by Lynn Kurland
She considered him. “Did you read that on my soul?”
“Good heavens, nay. Rùnach told me. Actually, I believe his exact words were, ‘Astar, you obnoxious bit of lichen on the family tree, go stand guard outside my lady Aisling’s door and lead her this way when she wakes.” He smiled. “Or words to that effect. Or that might have been my uncle Soilléir. Honestly, I can’t remember, but I will take you to the kitchens just the same.”
Aisling smiled. “I would like that.”
“Perhaps I’ll manage another breakfast whilst we’re there, though I suppose it’s coming up against luncheon.” He shrugged. “I win either way.”
She supposed he did. For all she knew, she might benefit as well, so she took his arm and found it was a very odd sensation to be escorted anywhere by anyone besides Rùnach.
The kitchen seemed very large, though she supposed she might not be the best judge of that sort of thing. It was a comfortable place, though, with a pair of large hearths for cooking and many tables for the preparation of meals. Rùnach was sitting in front of one of those hearths, chatting amicably with a blond man who seemed to be telling him some amusing anecdote or other.
Rùnach glanced over his shoulder, saw her, then stood immediately. Aisling supposed she shouldn’t have been so relieved to see him, but the journey had been difficult and the possibility of never seeing him again . . .
“Thank you, Astar, for safely delivering my lady to me,” he said, starting toward her. “You may let go of her now.”
Astar rolled his eyes. “Possessive, aren’t we?”
“Very. Go find your own woman.” Rùnach took her hand, looked at her for a moment or two, then opened his arms.
Aisling walked into his embrace because she had the feeling her escort wouldn’t mind. The kitchen was empty save the man near the fire, and perhaps he wouldn’t think her indiscreet either.
“So that’s how it is?” Astar said, sighing.
“That’s how it is,” Rùnach said. “I believe this is the moment at which I bid you farewell and watch you trot off to look for greener pastures.”
“Rùnach, old thing, you’ve been sending me off to other pastures for as long as I’ve known you.”
“Let’s not discuss the reasons why, shall we?”
“If you insist. A good morning to you all.”
Aisling heard footsteps going off to points unknown. She remained in Rùnach’s embrace for several minutes in silence, then she pulled back and looked at him.
“How are you?”
“How are you?” he asked, smiling.
“I think I was dreaming in that river,” she said promptly. “If not, I’m going to pretend I was.”
“You can cling to that for a bit, I suppose,” he said. He nodded toward the fire. “Why don’t you come take your ease by the fire? There’s someone I want you to meet.”
Aisling let him take her hand and lead her over to the fire. The man who had been sitting there rose, turned, and smiled at her. She looked at him, blinked, then felt her mouth fall open.
It was the fop who had saved her from encountering her parents on the day she’d fled Bruadair.
She took a step backward before she thought about it, then when she thought about it, she took a step forward. She pointed at him with a hand that wasn’t at all steady. “You,” she accused.
The man lifted an eyebrow. “Me?”
Aisling looked at Rùnach. “Who is that?”
Rùnach looked at her, then at the man standing there. “I think there is a tale here I might like to hear.”
“Introductions first,” Aisling said. “I continue to encounter people from my past who aided me in leaving Beul.”
The blond man inclined his head. “I am Soilléir,” he said. “Just Soilléir.”
Rùnach pursed his lips as he drew her over to sit in his chair. “Don’t listen to him. He is the youngest son of the crown prince of Cothromaiche and grandson of the king. He is a master at the schools of wizardry, all on his own substantial merits.” He fetched a chair of his own, then sat down next to her. “Prince Soilléir, this is Aisling of Bruadair.”
Aisling looked at Rùnach in surprise. “This was the master you knew at the schools of wizardry.”
Rùnach nodded, though he was watching her with a thoughtful frown. “I owe him my life, I’ll admit it freely.” He studied her a bit longer. “I’m not sure how this is possible, but you seem to know him.”
Aisling gestured at Soilléir. “He was the fop.”
