Dreamer's Daughter

by Lynn Kurland

  That was something she tended not to think about very often.

  She leaned forward to study the hilt and crossbar. There were other things inscribed there, but she had never seen anything like them before. She reached out and pulled the sword over into her hands. It was long, much longer than she supposed she ever would have been comfortable using, but she managed to get the hilt propped up against her knees. She leaned over it and traced the markings there. They glowed briefly as she touched them, then faded after a moment or two. They weren’t like anything she had seen before, either on Rùnach’s hands or in the dwarf king’s palace. They were . . . different. Harder, yet somehow not giving the impression they were carved of stone, while at the same time soft, as if it had been an echo of a dream. The runes whispered to her, but she couldn’t quite hear what they were saying.

  She wondered if they were Bruadairian runes.

  A knock at the door startled her so badly that she leaped up and almost sent Rùnach’s sword into the fire. She would have reached for it, but it was quite suddenly in Rùnach’s hands and he was between her and the door. She put her hand on his back to steady herself, though he was the one who had not a heartbeat before been sound asleep.

  He glanced over his shoulder, but she shrugged. She hadn’t asked for anyone to come bring them anything and she suspected neither had he. They’d checked in the night before, truly in the middle of the night, but they’d asked for nothing but a room. Rùnach had locked the door, then insisted that she sleep first while he kept watch. She had tried to argue, but she suspected she would never outlast him in a contest of stubbornness. She’d woken at dawn only because her dreams had been troubled, full of things following her that she couldn’t see, full of things lying in wait for her that she couldn’t find.

  She’d woken to find Rùnach simply sitting in front of the fire, staring into the flames. She’d almost sent him tumbling into it by touching his shoulder. He’d risen, embraced her briefly, handed her his sword, then cast himself on the bed. She’d half suspected he’d been asleep before his head had touched the pillow.

  He was fully awake at the moment. He reached for her hand, pulled her forward to stand next to him, then pointed to a spot behind the door. She nodded and walked silently across the chamber, pausing only to draw her knife from her boot. It was something Soilléir had given her, no doubt for his own perversely secret reasons. She supposed in the end she would do nothing more with it than cut twine that kept batts of wool together, but what did she know? If she could be of any use to the man standing in front of the door, a man who looked as if he fully intended to do damage to anyone who walked inside their chamber, she would.

  Rùnach opened the door and there was a sudden crash.

  “Oh,” a girl squeaked. “I was just bringin’ ye a meal, milord. No need to stab me!”

  Rùnach didn’t put up his sword, but he did smile. “My apologies, lass, of course. Old habits die hard.”

  Aisling heard the girl collecting bits of shattered crockery and listened to someone else come with a rag to wipe the floor.

  “We didn’t order a meal,” Rùnach said finally.

  “Compliments of the master himself,” the girl said. “I’ll bring ye another straightway.”

  “That would be much appreciated,” Rùnach said politely. “And many thanks to the master.” He shut the door, then put his hand on it and looked at Aisling. “That was interesting.”

  She slid her knife back into its sheath. “Do you think that was poisoned? Or are they saving that for the next round, do you think?”

  He laughed a little. “Aisling, my love, we need to find a place in our lives where when we look at something, we don’t suspect it of being something else entirely.” He paused. “I’m not sure that makes any sense. Am I awake?”

  “I think so, but perhaps you should sit.”

  “Perhaps I should.”

  She waited until he’d collapsed into the chair there in front of the fire and propped his sword up against its arm before she sat down on the stool in front of him. She started a little at the look on his face.

  “What?”

  He shook his head with a faint smile. “Just looking at you.”

  “You are still asleep.”

  His smile faded. “How are you, Aisling?”

  “Fine.”

  He pursed his lips. “How are you, Aisling?”

  How to answer that? She had gone back to the Guild, a place she had sworn she would never set foot in again, survived escaping Beul, then faced the people who had sold her into slavery only to discover that one of them was a relative. She had listened to her former foster mother spew horrible threats at her, then had the satisfaction of riding off on a shapechanging horse worth a king’s ransom. It had been a very eventful pair of days, to be sure. She looked at Rùnach and managed a smile.

  “I’m still thinking about front doors that will never close.”

  “A stroke of genius,” he said modestly, “if I do say so myself.”

  She rested her elbows on her knees and her chin on her fists. “It was.”

  “We can still try to find a mine for her to labor in, if you like. Your cousin as well.”

  “I’m not sure either of them is worth the trouble,” she said with a sigh. “And I’m not sure I can hold Riochdair entirely responsible. Her, aye, I think I can, but not him.”

  “She’ll be cleaning her entryway endlessly, if that’s a comfort. I hate to think of what will crawl in her front door whilst she’s asleep.” He frowned thoughtfully. “Perhaps I should have seen to that as well. I did spend quite a bit of my youth in Ceangail, as you know. I have a great store of terrible memories to draw on if necessary.”

