Dreamer's Daughter

by Lynn Kurland

  Aisling looked over her shoulder to find that a carriage had suddenly stopped in the street behind them. She supposed it was indicative of the morning she’d had that her first instinct was to fling a spell of containment at the driver. She realized that perhaps Rùnach was feeling something along those lines because he had pulled her behind him and had his hand on his sword.

  “Perhaps a ride to a fine inn?” a familiar voice suggested. “It’ll cost you a gold coin, though, if you want to be anonymous.”

  Aisling smiled at Ochadius’s son as he tipped his hat up so she could see his face. “That seems like a bargain.”

  “If you only knew,” Peter said. He inclined his head. “Lady Aisling. Prince Rùnach. Perhaps a ride free of charge considering what you’ve done this morning.”

  Rùnach looked up at him. “Do you know?”

  “Your Highness, I think everyone knows,” Peter said, smiling. “I won’t say my father went so far as to make a general announcement, but he has noised the tidings about. He has also taken the finest rooms in the finest inn in Beul for your pleasure.” He hesitated, then looked at Aisling. “My lady Aisling, he has been much more discreet about your presence here, which he suspected you might prefer. You being who you are, of course.”

  Aisling put her hand on Rùnach’s arm before he could speak. “I think that would be best.”

  Rùnach handed her up into the carriage, then climbed in and sat next to her. “Aisling—”

  “Rùnach, I don’t want anyone to know.”

  He studied her for several minutes in silence. “I’m not the one who stripped the whoreson of his power.”

  “Which I did with Bruadair’s help only after you had weakened him to the point where I could without his noticing until it was too late for him to do anything about it.”

  “I don’t want the credit,” he insisted.

  “And I couldn’t take it even if I wanted it, which I don’t.” She took his hand in both hers. “Rùnach, you and Ochadius can step out in front of the crowd and tell them that you saved their country for them because you loved it and the souls who were born to it. And that will be the absolute truth. Ochadius has done things that have held the country together until today when you stopped what was taking Bruadair’s magic, fought its bitterest enemy, and sealed shut a fountain that was obviously more than just a portal.”

  “Aisling,” he said with a sigh, “you know it isn’t as simple as that.”

  “What I know, my love, is that you were born to put on court clothes and dazzle people who will thereafter fall over themselves to please you. I was born to stand off-stage and watch.”

  “And manage the dreams of the world.”

  “Well, I suppose that, too,” she agreed.

  He leaned over and kissed her, then looked into her eyes. “Single words and simple thoughts?”

  “Where have I heard that before?”

  He smiled and sat back. “You and Soilléir are more alike than you realize, I’m afraid.” He sighed deeply. “Very well, I can see the sense in it. I’m not sure most Bruadarians even believe there are dreamweavers, much less dreamspinners. Anonymity may be vital to your calling, but I want you to know that I don’t like the idea of taking credit for any of this.”

  “I know,” she said simply. “Which makes all the difference.” She leaned her head on his shoulder. “A carriage ride without worrying about the destination or who is following us,” she said wearily. “Astonishing.”

  “It is,” he agreed.

  “I’m not sure I can stay awake any longer.”

  “Then close your eyes, love. I’ll keep you safe.”

  “You have so far,” she murmured, then found that she was simply too exhausted to say anything else.

  She wasn’t entirely sure that she didn’t sleep, because it seemed like just a moment or two later that the carriage had come to a stop and she was crawling unsteadily back out of it. She looked blankly at the inn in front of them for a moment or two before she realized where she’d seen it before. It was the one where Rùnach had rented a chamber days earlier. For all she knew, he might find some of his missing gear still there. The things he’d bribed the madam of ill repute with, she supposed he would never have back.

  They thanked Peter for the ride, then walked inside where they were shown to a large gathering chamber. Aisling was faintly surprised to find it was full of people waiting for them. She was even more surprised to realize who was there.

  “Half an hour,” Rùnach murmured, “but no more.”

  “Truly?”

  He smiled and squeezed her hand. “They’ll understand.”

  “We could invite them north for supper in a day or two,” she said. “Don’t you think?”

  “Let’s make it in a fortnight or two and we might be awake enough to make coherent conversation,” he said wryly. “Here, lean on me and we’ll prop each other up until we can make our escape.”

  Aisling would have been happy to do so, but she and Rùnach were immediately led to a bench that was perhaps the most comfortable thing she’d ever sat on. She accepted a very decent mug of ale which she hoped would keep her awake long enough for her to greet their guests.

  Ochadius was there, looking very much worse for wear but holding the hand of a woman Aisling could only assume was Alexandra, the crown princess of Bruadair. King Frèam and Queen Leaghra were in the company as well, but she wouldn’t have recognized them as what they were if she hadn’t met them before. They were dressed in homespun and seemingly quite happy to pass themselves off as simple country folk.