Rùnach blinked, then smiled. “The fop? What do you mean?”
“The man who stood in front of me in Beul and blocked my view of my parents as they left their restaurant.” She looked at Soilléir. “Or, actually, perhaps you blocked their view of me.”
Soilléir smiled faintly. “That seems more likely.”
“Wait a moment,” Rùnach said, shaking his head as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. “You were in Beul?”
“Well—”
“He most definitely was,” Aisling said. “Not only did he hide me from my parents, he helped me during part of my flight to the border crossing.” She looked at Rùnach. “I’m sure of it.”
Rùnach sat back and looked at Soilléir as if he’d never seen him before. “You interfered.”
Soilléir only smiled faintly. “I thought a bit of aid wouldn’t go amiss.”
“You thought a bit of aid wouldn’t go amiss,” Rùnach repeated incredulously. “You? You interfered in the events of the world?”
Aisling leaned closer to Rùnach. “Does he not usually?”
“Never,” Rùnach said. “I have never in the entirety of my life that I’ve known him seen him interfere in the course of events.”
“I did once,” Soilléir said mildly.
Rùnach snorted. “When?”
“Several fortnights ago when your lady was about to be discovered by souls who didn’t have her best interests at heart.”
Aisling wasn’t sure who she should have been looking at more closely. Prince Soilléir looked as if he were torn between being slightly amused and slightly unsettled. Rùnach looked as if he’d just eaten something that disagreed with him quite violently. He looked at her.
“He saved you.”
“For which I’m very grateful,” she said. “Does he not save very many?”
“None,” Rùnach said, “though it isn’t from a lack of mercy. It goes against his—” He looked at Soilléir. “What would you call it, my lord?”
“My code,” Soilléir said gravely. “Which has cost many perhaps more pain than was necessary.”
She felt a little faint. “Then why me?”
“Ah, well, that is a mystery I believe you two will have to solve for yourselves.” Soilléir rose gracefully. “I’ve provided you with a safe haven. The rest is up to you.”
Aisling felt her mouth fall open. Rùnach was in a similar state.
“That’s it?” he asked incredulously. “That is all you’re going to say? You interfered.”
Soilléir shrugged. “I’ll leave you to discovering why. My grandfather has a library. You can find your way around in it, don’t you think?”
“What I think isn’t fit for a lady’s ears,” Rùnach said with a snort, “which is why I’ll keep it to myself. And out of gratitude for our many years of friendship, I’ll refrain from swearing at you. Somehow, though, I don’t think we’re going to find the answers we’re looking for in the library, not even your grandfather’s.”
“What you mean is you don’t want to spend the time looking for them,” Soilléir said dryly. “Why should I do your research for you?”
“Penance,” Rùnach said. “There’s a word you can chew on for a bit, if you like.”
Soilléir hesitated, then resumed his seat with a sigh. “Very well. I’ll give you one question a piece.”
“Three,” Aisling said, then realized Rùnach had said the same thing. She smiled at him. “We’ve traveled together f
or too long.”
“Imagine our conversation after we’ve been wed for a decade,” he said with a smile, then he turned a stern look on their host. “Three each.”
“If I can,” Soilléir said carefully. “Ladies first, as always.”
Aisling looked at him seriously. “Will you answer with absolute honesty?”
Soilléir closed his eyes briefly, then looked at her. “I’m sorry, Aisling,” he said quietly. “I know your life to this point has been difficult. And aye, I will answer anything you ask me now with absolute honesty.”
“Why was I able to spin Rùnach’s power out from under his scars that were covered by the rune his mother put there, why can I spin air, and why was I lied to for the whole of my life?”
Soilléir didn’t look terribly surprised by the questions, though he did hesitate. “Those are difficult questions indeed. Because I’m a coward, why don’t I answer Rùnach’s questions first?”
“Coward,” Rùnach said with a snort. “You’ve never had a cowardly moment in your life.”