  She attempted a smile. “I’m sorry for it, but you already know that.” She sighed. “As for Dallag, I suppose just never being able to shut her front door will be enough to drive her mad. I’m just happy I won’t be there to hear about it.” She considered her hands, then looked at him. “I’m not sure the visit was worth what we went through to have it.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” he said. “We now have several ideas about where to go look for your father and, again, thoughts of blisters on her hands from too much sweeping to keep us warm.” He paused. “I will admit I am hesitant to set off searching in the dark, as it were, lest we disturb a hornet’s nest, but I’m not sure what else we can do.”

  She frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m thinking that if there were those interested enough in your whereabouts to look for you as far as Malcte, perhaps there might be those interested still.”

  “Leaving the Guild is very serious business,” she said, because it was. “Surely it was nothing more than that.”

  He looked at her steadily. “I suppose that’s possible, but your cousin seemed more unsettled than he should have for being someone who had merely been questioned about a simple runaway worker.”

  “Perhaps they mistook me for someone else.”

  “Aisling, they almost crippled him when he refused to divulge your whereabouts,” Rùnach said seriously. “I didn’t question him about the colors the guards were wearing, because I imagine they weren’t guards but private soldiers sent out to find information or else.”

  She looked at her hands that he had leaned forward and taken in his own, then met his eyes. “I didn’t know.”

  “Perhaps there is some comfort in knowing he didn’t betray you. Not this last time.”

  She ignored the shudder that went through her. “Then you think they were looking for me.”

  “What I think is that we were fortunate to escape the Guildmistress’s office with our lives,” he said, rubbing her hands absently, “and aye, I think they were looking for you. For reasons I don’t imagine we need to discuss.”

  She squeezed his hands briefly, then rose. She paced for a bit until even that became almost unbearable. She stopped in front of Rùnach and looked at him.

  He was leaning back in his chair, wa
tching her with his clear green eyes. She wrapped her arms around herself.

  “So, if you don’t want to accidentally stumble into something we won’t like, what do you suggest?” she asked.

  “I suggest we take our magic out of mothballs and see how it shakes out. At this point, knowing what will likely be following us sooner rather than later, I think we both need our magic readily available.”

  “Do you—”

  The knock startled her so badly that time, she jumped. Rùnach rose with a smile.

  “Not to worry,” he said easily, then walked toward the door. “I’ll see to it.”

  Aisling didn’t share his sense of ease, so she pulled the knife from her boot and walked over to stand behind the door again.

  Thankfully it was nothing more nefarious than breakfast. Rùnach thanked the maid, took the tray himself, then shut the door with his foot. Aisling bolted it and went to find a small table to put in front of the fire. Rùnach fetched another chair for her, waited for her to sit, then joined her there. He smiled.

  “Very domestic and normal,” he noted.

  She would have laughed, but she hadn’t slept well and she wasn’t quite sure she would ever get to the point where there wasn’t a great knot in her belly. It was all she could do to grimace.

  “Is it poisoned, do you think?” she asked uneasily.

  “Can you tell?”

  “The question is, do I want to look?” she said. “And the answer is, nay, I do not, but I suppose I would rather look than be dead.”

  Rùnach leaned over and sniffed a fried egg. “It doesn’t smell poisoned.”

  She looked at the feast spread out before her and wondered if he might be right. It was more than she would have seen in a week’s time at the Guild. It was almost more than she could bring herself to believe someone would ruin on purpose. She looked at Rùnach.

  “This inn must be very expensive.”

  “It is,” he agreed cheerfully. “Well-heeled clients have certain expectations of security. And food free of suspicious substances.” He lifted one eyebrow. “You could have a peek with a magical eye to see what you can see, though, if you like.”

  She wiped her hands on her leggings. “The thought is appalling.”

  “I can’t imagine,” he said, his smile fading. “Frightening?”

  “Terrifying.”

  He reached over and held out his hand, waiting until she put hers into it. “Terrifying, perhaps, but think on what awaits you past the terror.”

  “Death?”

  He laughed a little, leaned over and kissed her hand, then released her and sat back. “I don’t think that is your fate, love, but I’m a hopeful sort of lad. You could try a spell of revealing.”

  “Could I? Why don’t you, instead?”

  He started to speak—no doubt to protest—then shrugged. “Very well, why not? I suppose I’ll have to attempt something eventually, so there’s no point in putting it off.” He considered the chamber, then shook his head. “We should likely draw some sort of spell over our spot here, though. To keep what we attempt private.”

  “That would be useful—”

  She stopped speaking. Rùnach did as well. She wasn’t sure where to look first, but she chose the floor first only because she blamed it for forcing her to pull her feet up so quickly that she almost gave herself a fat lip by knocking her knees against her mouth. Apparently she wasn’t as anonymous inside Bruadair as she’d dared hope she might be, but perhaps that wasn’t as terrible a thing as they had feared.

  Bruadair’s magic had spread something beneath them, then over their heads. A thin, shimmering sort of curtain then dropped down around them. It was so faint, she wasn’t entirely sure she wasn’t dreaming the whole thing. She reached out and touched what she thought she saw.

  She almost wept, though she couldn’t have said exactly why.

  She looked at Rùnach to find him looking at her as if he’d never seen her before. There were tears standing in his eyes.

