The Dreamer's Song

by Lynn Kurland

That he needed the like at the moment was absolutely appalling.

  He came back to himself to realize Léirsinn had crossed the solar and come to a stop next to him. She was looking at the spell between his fingers with an expression on her face that he couldn’t quite identify, but perhaps she was seeing things he couldn’t. He’d seen that sort of look blossom into a bout of screaming—and indulged in the same himself, truth be told—so he quickly reached out and put his hand on her arm.

  “’Tis only a spell,” he whispered.

  She shook her head as if she attempted to shake off the effects of drink that had been too strong. She looked at him in shock.

  “It’s beautiful,” she managed.

  “Well,” he said, wondering if he should be offended or not, “I’m not completely without the odd redeeming attribute.”

  “Did you make that?” she asked in surprise.

  He should definitely have been offended, he decided, but he just couldn’t muster up the effort. He settled for a scowl. “Is that so unthinkable?”

  She looked at him in a way that reminded him so much of Soilléir of Cothromaiche, he flinched.

  “You made that,” she said, as if she simply couldn’t believe it of him.

  “Shocking, isn’t it?”

  She shook her head, waving aside his words in frustration. “Nay, not that the spell isn’t beautiful, because it is. I mean . . .” She looked at him as if she’d never seen him before. “You did that. Rather, you’re able to do that.”

  “A trifle,” he said dismissively, deciding abruptly it was less unsettling to be offended than it was to realize he was on the verge of coloring discreetly. “But feel free to heap more accolades upon my deserving head. I’ve had a rough go of things over the past few months.”

  “I don’t think your arrogance needs anything added to it.”

  He was a bloody braggart, true. He looked at her knowingly. “I believe you might swoon.”

  “At the moment, I believe you might be right.”

  He tucked the spell into the purse at his belt, then looked at her. “We should go whilst we still are able to. I have everything I need.”

  She looked at him once more in consternation, then extinguished her candle and set it on the mantel. He took her hand, led her toward the door, then came to an abrupt and rather ungainly halt.

  Damn, and so close to being gone.

  He felt Léirsinn press herself close to his left side whilst that damned minder spell cowered behind him to his right. Léirsinn leaned up to whisper to him.

  “I’m afraid to ask.”

  “Wise,” he said, not because he was particularly spare with words, but because he knew what he was facing there.

  His spell made no comment, but he hadn’t expected anything else.

  Every light in the damned solar suddenly blazed to life with a crispness that didn’t surprise him in the slightest. He might have been tempted to do the same thing in their place, which he wasn’t entirely sure he wouldn’t be doing—and sooner rather than later.

  “And here I thought we were going to escape death,” Léirsinn murmured.

  Acair had hoped so as well, but apparently not. Death was waiting there by the doorway, dressed in a perfectly pressed, starched-collared gown and boots that buttoned up the side. He knew about that preferred style of boot because he’d had ample opportunity to examine several pairs of them over the years as they’d kicked him in the arse on his way through the front gates.

  At least he could say, with the exception of that one trip over the back garden wall where he’d made such a hash of his trousers, he’d managed to be ejected out the front gates.

  He had the feeling the only place he was going to see this time around was the insides of his grandmother’s dungeon.

  He cleared his throat and prepared to make introductions.

  Fifteen

  Léirsinn wasn’t sure what she expected Acair’s grandmother to look like, but the woman at the doorway wasn’t it.

  Cruihniche of Fàs was slight, elegant, and dressed so perfectly that Léirsinn felt as if she had weeks’ worth of dung on her boots, not just a bit of dirt she’d done her best to leave behind just outside the back door. It had seemed a bit odd to her at first how the house itself had seemed on edge, as if it feared someone might walk through and find something out of place. At the moment, she understood completely.

  She could hardly believe it, but if rumor had it aright, that delicate woman there was the sister of Cailleach of Cael and the mother of Fionne of Fàs. Léirsinn had no idea how the branches of their family tree twisted themselves around, but something definitely had taken a radical turn somewhere.

