by Lynn Kurland
Ruith had to admit that he’d been very good friends with the youngest prince of Neroche, having spent more time than his grandfather would have been happy about appropriating with him spells from various places they shouldn’t have been lurking in. But he’d been driven to find things to stop his father and Miach had, well, he’d simply been driven. Perhaps he’d assumed he would one day be facing Lothar of Wychweald.
He looked at Soilléir. “I understand he was a guest in Lothar’s dungeon for a bit. Sgath said as much.”
Soilléir nodded. “It didn’t damage Miach permanently, if you’re worried. And he loves your sister to distraction, if that worries you as well. She’ll never lack for whatever he can give her. I understand, though, that it took him a bit to convince her that he loved her. And you can imagine what Sìle had to say about it all. Miach had a difficult path to walk with the two of them.”
Ruith felt, rather than heard, Sarah fall silent. He released her hand when she seemed to want him to, though he shot her a look at the same time. He would have asked Soilléir for more tales, but a knock sounded on the door and he knew his doom had arrived. He looked at Sarah.
“Please come with me.”
“Thank you, Your Highness, but nay.”
Ruith sighed, then looked at Soilléir. “I don’t suppose you would come to luncheon downstairs and save me from my bad manners.”
“Or is it a saving from Droch you’re looking for?”
“I don’t engage in duels of magic with neophytes, though I understand Miach was fool enough to do so.”
“Miach wanted a look in Droch’s solar,” Soilléir said. “He thought he might find something useful there for Mhorghain’s use in closing the well.”
“My father never would have used anything of Droch’s,” Ruith said with a sigh. “I still cannot believe she intends to go to that horrible place and attempt anything at all. If I had any sense—”
“You would leave her to her task and carry on with yours.” Soilléir looked at him seriously. “Yours will not be any easier, I assure you.”
Ruith chewed on his words for a moment or two. “Are you going to offer any hints, my lord?”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Soilléir put his hands on his knees and rose. “Sarah, I found a pair of books you might be interested in. Luncheon is waiting for you on the table whenever you care to have it. Make yourself at home, of course. Nothing is private, so investigate all you like.”
Ruith listened to Sarah thank Soilléir, then waited until Soilléir had gone off to confer with Rùnach before he caught her by the hand.
“Don’t open the door,” he said in a low voice.
“I won’t.” She took a deep breath and looked at him. “If I knew how, I would try to see the other pages of Gair’s spells—”
“Don’t,” he said quickly. “Let me be here when you attempt it, lest you need me.”
She nodded, though he wasn’t sure how serious she was. He was half tempted to set a spell inside Soilléir’s that would let him know if she attempted anything untoward, but decided that was perhaps more invasive than he wanted to be. He waited until she’d walked away toward her loom before he looked at Soilléir.
“I’m ready,” he grumbled.
“Be polite.”
“I have manners. I would just rather save them for that woman over there.”
“Who doesn’t seem to want anything to do with you. Still.”
Ruith shot him a dark look, then followed him across the solar and out the door. He felt Soilléir’s spell close behind them, then looked at his host.
“You couldn’t add a little extra to that, could you?”
“An alarm?” Soilléir asked mildly.
“Aye.”
“I’m her host, not her jailor.”
“This will be an extraordinarily short luncheon, then.”
Soilléir only smiled at him and walked away.
Ruith looked behind him, on the off chance that Droch was lurking in the shadows, paused, then set his own spell across Soilléir’s doorway, one that would alert him if anyone but Rùnach or Sarah walked through it. He took a deep breath, then followed Soilléir.
And he hoped he wouldn’t regret it.
Twelve
Sarah watched Ruith and Soilléir leave the chamber, trailed by Rùnach, then saw a spell fall down like a curtain over the door. She knew she should have felt safe, but she was too restless to feel safe. She was tempted to have another bath, but even that didn’t appeal. She was cold, so she stood in front of the fire for a bit until she was then too hot and was left with no choice but to pace a bit more. She had no stomach for the very lovely luncheon Soilléir had provided, and she wasn’t sure she could sit at a loom and produce anything that wouldn’t need to be ripped out and begun again.
She began to pace. Far easier that than simply standing in one place where her thoughts could catch her up. She found herself eventually standing in front of Soilléir’s desk, looking down at the books he’d obviously left there for her. She was sure they were nothing out of the ordinary, but somehow even looking at them made her uncomfortable.
Which was, of course, ridiculous. They were simply words on pages. How dangerous could that be?
She took her courage in hand and had another look at them. If they were of a magical nature, she couldn’t see it. She picked them up, then carried them back over to the fire and sat down. The silence that fell around her like a cloak was warm and comfortable, Soilléir’s doing, no doubt. She concentrated on the books in her hands, happy to have something to do besides ignore the things she’d learned over the past pair of days.
Such as the fact that she could see things she didn’t want to. Or that she had, before she could stop herself, agreed to carry on with Ruith on a quest she was sure would lead to places she didn’t want to go. Or that she had left Ruith no choice but to at least have a look at ten other women before she would allow him to look at her—and those gels were to be princesses, no less.
