, but also a deep sense of responsibility to who he was and an abiding love for all things beautiful. Rùnach had admired them both for different reasons and been grateful for their love and care of those he loved.
“Again, ’tis good to see you’ve come to your senses,” Sìle said with a knowing nod. “Don’t see any mark over your brow.”
Rùnach would have snorted if he’d had the energy. “And you had nothing to do with that, of course.”
Sìle lifted an eyebrow. “Do you honestly believe I would allow my grandson to be marked by that foul-mouthed, half-witted—”
“Mhorghain wears his mark.”
“Mhorghain was not under my care when she made that horrible decision to walk through Weger’s gates,” Sìle said briskly. “I never would have allowed it otherwise.”
“Miach wears his mark as well.”
“That young whelp from Neroche wears that mark because of his love for Mhorghain,” Sìle said, “which does him credit. But you? Nay, there is no need for the paltry honors of men when you are who you are.”
“Were,” Rùnach corrected.
Sìle only studied him for a moment or two, then apparently decided it was best to remain silent. It wasn’t as if Rùnach hadn’t already heard everything Sìle had to say on the subject already. His grandfather stood up, then turned himself around to attempt to scorch his own backside against the roaring fire.
“You know what she is, don’t you?”
“Who?”
“Your Aisling.”
Rùnach couldn’t decide why the question was beginning to bother him, though he suspected it had much to do with feeling like he was missing something he should have seen. What he needed was half a day in a safe place with nothing pressing to do so he might consider things he simply hadn’t had the peace and quiet to consider before. He looked at his grandfather. “She’s a girl?”
Sìle slapped him briskly on the back of the head as if he’d been a lad of ten. “Disrespectful whelp. Too much time with that young rogue from Cothromaiche has ruined your courtly manners.”
Rùnach attempted a smile. “Forgive me, Gr
andfather. I meant no disrespect.”
Sìle shifted, then scowled. “Nay, I’m the one who should be begging your pardon.” He put his hand on Rùnach’s shoulder briefly. “She unsettles me,” he said, looking unsettled indeed. He looked at Rùnach seriously. “Do you know what she is, in truth?”
“I’m honestly afraid to speculate,” Rùnach said.
“Do you know whence she hails?”
Rùnach looked at his grandfather but decided that perhaps he should take refuge in silence as well.
Sìle pursed his lips. “Very well, do you know anything about her?”
“I know she spins air.”
“Aye, as I saw. Very unusual, if you ask me.”
“And water. And fire, if you want to be thorough about it.”
“Interesting talents.”
“Do you know what she is?”
Sìle looked at him for a moment or two, then shook his head. “I’ve lived centuries upon centuries, grandson, and have seen and heard many things.” He started to speak again, then shook his head. “I can say no more.”
Rùnach suppressed the urge to thank his grandfather for being so helpful, which he supposed saved him another cuff to the back of the head. “They will have treated her well, won’t they?”
“Your grandmother?” Sìle asked in surprise. “Well, of course. The servants as well, I’m sure. Why?”
“She has had a difficult life. That and we’ve had a long journey here.”
“Where have you been?”
“Gobhann, Lismòr, Chagailt, Tor Neroche,” Rùnach said, finding even giving the list was wearying. “We were most recently in Diarmailt at the library.”
“Your pony says you left in great haste.”
Rùnach suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. That horse would change himself into a man and demand to sit at the head of any table they frequented if he could.
“Aye, so we were.”
Sìle only waited, watching Rùnach closely.
Rùnach dragged his hand through his hair. “We were discovered as being something less than ordinary scholars, Simeon was informed, then on our way out of the library, I learned Gàrlach was nearby. Not caring for another encounter with him—”
“Another?” Sìle asked sharply.
Rùnach sighed. “He caught Aisling out in the wilds and invited her to tea. Was I to leave her there for him to slay her?”
“Of course not,” Sìle said quietly. “What then?”
“Out in the open, he tried to take my non-existent power, then Aisling rescued me by taking the spells he was spewing out at us and spinning them around him, accompanied by a little fire.” Rùnach couldn’t help a smirk. “I imagine he was still smoldering in Eòlas, though I can’t say for sure as I didn’t have the opportunity to see him.”
Sìle pursed his lips. “I can’t say I don’t enjoy the thought of his humiliation, though I’m sorry you encountered him.”
“It was a dodgy business,” Rùnach admitted, and that was sadly understating it. He would have died—or worse—if it hadn’t been for Aisling and her ability to spin things others couldn’t.
It was uncanny, wasn’t it, the things the woman could do with elements that weren’t usually associated with the production of yarn?
“In Eòlas, we avoided him by hastening back inside the library,” Rùnach continued, deciding it was best to avoid discussing exactly why he’d decided on that as an escape route. “We opened one of the windows, then jumped onto the back of our waiting dragon and flew off into the distance, leaving behind persons we didn’t want to encounter and places we were finished visiting.”
“No doubt.” Sìle frowned thoughtfully. “Why Diarmailt?”
“Aisling thinks she’s under a curse for leaving her country. I wanted to prove to her otherwise. I thought a trip to the library at Eòlas would help.”