  Acair stepped up and discreetly drew her behind him. “Grandmother,” he said, making her a low bow.

  “You odious little rodent,” Cruihniche said crisply. “How dare you show your visage, no matter how handsome it might be, at my door!”

  Acair cleared his throat. “If we’re going to be entirely accurate, Grandmother, I’m not at your door—”

  “You’re in my private solar,” she shouted, “which you well know. I refuse, Acair, to indulge your penchant for semantics.” She motioned him sharply aside. “Let me see who you have hiding behind your sorry self.”

  “Ah, Grandmother,” Acair began.

  “Now, Acair.”

  He sighed, then looked over his shoulder. “Sorry,” he mouthed.

  Léirsinn shook her head in answer. Either both of them were going to escape their current locale, or neither of them would.

  Acair sighed, then took a step to his right. “May I present my trusted companion, Léirsinn of Sàraichte. Léirsinn, my beloved and esteemed grandmother, Cruihniche of Fàs.”

  Léirsinn watched Cruihniche sweep her from head to toe with an assessing glance, then freeze. She looked as if she’d recently taken a hearty bite of a lemon, then her jaw suddenly went slack.

  “Oh . . . I see.”

  Léirsinn wished the woman was merely reacting to an eyeful of Acair’s minder spell, but it was obvious Acair’s grandmother wasn’t looking in that direction. She was looking at her.

  She would have ducked back behind Acair, but two things stopped her. One, Acair seemed rather reluctant to allow her to use him as a shield, and two, she realized with a start that she might be the only thing that kept them both alive. She wasn’t sure what was going through Mistress Cruihniche’s mind, but it didn’t seem to be thoughts of murder. She looked instead as if she’d just seen something that had knocked her firmly back on her heels.

  Perhaps it was the dragon charm burning a hole in Léirsinn’s tunic.

  Léirsinn had to look down to make certain she wasn’t on fire. The charm was rather warm to the touch even through the cloth, but she’d grown accustomed to it doing unusual things. If it saved them at present, she wasn’t going to complain.

  She wondered what she was supposed to do to humor Acair’s grandmother, then decided there was no point in worrying about it. The woman was either going to slay them both on the spot, or—

  Apparently, it was going to be or.

  Cruihniche gave her another slightly alarmed look, then turned her sights back on her grandson.

  “What is that other thing there?” she asked faintly.

  “It is a spell,” Acair said, “with nefarious intentions at the ready. Never fear, Grandmother, it has its sights only upon me, your humble and penitent scrap of progeny.”

  His grandmother considered that for a moment or two, then straightened her shoulders and pointed at Acair.

  “Grandson, fetch the tea table,” she said, seemingly laying hold on her strength. She shot Léirsinn another look, then shook her head and walked back over to the doorway. She bellowed down the hallway for refreshments to be provided, then slammed the door shut.

  Léirsinn didn’t want t
o know what those refreshments might entail, but as long as servants were delivering food and drink instead of chains and locks, she was happy to help Acair carry tea things over to a spot in front of the fire. She waited with him until his grandmother had arranged things to her liking, trying not to be too obvious about eyeing what foodstuffs were brought in and laid out. They didn’t look lethal, but what did she know? She was in the inner solar of a witch, and she had no means of escape save her own two feet. She didn’t think that boded well for her longevity.

  “Sit,” Cruihniche commanded. “We’ll discuss your offenses after we’ve had a nibble and a sip.”

  Léirsinn sat where invited and tried to look as trustworthy as possible. She had the feeling she had quite a substantial amount of her companion’s lack to make up for.

  Cruihniche of Fàs—whatever title she preferred, though Léirsinn thought it best to just call her Ma’am and leave it at that—manned the teapot. Biscuits were provided, other delicate edibles placed just so, and whisky and rum were set well within reach.