She opened the books, just to distract herself. The world was, she was quite sure, full of places she’d never heard of, and apparently the tome she held in her hands was from one of them. It was poetry, she suspected, but she wasn’t equal to even beginning to decipher it. The other book was a lexicon, which she supposed would be useful in time in translating the runes on her knife. What she needed first, though, was perhaps a child’s primer to help her become acquainted with letters and simple words.
She kept the books in her lap and simply stared into the fire, grateful beyond measure for a bit of peace where she didn’t have to think about anything more serious than how she would stay awake.
It was destined not to last much longer, she knew, but for the moment, she would enjoy it and not wish for anything else.
She woke to the sound of the door opening at the opposite end of the solar. She jumped briefly, then realized it was just Ruith and Soilléir, arguing in a good-natured way about how things had gone below. Rùnach, she realized with a start, was standing in his accustomed place at the window, but with his back turned to her, no doubt to give her a bit of privacy. She wondered how long he’d been there and how deeply she’d slept. Long enough for the books to grow warm under her hands, which was odd, but she set the thought aside in favor of watching Ruith. He smiled, then turned back to his discussion with Soilléir as they continued across the floor.
He was, as she had noted on more than one occasion, exceptionally handsome. He looked as though he’d spent the whole of his life doing physical labor, though without the roughness of it having aged him before his time. Then again, he was an elf—only three-quarters, as he would have said—so perhaps he had no reason to worry about having his face prematurely lined.
There was something about him, though, that she hadn’t seen before. She rested her chin on her fist and studied him as dispassionately as possible. She wasn’t sure if it was the Fadaire that shimmered in his veins or if it was merely that he was in a place where, for a cha
nge, he was accepted for who he was.
He looked happy.
His expression didn’t change as he pulled up a chair next to her and dropped down into it with a sigh. He looked at her and then smiled.
“How are you, l—er, I mean, my friend?”
She supposed she couldn’t complain about what he called her when she had been the one to insist on the terms of their relationship. He might think he wouldn’t indulge in a dalliance, but he also hadn’t seen what would be rushing his way like a mighty river all clad in silks and tulle once those finely dressed lassies discovered he was alive.
He smoothed her hair back from her face. “You think too much.”
“The future requires much thought,” she said, parroting her mother’s favorite saying before she realized what she was doing.
“Yours shouldn’t,” he said, his smile fading. “It should be full of nothing but happiness, beautiful yarns to please your hands, and the laughter of children to please your ears.” He stopped abruptly, as if he feared he’d said too much, then leaned closer to her. “What do you have there?” he asked, pretending great interest in the books she held.
She put her hand over the cover of the topmost one. “One is a book of poetry written in a language I don’t recognize. The second is a lexicon, but I can’t even begin to read the runes on my knives, so I’m not sure where to start with it.” She looked at Soilléir, who had come to sit in the chair across from hers. “My lord?”
He smiled. “The language is Mórachd, the tongue of Cothromaiche. We are a very small place in the grander scheme of things, a land full of lovers of good wine and pleasant poetry. Your knives bear the runes of my country, though I can’t imagine who would have forged them.”
He blinked owlishly, which led Sarah to immediately suspect he was attempting a lie. She might have pursued that more thoroughly, but she had other questions for him. She supposed politeness suggested that she tread lightly in asking the question that had nagged at her even in her dreams, but perhaps Soilléir wasn’t one to offend easily. She cleared her throat and looked at him.
“Do you all see?” she asked. “Or is it just you who possesses not only sight but magic enough to undo the world?”
“Both, though you flatter me with the latter,” Soilléir said with a modest little smile. “I would tell you of my people, but the history isn’t very interesting and likely too violent for your peace of mind this afternoon. Instead, if you’ll hand me the book of poetry, I’ll read to you from it. The fair Sarait was unwilling to listen to my words of love, but even she would humor me through a heroic poem or two.”
Sarah handed him what he’d asked for, even though she would rather have known what he’d done to her eyes so he could reverse it, but perhaps she could talk him into that after supper.
She leaned her head back and closed her eyes as Soilléir read. Though the verse was nothing but words at first, it soon became something far different, a picture that slowly came to life in front of her eyes. The rivers ran, a breeze set the trees to whispering secrets she was sure she could hear if she listened closely enough, and the flowers swayed as they sang in the heavy summer grasses. It was as beautiful in its own way as what she’d seen of Fadaire in the garden of Gearrannan, though somehow less elvish. Less glittering. Elegant, but not intimidatingly magnificent.
She liked it quite a bit.
“Sarah?”
She opened her eyes and realized that Soilléir was watching her. “Aye, my lord?”
“What did you think of it?”
“Rustic,” Ruith said with a snort.
“I don’t believe I asked you, whelp,” Soilléir said darkly. He turned a smile on Sarah. “What did you think, my dear?”
“I liked it very much,” she said, but that seemed inadequate somehow. “I could see what you were reading, as if it were happening afresh as the words were read.” She paused. “What do you think?”