“You might be surprised,” Soilléir said. “Aisling, does that suit?”
“Do you know what Rùnach will ask?” she asked suspiciously.
“I have known your friend there for many years,” Soilléir said with a smile. “I think I could hazard a guess.” He looked at Rùnach. “What do dreamweavers weave?”
“And who spins it,” Rùnach said bluntly. “Also, who is Sglaimir and why does his acquisition of Bruadair’s magic not show? And where has he hidden it?”
“That was five questions in total, which you know very well, but out of gratitude for your having poured wine for my guests for so long, I will humor you.” Soilléir leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and looked at them seriously. “There are many weavers in Bruadair, as you might imagine. Tailors must have cloth and customers must have clothing. But that weaving happens on ordinary looms, as our Aisling could readily attest.”
Aisling supposed it might be best to refrain from commenting on that.
“As for anything else—oh, what?”
Aisling realized Soilléir had stopped speaking. Well, to them, at least. He had risen and walked over to the door of the kitchens to confer with someone who apparently required his full attention.
“I’m going to kill him,” Rùnach muttered under his breath.
Aisling looked at him in surprise. “Why?”
“Just wait.”
Soilléir hastened back over to them and smiled apologetically. “I’m afraid I’ve been called away.”
“Of course you have,” Rùnach said sourly.
“Duty requires it. You see, Grandfather recently dug his crown out from the barrel of dried beans where he keeps it and my father and brothers trotted out their finery to accompany him to the Council of Kings a handful of days ago, leaving me to see to things.” He smiled. “We’ll chat later, I’m sure.”
Aisling watched him walk toward the door, then looked at Rùnach. “Is there a meeting of this council?”
“Of course not,” Rùnach said shortly. “More than likely what’s happened is the aforementioned lads have gone fishing and Soilléir heard tell of some sort of dessert laid out in his grandfather’s fanciest audience chamber. I would hazard a guess he wants to have at it whilst he doesn’t need to fight his way through the press at table.”
She would have chided him for not being serious, but perhaps in Cothromaiche dessert was serious business, indeed. She thought to chide Soilléir about it, but realized he had stopped at the door to the kitchen. She watched for a moment or two as he seemingly wrestled with himself before he turned and looked at them.
She felt a hush descend. She’d felt that sort of thing before and it had always boded ill for her peace of mind. She groped for Rùnach’s hand only to realize he was doing the same thing. His hand was warm and secure around hers, which she supposed hid the fact that her hand was trembling.
Soilléir walked over to them, then sat back down in his chair. He looked at them gravely. “There are, from what I understand, seven dreamspinners who provide what the weavers then use in their art.”
“Ordinary weavers, or dreamweavers?” Runach asked.
Soilléir only smiled. Aisling supposed that was answer enough.
“And these dreamspinners,” Rùnach said slowly. “What do they spin?”
“From what I understand,” Soilléir continued, “the seventh and most powerful of them all was slain several years ago.”
Aisling looked at Rùnach. “He’s not answering our questions.”
“He does that,” Rùnach said. He turned to Soilléir. “How many is several? Years, that is.”
Soilléir considered for much longer than Aisling thought he might have needed to, but perhaps he had terrible tidings to give them. He sighed.
“A score and six, to be exact. Her successor, again from what I understand, was far too young to take her rightful place in that most exclusive of Guilds, so she was sent to foster in the most unlikely and, it must be said, not ideal of places.”
“And where was that?” Rùnach asked.
“A family where the father suspected her heritage, but was forbidden to speak of it. The mother was told nothing and she was—well, let’s just say she was inspired to have a lack of curiosity.”
“Twenty-six years ago,” Rùnach said, frowning thoughtfully. He looked at Soilléir. “How long ago were Frèam and Leaghra deposed?”
“Close to that,” Soilléir conceded. “Give or take a year or two.”
“What happened to that dreamspinner?” Rùnach asked. “Is she still alive?”
“As for that dreamspinner,” Soilléir said quietly, “hiding her was the only way to save her life and, as it happens, the balance of the world.”