“And you didn’t think that my library might have what you’re looking for?”
Rùnach smiled. “Grandfather, it had nothing to do with the quality or breadth of your offerings downstairs. It was simply that until a se’nnight ago, Aisling thought that elves, dwarves, dragons, and mages were creatures from myth. Lads from Neroche apparently passed the test, but not the rest of us. I hadn’t even contemplated bringing her here.”
“Where she could attempt to unravel my border,” Sìle said with a shiver. “That girl . . .” He shook his head. “What sort of mischief is she about?”
Rùnach chose his words carefully. “She needs a soldier to dethrone a usurper.”
Sìle nodded, then froze. He looked at Rùnach as if he simply couldn’t believe where his thoughts might possibly be taking him. “She needs a soldier?”
“So she says.”
“Don’t tell me you intend to be that lad.”
“Actually, aye,” Rùnach said evenly. “I am considering it.”
Sìle’s mouth worked for a moment or two in silence, then he sighed the sigh of a man who had long since given up trying to have any effect on the actions of those around him. “I suppose that’s nobler than languishing in some unnamed garrison in some hellish locale such as Gairn.”
“I’m not worried about being noble.”
“I know,” Sìle said. “I know that as well as I know anything, son. What you will have instead if you continue down this path is something not even you can control, which I should rejoice over but I haven’t the heart to.”
Rùnach smiled. “I’m not sure I envy you your sight.”
His grandfather looked at him suddenly as if Sìle could see through him to a future Rùnach thought he might not want to know anything about.
“It comes with the blood,” Sìle said, pulling himself back from whatever he had seen, “which you’ll know eventually.” He studied Rùnach. “You wear a Diarmailtian spell of clarity. I assume that’s Nicholas’s doing.”
“A gift whilst we were at Lismòr.”
Sìle smiled, a little sadly. “I’m not sure I appreciated him as I should have when he was my daughter’s husband. He has given great gifts to my grandchildren when I could not.” He took a deep breath, then stepped away from the fire. “I’m assuming you might want to get to the library before your Aisling does.”
Rùnach started to protest that she was not his but realized immediately the futility of that. She wasn’t his, true, but that wasn’t because of any lack of interest on his part. At the very least, she was in his care whilst they were at his grandfather’s hall.
What she would be anywhere else, he supposed, was yet to be seen.
His grandfather was watching him expectantly. He supposed it wouldn’t do to blurt out that he had a book in his pack he needed to look at first. Sìle would no doubt offer to stay and look at it with him, and then he would be answering all manner of questions about its origin that he wasn’t going to want to answer. He was fairly sure shouting might ensue—and that wouldn’t be what was coming from him.
Rùnach left his pack on the floor, tossed his cloak over a chair, then turned and looked at his grandfather.
“Coming with me?”
“I already have all the answers,” Sìle said with a shrug. “What need have I to haunt my library?”
Rùnach smiled. “Simply for the pleasure of it?”
“I made certain that that officious Leabhrach was properly cowed earlier in the week, which leaves me at my leisure to stroll with your grandmother in her favorite garden or, alternately, put my feet up in my private chambers and consider how I should further torture any grandsons who might wander inside my gates.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Never leave these sorts of thing to chance, Rùnach.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Rùnach said dryly.
“I will walk you downstairs, though, to make certain you arrive in the right place.”
“A bit of caretaking for which I thank you kindly,” Rùnach said, ignoring the impulse to see just how long it would take to get his grandfather to make sail, as it were, to enjoy that desired stroll so he himself
could get back to his chamber and crack open a particular book. “Shall we?”
Sìle preceded him out of his chamber without delay. Rùnach glanced behind him once more, shivered a bit at the sensation of having done just that for the last time at ten-and-eight, then turned away, pulling the door shut behind him. He walked with his grandfather without haste down passageways and along porticos until they reached the steps that led down into the library. He stopped and looked at his grandfather.
“Thank you for being kind to her this morning,” he said.
“What? Oh, that,” Sìle said. He shook his head dismissively. “It was worth any little spot of trouble to see Ehrne in his nightcap, the reckless fool.”
“I wasn’t talking about the border, though I appreciate that as well. I was talking about afterward.”
“Well, even I have manners now and again,” Sìle said archly. He paused, then looked at Rùnach seriously. “She will need protection from a great many things. I think serving as a soldier for her may be the least of the things you see to, if this is the road you choose to follow.”
“You’re beginning to sound a little like Soilléir with your mysterious references to things you won’t name.”
“Bite your tongue,” Sìle said shortly. “That I should ever become anything like that young rogue from Cothromaiche . . .”
Who was several centuries older than Sìle, something Rùnach supposed his grandfather would have absolutely no interest in discussing. He supposed Soilléir could have been centuries older still and he would have seemed as youthful as if he had just attained his majority. Perhaps there was something in the water at Cothromaiche.
Sìle nodded toward the stairs. “I left something downstairs for you, along with sustenance for your labors. A page awaits your lady when she arises from her rest. I assume you can find the kitchens for lunch if you require it. We’ll have supper at the usual hour.”