Dreamer's Daughter

by Lynn Kurland

  “I don’t think it will take much effort,” he said dryly. He rubbed his hands, gingerly, as if he’d done too much with them recently and they pained him. “In my youth, I was a bit of a prat from time to time.”

  “Surely not.”

  “Unfortunately, ’tis all too true. Along with my colossal ego, I must admit that I was not, shall we say, unaware of my effect on those of the gentler sex. How I found time for it all, I don’t know, but even during my search for terrible spells to use on my father, I managed to attend my share of balls and parties in various locales.”

  “Here?” she asked carefully.

  He nodded. “My mother and Soilléir were very close, which granted us an access we might not have otherwise had. Uachdaran of Léige is fairly choosey about his guests, but he will at least allow the rabble into his great hall. King Seannair is substantially less hospitable. I’m not sure if he fears a guest might elbow him aside at the supper table or nick one of his spells.”

  “The spells of essence changing?”

  “Aye, though why he worries, I don’t know.” He shrugged. “It isn’t as if an enemy could possibly pin any of his progeny down and wrest the spells from them before being turned into something unpleasant.”

  She didn’t like to think about those spells. “Do they all know them, do you suppose?”

  “Not to my knowledge. And thankfully so,” he added, “else I would have likely found myself turned into a toad this morning by Annastashia. Seannair knows them all, I would guess, as does his son, and Soilléir. What any of the others know, I wouldn’t presume to guess. They have magic of their own, to be sure, but its nature is capricious. I’m not even sure how to describe it.” He looked at her suddenly. “How does Cothromaiche strike you?”

  “Ordinary,” she said without hesitation, “though I don’t mean any disrespect by that.” She paused, then shrugged. “It’s just a very quiet place.”

  “No being kept awake at night by dwarvish stone telling you a millennia’s worth of tales?” he asked with a smile.

  She shook her head. “Thankfully, nay. Things seem to be polite, but not effusive.”

  “Soilléir would be impressed with the description, I’m sure.”

  She waited, but he seemed content to simply sit there and look at the floor below his hands. Perhaps he was contemplating dwarvish tales. Or perhaps he was still looking for a good way to tell her he wasn’t going to continue with her on her quest.

  She supposed the kindest thing she could do was put him out of his misery. She pushed her stool away from her wheel and rose.

  “Well, that’s that,” she said with a cheerfulness she most certainly didn’t feel. “I think I’ll beg another meal or two from Prince Soilléir, then be on my way in the morning. Best wishes, of course, for your nuptials.”

  He looked up at her, seemed to consider for a moment or two, then rose. He clasped his hands behind his back.

  “Aisling,” he said seriously, “I have no intention of wedding Annastashia of Cothromaiche. I suppose it should have occurred to me that she would be here and our paths would cross, but I hadn’t intended that that path run right over you.”

  “You couldn’t have known.”

  “I could have used my wits and considered the possibility,” he said, “something for which I apologize. But now that we have that settled properly, let’s turn to other things such as discussing what my heart truly desires.”

  “Supper?” she asked.

  He smiled, then held out his hand toward her. “You know that isn’t what I’m talking about. Unless Astar has caught your eye and you’re hesitant to break my heart over the fact.”

  “Break your heart?” she said quietly.

  “Shatter it,” he said. “Please don’t.”

  She took a deep breath, then sighed. Because in spite of the events of the morning, she knew the man standing in front of her loved her and she felt the same way about him. But there was no point in giving in too quickly. “Prince Astar is handsome,” she said thoughtfully. “If one is looking for that sort of thing in a man.”

  “But like Mansourah of Neroche, sadly lacking in familiarity with soap and brush. I’d steer clear of him were I you.”

  She put her hand in his. “As usual, you aren’t serious.”

  “Oh, I am,” he said. He drew her over to a bench set fully under the window and pulled her down to sit with him. “Let’s revisit that moment in that bloody stream full of icy water and Bruadairian magic when you agreed to wed me.” He tilted his head and studied her. “Does an aye from you given whilst you were under duress count?”

  She considered. “I would say that death looming does tend to leave one perhaps a bit friendlier with honesty than not.”

  He smiled. “Which is why I’m so damned grateful I wrung an aye out of you whilst you were otherwise distracted. The thought of potentially having to put your father to the sword in order to have the same from him gives me pause, but I’m working up to that.”

  “I don’t think he’ll have a say in anything,” she said firmly.

  “Bruadair, then.” He smiled. “Your country may have an opinion. Or at least the magic might. It seems to already have an opinion about several things.”

  She suppressed a shiver at the memory of being in that underground river with Rùnach, knowing she was about to drown, and finding that Bruadairian magic not only knew her but seemed to . . . well, care for her. She had taken the spell it had given her, used it, and found it responsive to her pleas.

  She wasn’t sure she would ever forget that moment.

  “I suppose we must discuss our plans,” Rùnach said quietly. “And come to terms with our magic.”

  She heard something in his voice she hadn’t before. It wasn’t so much doubt as it was perhaps unease. She shifted to look at him. “Did something happen to you this morning? Well, besides being deafened in the library.”