And with that, he rose and walked from the kitchen.
Aisling was half out of her chair before she realized there was no point. Soilléir had slipped out the door and was no doubt trotting briskly to wherever he’d been intending to go. She sank back down onto the wooden seat, then looked at Rùnach.
He was watching her closely. In fact, his scrutiny was making her a little nervous.
“What?” she asked faintly.
He smiled, then leaned over and kissed her. “You did agree to wed me, didn’t you?”
“Before or after our last encounter with death?”
He laughed a little. “I believe, my dearest Aisling, that it was in the middle of that encounter.” He kissed her hand, then rose, pulling her up with him. “Let’s go walk.”
“You’re thinking.”
“And you aren’t?”
She took a deep breath. “I’m not sure I want to.”
He only smiled, then hummed pleasantly as he led her from the kitchens and walked with her through passageways. The keep was lovely, she had to admit, but there was nothing particularly magical about it. Perhaps Soilléir and his kin preferred it that way. It certainly made for a quieter existence.
She walked with Rùnach through passageways that told no tales, past chambers that didn’t reveal their secrets, and out into a garden where the trees didn’t wave their branches and clamor for her attention. They simply grew, as if they were happy with their lot in life and felt no need to discuss it further. She realized at that moment just how . . . well, how truly magnificent Seanagarra had been. It wasn’t that wherever they were—the palace of Cothromaiche, she supposed—wasn’t lovely, for it was. The garden stretched out for quite a distance, followed by pastures, then mountains that rose up majestically. There was at the very least ample room for pacing.
When she realized she could walk no farther, she stopped and looked at Rùnach.
“Do you think he knows more than he’s telling us?”
Rùnach pulled her over to sit next to him on a bench beneath a tree laden with quite lovely small white flowers. “Soilléir always knows far more than he tells.”
“If we were to sneak up from behind, clout him over the head, then bind hi
m to a chair where he couldn’t escape, could we torture answers out of him?”
Rùnach smiled. “I’m not sure I’ve mentioned the spells he holds.”
“Are they worse than your father’s?” she asked, then she winced. “I mean—”
“Just that, and rightly so.” He shrugged lightly. “My father would have cut off his own right arm to have had even a single spell of essence changing. Soilléir knows them all.”
“Do you know them all?”
He laughed a little, uneasily. “Actually, I do. He gave them to me when I had no magic, out of pity no doubt.”
“I do doubt that. So what do these spells do?”
“Change things,” he said. “But permanently, not just for the moment or the duration of the spell.”
She shivered in spite of herself. “That sounds very dangerous.”
“They are terribly dangerous, which is why he rarely gives them out. The tests a mage must pass before Soilléir trusts him with any of them are unrelentingly terrible.” He sighed. “I watched him reduce Miach of Neroche to the point where he had no more tears to shed, though he didn’t know I was standing in the shadows, watching.”
“And you didn’t tell him,” she guessed.
“There would never be a point in that,” Rùnach said. “He might realize as much, if he were to actually think about it. But nay, Soilléir doesn’t share his spells very often and he uses them less often still. He prefers to simply stand and watch, if possible. Unless there is a compelling need at which point he generally simply offers a word or two and leaves it at that.”
She looked at her hand in his for a moment or two, then met his eyes. “He didn’t offer a word or two to me.”
“Nay, love,” Rùnach said, “he certainly didn’t, did he?”
“I wonder why.”
“You know, Aisling, I wonder why as well.”
She looked at him quickly because there was something in his tone that told her he wasn’t wondering much at all. She tried to swallow, but found it almost impossible.
“I was in the wrong place—”
Rùnach shook his head. “I don’t believe that.”
She licked her lips, uselessly. “Then what do you believe?”
He considered for a bit, then looked at her. “I think when it comes to Soilléir of Cothromaiche, there are no coincidences. If he helped you in Beul, which we know he did, he did so for a very good reason.”