  Cruihniche shot Acair a steely glance. “Tea or strong drink?”

  “Both, Grandmother, if you please.”

  Léirsinn sat up a bit straighter and wished for boots and a cloak that weren’t so muddy when Acair’s grandmother turned that same sharp glance on her.

  “And you, my wee horse miss?”

  Léirsinn started to ask the woman how in the world she would know anything at all about her past, then decided it was probably best not to know. It made her uneasy to think how often she’d made that same decision over the past fortnight, but perhaps with time it would grow easier.

  “Whatever suits you, my lady,” she managed.

  “Harrumph,” Cruihniche said, but poured just the same. She sipped at her own strengthening concoction for a moment or two, then set it aside and looked at Acair. “Surrender the book, grandson.”

  “But—”

  “Now,” she insisted. “Before I rip your arms off to have it back.”

  Léirsinn caught herself before she indulged in not only a look of astonishment but a hearty gasp. Acair’s mother had been rather blunt, or so it had seemed to her. She had no idea what to call his grandmother.

  Acair looked horribly torn. “Words cannot possibly express the marvelous and unique nature of this tome—”

  “Which is why it was in my private and quite hidden cubby,” Cruihniche said sharply, “not out in the open where any fool could pick it up and finger it. When, Acair, will you learn not to nose about in business that is not your own?”

  He smiled a small, mischievous smile that should have felled every soul within a half-league radius. Léirsinn reminded herself that she continued to put up a decent defense against his charm with varying degrees of success, but that smile there was powerful stuff indeed. She had to tuck her hands under her thighs to keep from fanning herself, something she had never once in the whole of her life been tempted to do. Acair’s grandmother, however, seemed utterly unmoved by the sight.

  “Reprehensible attempt,” Cruihniche said shortly.

  “But, Grandmother,” Acair said smoothly, “how am I to stop myself when the prize is so—how shall we term it?”

  “Unattainable?”

  “I am holding on to the book,” Acair pointed out.

  “Temporarily and only because I’m seeing how far out on the proverbial limb you’ll go before you realize you’ve gone too far,” she said.

  “Curiosity is my worst failing,” he admitted.

  Léirsinn appreciated his attempt at honesty. She didn’t think his grandmother was equally impressed, but it was, after all, Cruihniche’s solar that Acair was invading.

  His grandmother grunted at him. “Curiosity is your worst failing? When there are so many contenders for that spot, that is the trait you choose? I think I have a far different opinion.” She looked at him pointedly. “Book.”

  He hesitated. “Might I simply look through it another time or two? Léirsinn has been supplied with pencil and paper for the express purpose of jotting down the odd thing we might find interesting.”

  Cruihniche frowned. “You don’t want the entire thing?”

  “Oh, I want it,” he assured her. “I’m just trying to be polite by settling for less.”

  She had another sip of her tea. “If all you wanted was a look,” she said, setting her cup down and shifting a platter bearing a cake closer to herself, “you could have just asked me.”

  “I didn’t want to be a bother.” He paused. “That, and the last time I came to tea—”

  “You rifled through my fine linens,” she finished. “Really, Acair, do you want to bring up the past at this particular moment?”

  Léirsinn watched the exchange with fascination. Acair’s grandmother was fingering that cake knife as if she intended to do damage with it, though why the woman didn’t just reach for a spell was anyone’s guess.

  “Well, you did send minions after me, Grandmother—” Acair began carefully.

  “Which was far less than you deserved, and you’ve now made up my mind for me.” She set the knife down and held out her hand. “Book.”

  Acair gathered it to his chest and cradled it there reverently. “One more look.”

  Cruihniche leveled a look at him. “Do you truly want to brawl with me in front of my own hearth, child?”

  “Nay, but I would endlessly sing your praises if you’d just let me make one more brief, casual study of this marvelous, one-of-a-kind foray into perfection on my way out the door.”