He only smiled, then closed the book and handed it back to her. “Would you mind if I had a small game of chess with Ruith?”
Sarah pursed her lips. “You aren’t going to answer me, are you?”
“Timing, my dear. It is all about timing.”
And she imagined her time at Buidseachd would run out long before he managed to answer anything at all. She waved him and Ruith on to their game, happy to simply sit in front of the fire and be warm. She supposed she should enjoy that whilst she could.
She watched as Soilléir set up a chessboard between the two chairs.
But he didn’t pull out pieces.
She looked at Ruith in surprise, but he was only watching Soilléir with an expression she couldn’t quite identify at first. She wouldn’t have said it was resignation and it certainly wasn’t annoyance. It was as if he’d expected nothing less than what was coming his way and was almost resigned to his fate.
She wondered, briefly, what it would be like to walk into a place and be known, even after a score of years. She supposed she could have walked into the pub in Doìre and had Franciscus—
Nay, he wouldn’t have been there any longer. And if he had been, she would have had some very pointed questions for him as well. There would come a day when she had the boldness to demand answers from recalcitrant mages when she wanted them.
She turned back to what apparently passed for a game of chess at Buidseachd. Soilléir was very calmly setting up his board with traditional-looking pieces, though Sarah could easily see they were not fashioned from wood or marble. Ruith sighed deeply, then began to people his side of the board. They marched themselves out quite sedately, those creations of his imagination, beginning with the pawns, then moving on to the major and minor pieces in the back row. His queen he dressed in exquisite robes of emerald and his king in gold and sapphire. He paused, glanced at Soilléir, then placed fire-breathing dragons atop both his rooks.
He lifted an eyebrow in challenge.
Soilléir answered by changing his knights’ steeds into even larger, jewel-encrusted, fire-snorting beasts that hovered in the air just above their places, beating their wings impatiently.
Ruith looked at her. “You might want to move back a bit, love.”
She was happy to decamp for a stool a goodly distance away from the board.
“Your move, Ruith,” Soilléir said placidly.
Sarah was sitting behind him, but she could hear the suppressed delight in his voice, as if he were about to engage in something he’d savoured in the past and missed for far too long.
“Happily, my lord,” Ruith said pointedly.
A burly-looking toad hopped forward, hesitated, then belched. Soilléir laughed and the game was begun. Sarah had imagined it wouldn’t be all that sedate a match, but she realized quite quickly she had underestimated the skill and imagination of the players involved.
A mighty battle ensued, replete with fire and smoke and flashes of lightning cast down by clouds that sprang up over the board—and beyond, truth be told—and drenched all involved. Insults and weapons were hurled—and not just from the pieces—then chairs were pushed back from the board to give the combatants—mortal or not, as was the case—a bit more room to manage the fray.
And then Soilléir looked over his shoulder at her. “You might want to move,” he suggested.
Again? was almost out of her mouth but she didn’t have time for it. She watched as a spell sprang up to the ceiling, spread out, and dropped to the floor like a curtain. The board went skidding across the floor, its pieces clinging to it like a raft, only to immediately increase in size until it filled almost all the solar. The struggle continued, but this time it was life-sized and limited, apparently, only to the resourcefulness of the mages in charge of their armies. It was no sedate game full of dignity and Nerochian rules of fair play. It was a glorious brawl with swords, spells, and creatures from myth. She didn’t recognize half the beasties she saw nor the spells she heard. It was also quite obvious to her that Soilléir and Ruith had been at this sort of thing before.
In time, the game finished with a spectacular amount of shouting and spells.
And then Sarah realized that all that had come before was just a skirmish before the true battle began. The board disappeared, and it was just Ruith and Soilléir facing each other, fighting with spells.
Rùnach stepped in front of her suddenly.
“What are you doing?” Sarah asked rather breathlessly.
“Protecting you,” he said faintly, “though I’m not sure with what.” He looked over his shoulder at her. “I thought I’d best attempt something as not.”
She peeked around his shoulder, then took her courage in hand and moved to stand next to him where she could see a bit better. “Soilléir won’t kill him, will he?”
“I don’t think so,” Rùnach said, sounding none too sure about that, “but I suspect my wee brother might wish he had after they’ve had done with their sport.”
Sarah swallowed with difficulty. “Why is Soilléir doing this?”
“Why do you think?”
Sarah imagined she could come up with several reasons if she gave it enough thought. Perhaps Soilléir thought to test Ruith’s resolve, or strength, or ability to encounter spells that made her flinch when she saw them being flung his way. In the end, she decided that Soilléir was hell-bent on showing Ruith just where he was lacking.
She also decided, after what had to have been half an hour of spectacle, that it was going to be a very long afternoon. She fetched her loom’s bench, then sat down and offered Rùnach the other half of it. He considered, then went to procure a bottle and two glasses. He poured wine for them both and handed her a glass before he sat down. Sarah watched the skirmish for a bit longer in silence, then looked up at Ruith’s brother.
His face bore marks that could have come from falling against unyielding stone, but surely Soilléir could have healed those well enough. Perhaps they were trails of something left behind by his father stealing his magic.