  “Nothing terribly important. I took the opportunity to try out a few spells with Astar in Seannair’s lists.” He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “Let’s just say that it didn’t go particularly well.”

  “Are you going to give me details?”

  “When I’m sure they won’t turn your stomach.” He smiled wearily. “It was either too many of my father’s spells lurking in darkened corners of my soul or perhaps just being here. For all the peace and quiet, there is something about this country that is . . .”

  “Unusual?”

  He nodded. “Don’t you think? In spite of its façade of ordinariness.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I’m not sure what that means for the remainder of our journey.”

  She knew exactly what he was talking about. If his magic didn’t work as it should have in Cothromaiche, what would happen inside Bruadair’s borders? Rùnach’s grandfather had, when pressed, admitted that even his magic hadn’t worked as it should have within Bruadair’s borders. That Rùnach’s would likely suffer the same difficulty wasn’t something she wanted to think about.

  She met his very lovely green eyes. “But we should solve that before too much longer, is that what you’re saying?”

  “I don’t think we have a choice,” he agreed. “Perhaps we would do well to make ourselves a bit of a test here. I’m sure no one will notice us at it.”

  “If Her Highness catches us together, you know she’ll turn me into a toad.”

  He leaned over and kissed her. “I know more spells than she does, I guarantee it.”

  “I’m not sure why that leaves me feeling so relieved.”

  “Because I could turn her into a toad if necessary.” He looked at her. “In honor of that, why don’t you try something now?”

  “Rùnach,” she said with a sigh, “you know I have no magic.”

  “That stream of something extremely beautiful we encountered in that terribly cold river recently seemed to think so. I wonder what Cothromaiche thinks of what you can do?”

  “Are you purposely trying to
make me uncomfortable?”

  He leaned back against the window and smiled. “Of course not. I’m just curious.”

  “And we all know where that leads,” she said grimly. “Very well. What shall I try?”

  “What is your magic called?”

  “How would I know?”

  “I thought you might have asked it at some point.”

  She attempted a glare but she feared it had only come out as a weak sort of whimpering thing. “We didn’t have time to find ourselves on a first-name basis while you and I were coming very close to dying.”

  He smiled. “Fair enough. Try Croxteth. It’s a very sturdy, sensible magic that Cothromaiche likely won’t find objectionable.”

  “I forgot the spell.”

  “And I imagine you haven’t forgotten anything, but I’ll let that pass and give it to you again.”

  She suppressed a shiver when he taught her the spell, then forced herself to repeat the words. It wasn’t terror that gripped her, it was the feeling that she was a child in a roomful of things belonging to her elders and she was contemplating touching something she’d been specifically instructed not to play with.

  A ball of werelight appeared in front of them, spluttered, then disappeared.

  She looked at Rùnach. “See?”

  He frowned thoughtfully. “I don’t think that was any lack on your part.”

  “You try something so we’ll know for sure.”

  He considered, then tried his own spell in Fadaire. The light that appeared there was beautiful, true, but there was something about it that seemed . . . strange. As if she were seeing the light through a window made of glass that was slightly flawed.

  The light disappeared abruptly, leaving behind a shadow of something that faded so quickly, Aisling was certain she’d imagined it. She looked at Rùnach, but he was only continuing to look without expression at the place where his ball of werelight had lingered.

  “Perhaps ’tis something I did,” she offered.

  “When you spun my magic out of me, then did me the very great favor of helping to put it back in my veins?” he finished. He shook his head. “Aisling, this isn’t anything to do with you. There is no darkness in you. For all we know, Uachdaran decided to drop a shard of obsidian in my veins as punishment for all the spells I poached from him in my youth.”

  “Perhaps ’tis just a shadow,” she said. “From the light coming in the window, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  Though she had the feeling it might not be. The look he gave her said he was thinking the same thing.

  “I think it might be wise to discuss this with Soilléir before we go any further,” he said reluctantly. “I’m not sure he’ll offer an opinion, but we can try. I’m sure he’s loitering uselessly about somewhere in the palace.”

  He rose, but she shook her head. “I think I’d like to stay here and spin a bit longer, if you don’t mind.”

  He shot her a look. “Stalling?”

  “Absolutely.”

  He laughed a little, then leaned over and kissed her cheek. “I’ll come fetch you for supper, shall I?”

  “No need,” she said, looking up at him. “I’ll find my way there.”

  “What you mean is that you’ll find a way to remain in the kitchens,” he said dryly, “which whilst I agree with thoroughly, I can’t condone. Come to table or I’ll come find you.”

  “You, Your Highness, are a bully.”

  “I was hoping to hide behind your skirts, which makes me less a bully than a coward.” He walked toward the door. “Pleasant dreams, Aisling.”

  She looked at his back in surprise. “I wasn’t planning on napping.”

  He turned around slowly and looked at her. “What did I say?”

  “You said, Pleasant dreams.”

  He drew his hand over his eyes, then smiled weakly. “We need to get out from under Seannair’s roof,” he said. “I can see why Soilléir boards in Beinn òrain. Pleasant spinning, Aisling.”

