Dreamer's Daughter

by Lynn Kurland

  Rùnach resheathed the sword he hadn’t realized he was still holding, then looked at Aisling. “Let’s go out the back and see if we can identify what was done. You can decide then to either shore up what’s still there or create something new.”

  She nodded, though she looked as if she might rather be puking. He’d seen that look on her face before very early in their acquaintance when she was being poisoned by a cook with a foul sense of jest, so he thought he might be in a position to recognize it.

  She looked at her father. “Should we try to save this house?”

  “You were born in this house,” he said with a smile. “It has good memories, if not brief ones. Your lad there might want to come back at some point and investigate the library. He’s scarce scratched the surface of what’s there. But in the end, it is just a house. If it comes down to a choice between escaping and saving it, there is no choice.”

  She took a deep breath. “I’ve never been able to save anything before.”

  “Then start with the place of your birth if it’s possible,” Rùnach suggested. “But whatever we do, I think we should do it quickly.”

  “You two make your escape,” Bristeadh said. “I’ll hold them off—”

  “Nay, you’ll come with us,” Aisling said firmly. “But we’ll need our horses. Have you seen them?”

  Bristeadh looked at her blankly, then he blinked. “Oh, the hounds? I fed them in the stables this morning. I suppose it didn’t occur to me to wonder why they preferred to bed down there.”

  “Shapechanging gifts from my grandfather Sgath and Seannair of Cothromaiche,” Rùnach said. “Let’s fetch them and go. I think they can ferry us away without any trouble.” He glanced out the window. “Aisling, did you see Acair at the gate?”

  She shook her head. “He’s not there unless he’s wearing a spell I can’t see through. I can’t imagine Bruadair would allow him to hide. Being who he is,” she added.

  Rùnach listened to the words come out of her mouth and felt himself go very still. “What did you say?”

  “I said I don’t think Bruadair would allow Acair to hide.” She looked at him in surprise. “What are you thinking?”

  He chewed on his words. “I’m not sure, but I’ll let you know when I decide.”

  Actually, he thought he might have a fairly good idea of where his thoughts were taking him. Sglaimir seemingly had no appearance of magic, so perhaps he hadn’t simply been refusing to use Bruadair’s magic out of a sense of decorum, he hadn’t been able to draw Bruadair’s magic to himself. It was obvious he hadn’t been using it to hide himself, but perhaps that too wasn’t because he didn’t want to but rather because he was unable.

  Which begged the question, why had Acair visited openly enough that Bristeadh at least had recognized him? Had he been bold enough to do so or simply unable to hide who he was? And if he realized he couldn’t harness Bruadair’s power inside its borders, then perhaps there was a reason to drain the country of magic instead of trying to use it on the steppes from whence it sprang.

  Rùnach had the feeling his bastard brother just might have an opinion on that, something he thought he might need to discover sooner rather than later.

  “I think I should save the house,” Aisling said firmly. “If for the library, if nothing else.”

  Rùnach pulled himself away from impossible thoughts and nodded. “Agreed. Any thoughts on how?”

  She took a deep breath. “Bruadair is leaving that choice up to me.”

  He wasn’t at all surprised. He pulled away from the window. “I’ll go fetch our gear, then—”

  “I’ll go fetch your gear,” Bristeadh said, “and my own. You two decide what miracle you’re going to indulge in.”

  Rùnach waited until the man had left the salon before he looked at Aisling. “Well? What do you want to do?”

  “A spell of disinterest? Or perhaps un-noticing, like the one Miach gave you. We could hide the house so no one could find it again. Or disguise it, so no one would want to come inside even if they did see it.”

  “You could,” he agreed.

  “Or I could change the spell Muinear laid over the house and make it so no one could ever break through it.” She paused, then looked at him with haunted eyes. “Change it permanently.”

  He pulled her into his arms and held her. He wasn’t sure which of the two of them was shaking harder, but supposed in the end it didn’t matter. He felt her arms come around his waist and supposed neither of them needed to breathe very well anytime soon.

  “Do you remember the spell of essence changing you used at Inntrig?” he asked.

  She took a deep breath and let it out. She sounded as if that breath was very close to a sob. “I don’t need Soilléir’s spell.”

  Rùnach shut his mouth because it had fallen open. He groped for the right thing to say, but found absolutely nothing. He pulled back far enough to gape at her. “Aisling . . .”

  Aisling looked at him miserably. “Well, I don’t.”

  “Good heavens,” Rùnach said weakly. He fought the urge to simply sit down and rest. “Aisling . . . good heavens.”

  She pulled away from him and wrapped her arms around herself. “What am I supposed to do? Ignore what I’m being given?”

  “Absolutely not. Just don’t tell Soilléir. It might lessen his opinion of his own magnificence if he thought someone else might be able to make mighty magic more easily than he can.”

  “I’m not sure it will be easy.”

  He reached out and put his hands very lightly on her shoulders. “What can I do?”

  “The magic wants you to come with me and drop your spells over Muinear’s while I change what’s left of hers to something more permanent.” She looked at him blankly. “How do I do that?”