  “If I let you near the door, you’ll just bolt.”

  He nodded. “I might, but at least then you would see me fleeing and know where to direct your thugs. Perhaps I don’t need to point out that I could have simply turned myself into a discreet little breeze—”

  “If you think, grandson, that I don’t have the magic to keep you firmly trapped in your own current shape,” she said mildly, “think again. If you further think I haven’t the stomach to do worse, well, you’re a disappointment and nothing but.”

  Acair blinked. “Could you? Or, more to the point, would you?”

  Léirsinn found Acair’s grandmother looking at her. “This is your doing, isn’t it? This newfound politeness on his part?”

  Léirsinn hardly knew where to begin denying anything to do with Acair’s current condition. “Ah—”

  “I sense a gentler edge to his general ruthlessness, which I find alarming. Did you do that?”

  Léirsinn shook her head and pointed behind her at the spell that she didn’t have to look for any longer. If it wasn’t two paces behind Acair, it was lingering at her elbow.

  Cruihniche looked at the spell, then lifted an eyebrow. “Interesting bit of business, that,” she said slowly.

  “Any suggestions on how to rid myself of it?” Acair asked quickly. “It is greatly hampering my ability to make mischief, and we both know how that grieves you.”

  His grandmother turned her attention back to him and her expression darkened. “I almost forgot about you in the excitement of encountering something that wants you dead. And to answer your surprisingly astute query, aye, I damned well could keep you in your own blasted shape and I don’t need any spells of essence changing to do so.”

  “Your sister,” he ventured, “Cailleach—”

  “I only have one sister, dolt! You needn’t remind me of my connection to her or her name.”

  Léirsinn would have smiled, but she didn’t imagine that would improve matters any. She decided that perhaps it was best to just apply herself to her tea and stay out of the fray. She wasn’t as adept at reading humans as she was horses, but she would have laid money on that woman there having a soft spot for her grandson. A very small one, true, but perhaps enough to get them back out the door while they were still breathing.

  “Your sister who admires
you to the very depths of her being said ours was the power I should be seeking,” Acair said carefully, “not my father’s.”

  “Bah, Gair is a spoilt little boy,” Cruihniche said dismissively. “Why my daughter thought him to be such a prize I don’t know, but who listens to their mothers in matters of the heart?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Acair ventured.

  “I imagine you don’t listen to her about anything, which is a mistake,” Cruihniche said. She considered him then frowned again. “What do you want from that book?”

  “I’m looking for a small list of mages who are up to no good.”

  “Small?” Cruihniche snorted. “Wishful thinking there, my lad. Perhaps you would do better to narrow things down. What do these mages do besides wreak your sort of havoc?”

  Acair took a deep breath. “They steal souls.”

  Léirsinn looked at his grandmother and was surprised to watch her go suddenly quite still. If the woman was breathing, she would have been surprised.

  “Léirsinn, hand me your writing things.”

  Léirsinn didn’t argue. She pulled out the notebook and pencil Fionne of Fàs had given her, then navigated the teapot and a set of stacked trays containing sweets she hadn’t dared taste to hand Mistress Cruihniche both. The woman studied Acair for a moment or two, then jotted down a few things. She kept at it long enough that Léirsinn felt safe looking at Acair. He was rather green, something she could see quite well thanks to all the light from candles, lamps, and a roaring fire.

  A fire that seemed to have a voice.

  She shifted and looked at the flames, listening until she felt as if she were no longer at Cruihniche of Fàs’s tea table. She was lost in a fire that sang something that tugged at her soul in a way she couldn’t identify properly. Longing, or perhaps a need for something she couldn’t name.

  She felt as if she were being pulled into a dream.

  The sensation alarmed her profoundly. It was one thing to watch otherworldly things happening to Acair and their horse; it was another thing entirely to have those sorts of things happen to her. She clutched the edges of the table and dragged herself back from a place she wasn’t sure she wanted to go.