  She nodded, then rose and wrapped her arms around herself once he’d closed the door behind him. She didn’t want to think about her future or her past or what she’d seen just then lingering after Rùnach’s spell, something very dark—

  She took a deep breath and walked over to her wheel. She sat, but found herself back on her feet almost immediately. She was accustomed to very long hours at her loom, but she wasn’t sure she could have managed the same at present with a score of Guild guards standing behind her, their hands on their swords. She had to have a distraction far past what spinning could provide.

  She paced around the chamber, bending to touch wool occasionally, more often than not reaching out to touch the strands of sunlight that came through the windows. If she was careful, she found she could wrap those strands about her fingers.

  There came a point where she realized she was no longer standing where she had been, taking threads of sunlight and separating them into colors. She was somehow wandering inside Inntrig, but she felt as if she were wandering in a dream. She saw that while she had imagined that all the non-human things within the palace were silent and only mildly interested in the doings of the inhabitants, that wasn’t exactly true. They were silent, sentient guardsmen, unmarked until they were needed. The doors to the library, which she could see as clearly as if she stood in front of them, were wood, but only as long as the inhabitants of that library didn’t require their services. She saw with startling clarity how they had on several occasions become an impenetrable barricade to keep safe those inside.

  She wandered in the garden, knowing she wasn’t really there but feeling as if she couldn’t have been more present. The flowers, trees, stones of the path, benches of wood and granite, were in their own way just as vocal as what she’d found in other places. They were simply discreet and watchful, as if they grew and flourished in their own good time, taking pleasure in watching over those who strolled through their midst, unaware and at peace.

  The whole country was alive with a magic she had never expected and hadn’t seen. It was as if she walked in someone else’s dream and saw Cothromaiche through their eyes.

  She could no longer tell the difference between dreaming and waking, but saw no way out of where she was. She was half tempted to see if she could spin herself back out of wherever she was, but—

  She almost tripped over the spell before she realized it was right there in the air in front of her.

  She took it in her hands and examined the whole of it. It wasn’t like a book, but rather a rose with petals that seemed to represent steps that had to be followed in a certain way. She peeled the petals back one by one, memorizing their structure as she did so, until she reached the center and saw how the spell could be used. She paused, for the magic was unusual. Then again, she was in Cothromaiche, where it turned out that nothing was as it had seemed at first.

  She took a deep breath, then began the spell. She took strands of sunlight and bent them into a flywheel, using the spell to help her. It seemed to be perfectly happy to do her bidding and the sunlight didn’t protest being turned into something else. She sculpted a bobbin from the breath of the flowers that bloomed just outside the spinner’s chamber, marveling as it took shape beneath her hands and became something other than what it had been while yet retaining what had made it alluring before.

  She realized with a start that she was standing quite suddenly back in the chamber where she’d begun her adventure. In front of her was a spinning wheel. Well, it was the flywheel at least, and a bobbin, and a strand of something binding the two together, a band of gold or silver or dream . . .

  A commotion behind her had her whirling around with a squeak.

  Soilléir and Rùnach were falling over each other to get inside the room. She watched them pick themselves up off the floor, then simply stand there and gape at her. She frowned.

  “What?” she asked.

  Soilléir looked as if he’d just been in a windstorm. Rùnach looked equally as dishe
veled. That obviously wasn’t because of any piece of weather outside else she wouldn’t have had sunlight to create with.

  “What did you change?” Soilléir wheezed.

  She suppressed the urge to scratch her head. “Change?”

  Soilléir and Rùnach both looked as if they needed to find somewhere to sit very soon. Rùnach wound up being a shoulder for Soilléir to lean on. Soilléir struggled for breath for a moment or two, then looked at his support.

  “I didn’t teach her that.”

  “Well, don’t bloody look at me,” Rùnach said. “I didn’t give her any of your spells.”

  Soilléir bent his head and laughed. Aisling thought that perhaps what they needed wasn’t a chair but a brisk slap or two to bring them back to their senses.

  “What are you talking about?” she demanded.

  Soilléir pointed to a place behind her. She looked over her shoulder at the wheel that was shimmering there in the air. It was, she had to admit, a spectacular piece of work. It needed a base, but she supposed that could be made. The fact that it was simply hanging there in mid-air was a bit disconcerting, but she thought she might do best to simply add it to the list of other things that had unsettled her. She looked back at Soilléir.

  “What?”

  “Where did that come from?” he asked.

  “I found a spell in a dream,” she said. “And I made that out of sunlight.”

  Soilléir leaned over with his hands on his thighs, apparently trying to decide if he should laugh or continue to try to breathe. Aisling looked at Rùnach.

  “What’s amiss with him?”

  Rùnach patted Soilléir rather too firmly on the back, almost sending him toppling over, then walked over to her. He reached out and touched the flywheel, giving it a gentle spin. He watched it for a moment or two, then looked at her.

  “He’s coming to grips with what it’s like to have a dreamspinner in his grandfather’s hall.”

  Aisling suppressed the urge to go find her own chair. “Why?”

  Rùnach was smiling, looking equal parts amused and slightly unnerved. “Because that, my love, was a spell of essence changing you just used.”