  He put his arm around her shoulders and led her toward the door. “Do you remember what the front looked like, with the stream and the front garden?”

  “Aye.”

  “And the back, including the stables?”

  She nodded.

  “Then let’s go have a look at the spell outside the back door, round up the ponies, and be ready to fly. I’ll tell you how I will weave my spell only to include Muinear’s spell and not us, which is what you would normally need to do with yours, but I’m not sure that will work for you here. I suggest you try not to catch us up in your spell, but you’ll have to negotiate that with your magic, I suppose.”

  “I feel faint.”

  He tightened his arm around her shoulders. “I can’t blame you, love. Let me buy you a bit of time, shall I? I’ll put something distracting over the top of Muinear’s spell first. Elvish glamour, or some such rot.”

  She smiled briefly. “You’re trying to distract me.”

  “Is it working?”

  “Not very well.”

  “I would pour more effort into my efforts, but I want something left of you to do your work.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I think you’re far too aware of the fairness of your face.”

  “Nay,” he said easily, “far too bemused by the fairness of yours. Let’s argue about it later at length.”

  Later was, as it happened, quite a bit later than he would have wished for. His magic was, his earlier successes in the library aside, thoroughly unwieldy. It was a bit like trying to drag a spoon through solid rock. Frozen honey would have been a simple thing by comparison.

  His grandfather would have been appalled by the condition of the glamour Rùnach managed to spread over Bristeadh’s property, but Rùnach was just grateful something had worked at all. Muinear’s spell at least seemed to find his efforts acceptable. Aisling had woven her spell of essence changing well if not a little untidily. He’d memorized it, of course, because that was just what he did, but he had the feeling he would never dare use it. Bruadair would likely turn him into a toad for his trouble if he did.

  He had no idea what would be left of Bristeadh’s house when—if—they returned, though Aisling’s spell seemed to
be, from all appearances, impervious to assault. His own spell of un-noticing that he’d drawn over them—fashioned from Fadaire in deference to Bruadair’s delicate sensibilities—had seemed to be working as intended. There had been nothing else to do but be relieved to be away on a horse with magic of his own, accompanied by a very lovely golden filly whose parentage he fully intended to discover sooner rather than later.

  Sooner, he supposed, would also be quite a bit later than he would have liked. At the moment, he was simply flying into the sunrise, Aisling sitting behind him so he blocked the wind for her, with her father riding Orail and looking rather green. Flying was obviously not the man’s favorite activity. Like father, like daughter, he supposed.

  Aisling wasn’t entirely sure where they were going and Bristeadh looked so perplexed that Rùnach half suspected that if he left their direction up to the two of them, they would all land in Beul where they would find themselves joining Aisling’s cousin Euan in Sglaimir’s dungeon. He had posed a silent but very deferential question to Bruadair’s sentient self, then decided perhaps he would simply leave it up to Iteach to sniff out a nest of dreamspinners. His pony seemed to know where he was going—either that or he was simply doing his damndest to make certain Rùnach had nothing but sun in his eyes. At the moment, Rùnach wouldn’t have been surprised by either.

  Aisling’s finger was quite suddenly alongside his face.

  “There,” she said, pointing to the right.

  Rùnach couldn’t see anything at all for the sun, but Iteach at least seemed to agree with her. His horse began a slow, downward spiral. Rùnach would have accused him of showing off for that lovely filly, but the reality was, he and Orail were no doubt simply sparing Aisling’s father any undue distress.

  Rùnach looked over his shoulder yet again—he’d lost count of how many times he’d done so during the night—but saw nothing. He was still turning over the possibility that Sglaimir couldn’t hide himself thanks to Bruadair’s magic not being willing to allow it. He didn’t want to count on that, but even just the thought of it was almost enough to allow him to take a deep breath instead of endless shallow ones. To have such an advantage might mean the difference between success and failure.

  Assuming Bruadair didn’t decide that he deserved the same treatment.

  He realized Iteach had landed and exactly what that meant only as he found himself dismounting and staring in astonishment at the sight in front of him. He collected himself enough to give Aisling a hand down from their horse, but that was the extent of the courtesy he found himself capable of at the moment. Her father could no doubt see to himself.

  “Oh,” Aisling said quietly.

  He couldn’t have agreed more. He supposed he should have taken a bit more time over the past few fortnights to at least come up with expectations about what a dreamspinner’s palace might look like, but he doubted that even his wildest imaginings would have prepared him for what he was facing.

  Admittedly, he was used to a fairly limited range of buildings. Buidseachd was surely a seat of power and only a fool would have approached it without a great amount of either deference or power. But while it was definitely immense and intimidating, it was not precisely beautiful.

  Seanagarra was another vision entirely, immense but giving the impression that it was nothing more than a handful of beautiful gardens surrounding an admittedly fine collection of lovely chambers, halls, and kitchens.

  The keep at Ceangail was a wreck, but he seriously doubted anyone expected anything else when they made a visit there. Tor Neroche, Léige, even his favorite place of Chagailt . . . they were each beautiful in their own way, but all were, in the end, simply buildings.

  He wasn’t quite sure what to call the thing in front of him.