  “I’m not sure I’m at all worthy of any part of you,” he managed.

  She pulled her hand back and tucked it under her other arm. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  He smiled, and the look of something—awe, perhaps—disappeared to be replaced by the utter charm of the dimple she had noticed more than once before. “If you insist.”

  “I didn’t do this.”

  “I know, love,” he said gently. “It’s just Bruadair, recognizing a treasured daughter.” He looked at the magic surrounding them, then back at her. “I suppose we’re safe enough now. Shall I go first?”

  “Considering you’re the one with magic, I daresay you should,” she said with a snort.

  He looked at her, faintly amused. “You know, Aisling, you’re going to have to come to terms with this at some point. Sooner rather than later, I’d say.”

  “Tomorrow.”

  He laughed a little. “Very well, if you like. Let’s see what happens to me, then you can decide if you want a go.”

  She wrapped her arms around her knees and listened to him unravel the spell Soilléir had given him to hide his essence. He wasn’t undoing the spell Soilléir had used to give his magic a bit of moss around the edges, he was removing the one he’d used on himself to hide his birthright, though perhaps hide was the wrong term for it. His magic was still there, she was certain, she simply couldn’t see it. It was as if it lingered just out of sight, a bit like she imagined hers did as well. She watched him as he took a careful breath, then said the last word quietly.

  And quite suddenly instead of just a man sitting across from her, there was an elven prince with all the glory of century upon century of Fadaire running through his veins. There were other things as well, magic from Ainneamh, the silver-shot power of Camanaë, something from An Cèin she couldn’t put a name to. It was all his, yet somehow it was all him as well.

  She felt a little awestruck, actually.

  He looked at her with a faintly puzzled smile. “What is it?”

  “You.”

  “Are all my warts showing?”

  She shook her head. “Fadaire, rather. Other things I’m not familiar with as yet.”

  “Darkness,” he asked casually.

  She had to take a deep breath. “I don’t know, Rùnach. Perhaps a bit.”

  He drew his hand over his eyes, then smiled. “I am my father’s son, after all. I’ll work on that part, along with taming my colossal ego as time goes on. You could help that by not looking at me any longer as if I were the most handsome man you had ever laid eyes on.”

  She realized he was teasing her only after she realized she was staring stupidly at him. Then she laughed, because he was the most handsome man she had ever seen.

  “I’ll try not to overindulge you with the fawning deference you seem to feel is your due,” she promised.

  He reached over, took her hand, then leaned over and kissed her over rather runny eggs. “I think my mother would thank you for that, were she here to do so.” He sat back and considered the table for a moment or two. “I could try to hide those eggs. I think I’d be doing the world a favor.”

  “Rather,” she agreed. “Have at it, lad.”

  He took a deep breath, then wove Miach’s spell of un-noticing over the large plate of fried eggs.

  Half the plate disappeared entirely.

  The other half shattered.

  She gaped at Rùnach. Or, rather, she did after she wiped the egg off her face. She was extremely grateful she wasn’t wearing shards of plate as well. Rùnach had egg in his hair. He looked at her and blinked.

  “Hell.”

  “Perhaps your grandmother was right,” she ventured. “About your magic being a bit unwieldy here in Bruadair.”

  “But that was Wexham, not Fadaire,” he protested. He frowned thoughtfully. “Let me try something else.”

  She listened to him use a Fadairian spell of concealment. He spoke the last word with less enthusiasm than she might have expected, but she cou
ldn’t blame him. She watched the rest of the eggs—accompanied by what was left of the plate—fling themselves into the fire and disappear with a bang and a spray of sparks. The table vanished only after sending its legs shooting across the chamber as if they’d been bolts from a crossbow. She looked at the four pieces of wood now protruding from the wall, then at Rùnach.

  “That’s going to be expensive.”

  He rubbed his hand over his face and sighed. “Damn.”

  “I’ll clean up the mess.”

  He caught her by the hand before she could rise. “You sit; I’ll clean.”

  “Nay, let me,” she said. “I need something to do with my hands.”

  She cleaned up, then sighed a little as the Bruadarian magic that had hidden them disappeared. She looked at Rùnach standing in the middle of the room watching her, then paused with her hand on the back of her chair.

  “What is it?”

  He looked at her seriously. “I think we need help.”

  “And where do you think we’ll find it?” she managed.

  “Your father might be a good start.”

  “And what will he have to tell us?” she asked uneasily.

  “Perhaps where the local mage’s library is, so we might either find a book of spells or something else with suggestions on how to use spells from other magics.”

  “Would such a thing exist, do you think?” she mused.

  “Honestly, I have no idea,” Rùnach said. “In any normal situation, a mage would be breathlessly awaiting the time he would have a reason to jot down his contributions to the art of magic. Here in Bruadair, I have no idea what a mage would do—if you even have mages here.”

  “Has Soilléir written his spells down, do you think?”

  Rùnach started to speak, then shut his mouth. “If you would have asked me that a score of years ago, I would have said absolutely not. Now? I’m not so sure. If he has made note of them, I can’t imagine that book is easily accessible.”