  It was enormous. He craned his neck to try to demarcate where the roof ended and the sky began, but that was more difficult than he would have expected. The glade they stood in was less a glade than an enormous expanse surrounded by mountains and forests set at the perfect distance to provide a stunning backdrop yet not interfere with the perfection of the creation in front of him.

  A place that looked as if it were made solely of glass that only existed because his poor mind demanded that dreams take some sort of solid form.

  He felt Aisling grope for his hand, but since he was groping for hers at the same time, he supposed he couldn’t be accused of any unmanly weakness.

  He looked at her father, who had come to stand on her other side. “Are we at the right place?” Rùnach managed.

  Bristeadh nodded, looking perhaps less overwhelmed than he might have if he’d had a modicum of compassion. He clapped Rùnach on the shoulder briefly, then turned a gentle look on Aisling. “Here we are, daughter. I hope you’ll find it to your liking.”

  Aisling looked as though what she would have found to her liking was to bolt. Rùnach recognized the expression. It wasn’t, of course, that he shared the thought fully. He was just having sympathy for her, no more.

  She looked at him uneasily. “What do I do now?”

  “Well, our horses seem to think you should press on.”

  “Alone?” she asked in horror.

  “I’ll come along behind you with the horses,” Rùnach said promptly. “At least a dozen paces behind, perhaps a score. Not to worry.”

  She looked at him in surprise, then her eyes narrowed. “Coward.”

  “I’ll take the horses,” Bristeadh said with a smile, removing Iteach’s reins from Rùnach’s hand. “You two go ahead.”

  Rùnach looked at Aisling’s father seriously. “I wonder when might be the appropriate time to discuss my intentions with you—if Aisling will permit it, of course.”

  “I would accuse you of stalling, but I imagine you’ve more courage than that.”

  So he hoped. He took a deep breath. “I thought I might run the idea by you before I attempted to approach any potentially less corporeal entities with my plan.”

  Bristeadh smiled. “I’ll consent to the match, though I daresay Aisling doesn’t need my permission. Bruadair, however, is another story entirely and Sìorraidh will have its own opinions beyond that.” He shrugged. “The dreamspinner’s magic will slay you if you cross the threshold unworthily. Or it doesn’t like you. Or you’re catching it on an off day.”

  Rùnach pursed his lips. “I wish I thought you were having me on.”

  “Try it and see, I suppose,” Bristeadh said.

  “How is it you’re so comfortable?”

  “I’m not the one thinking to marry the First,” Bristeadh said with a shrug. “Not this time. I’m just bringing in the horses. You two go ahead. I’ll wander off to the stables and leave you to your comfortable breathing. Or not, depending on the hall’s preference, I suppose.”

  “Is everything sentient here?” Rùnach asked in surprise.

  “Everything,” Bristeadh confirmed. “But considering where your mother was from, that shouldn’t come as much of a surprise.”

  Rùnach supposed there was no point in listing all the things he found surprising, mostly because in the end, none of their present business was about him. He watched Aisling’s father walk off with the horses, then looked at her.

  “How are you?”

  She took a deep breath. “I’m not sure.” She paused. “I suppose this is it, isn’t it? I’ll either walk through the doors and continue to breathe or I’ll walk through the doors and I’ll die on the spot.”

  “Somehow, my love, I don’t think you’ll find yourself slain.”

  She didn’t move. She simply held his hand and looked at the palace in front of them. He supposed he could understand that very well. Everything she had learned about herself, everything she might become in the future, indeed the future of her country rested on what happened to her when she walked across that threshold.

  She looked up at him. “The moment before battle is the hardest?”

  He brought her hand up and kissed the back of it, then continued to hold her very
chilly fingers with his. “It is.”

  “Does it get any better?”

  “After a few paces, aye.”

  “You won’t really walk twenty paces behind me, will you?”

  “I’ll walk wherever you want me to,” he said quietly, “but I have the feeling, my love, that you’ll eventually need to walk ahead.”

  “Briefly.”

  “If that suits you.”

  She took a deep breath, then nodded. He watched her put her shoulders back and steel herself for the short journey. He would have had more sympathy, but he was worried enough for his own damned self. He could think of many unpleasant ways to meet his end, but he suspected that perishing on the threshold of his betrothed’s . . . well, whatever it was—

  He took his own deep breath. He didn’t want to die. He wanted to wed the woman next to him, have a handful of children who had her eyes, and spend the rest of his extraordinarily long life not walking twenty paces behind her. If that suited her.

  Aisling looked at him once more and smiled faintly. She looked more confident than she had before, which was reassuring.

  He only wished he could find that same reassurance for himself, because he had no idea whether or not he would manage to cross the threshold of those massive glass doors and continue to breathe.

  And he’d thought facing Acair would be the true test of his courage.

  Thirteen

  Aisling walked up the handful of smooth, wide steps and paused before she put her hand on the enormous doors to what had to have been the largest building she had ever seen. It looked less like a palace than it did a cathedral. She had seen a building very like to what was before her within the walls of the university at Lismòr, though that had been a fraction of the size of the hall she faced at present. Beul had a cathedral, though she’d never been inside it. It had been shuttered for as long as she could remember.