  The rest of the chamber’s occupants were far from that, though. Rùnach’s grandparents, Sìle and Brèagha, were there, along with Miach of Neroche and Rùnach’s sister, Mhorghain. Aisling was happy to see them both and grateful they seemed perfectly willing to ignore her yawns. She was introduced to Frèam and Leaghra’s niece, Sarah, and her husband, Ruith, whom she knew from having met him at Seanagarra.

  It occurred to her at one point that she had family there herself. Muinear was sitting on a chair near the fire, watching her with a smile, while her father, cleaned up from his early-morning adventures, stood behind his wife’s grandmother with his hand on her chair. Uabhann was sitting in a corner, as usual, blending in with the shadows. Aisling didn’t want to try to imagine what he was turning over in his head at the moment. Hopefully she wouldn’t find the events of the morning making an appearance in her nightmares.

  She was fairly sure that at some point food was brought and extra chairs provided. She was far less sure that she hadn’t closed her eyes once too often while her head was resting against Rùnach’s shoulder and slept. If she woke, she couldn’t tell. It all felt like a dream.

  All she knew was that at one point Rùnach patted her awake and no one seemed to find that unusual. She and Rùnach made their excuses to various royal personages, extended an invitation to come to dinner in a few days, and promised visits during high summer when the king and queen of Bruadair intended to commemorate their return to the throne.

  “Let’s go now whilst another round of ale is being served,” Rùnach said under his breath. “Hurry.”

  She hurried only to realize that their escape might not be made so easily. She only knew that because they had run bodily into Sìle of Tòrr Dòrainn who was waiting by the latch.

  “I see you’re off.”

  “Grandfather, Aisling needs to sleep and if I don’t find somewhere to sit where I needn’t speak for at least a fortnight, I will break down and weep.”

  “And how will you travel back to Aisling’s keep?”

  “We’ll shapechange.”

  Sìle frowned. “Far be it from me to tell you what to do—and if you snort at me over that, Rùnach, I will insist on satisfaction—but I would caution you against it. I must admit—very reluctantly—that shapechanging did not go very well for me the last time I tried it within these borders.”

  “You, Grandfather?” Rùnach said in mock surprise. “Shap
echange? I thought you said elves don’t ever shapechange.”

  “Especially not in Bruadair,” Sìle said promptly, “which was where I decided that very thing several centuries ago.” He looked at them from under bushy white eyebrows. “I don’t suppose I need to tell you how to get along in your own country, especially not after this morning, but for myself, I will take my lovely bride and walk.”

  “Want company, Grandfather?” Mhorghain called from across the chamber.

  “Yours, aye. Those rambunctious lads, perhaps not, but that leaves me without our lovely Sarah to escort if I ban Ruithneadh.” He shrugged. “I’ll take Miach and Ruith if I must.”

  “Thank you, Grandfather,” Ruith called dryly from across the chamber.

  “I helped you dig your garden, whelp.”

  “You helped Sarah dig our garden and the plants that are there are for use in dyeing her wool. How do I benefit?”

  Rùnach took Aisling’s hand and pulled her out the door. “I can’t bear another moment of listening to anyone say anything. Well, you, of course. But anyone else? Nay, please no.”

  She smiled and ran with him down the stairs and out into the street. She pulled up short at what was waiting at the curb.

  Iteach and Orail stood there with wings on their feet, harnessed to a sleigh that had wings on the runners. It was even more magnificent than the one Sìle had created for her in Seangarra when he’d determined she was too tired to walk anywhere. She looked at Rùnach in surprise, but he only shook his head with a rueful sigh.

  “Elves might not shapechange, but elven grandfathers have absolutely no problem apparently negotiating with your magic to provide comfortable transportation for a sleepy dreamspinner and the man who loves her.”

  She turned and put her arms around him, then smiled up at him. “Let’s go home,” she said. “Courtesy of your grandfather and our shapechanging horses.”

  “We lead a charmed life.”

  “I believe, Your Highness, that we do.”

  She soon found herself sitting in a luxurious conveyance she never would have dared dream about earlier in the year, holding the hand of an elven prince she would have been convinced during the same time belonged safely tucked in a book on fables and myths. She closed her eyes as Iteach and Orail pulled them gently up into a mist that seemed to fall everywhere but on them and tried to stay awake so she didn’t miss anything, but the pull of dreaming was too strong.

  She closed her eyes and surrendered to it.

  Twenty-two

  Rùnach walked along the same shore his grandmother had painted all those centuries ago and marveled at the course his life had taken. He couldn’t quite believe a year had passed since he had stood on the shores of Lake Cladach and resigned himself to an ordinary, magicless life in the garrison of an unimportant lord.

  He looked up at the house he had built Aisling on the bluff where he’d envisioned it the first time he’d looked at his grandmother’s painting of the same scene. Very few doors, endless amounts of light, baskets of wool and silk and whatever other sort of fiber he could find for Aisling that he thought she might enjoy. Gardeners had been imported and saplings planted. And if his grandmothers had arrived at various times and spent copious amounts of time digging in the dirt with both him and his lady wife, who was he to have argued? He had been a score of years without family about him. The privilege of enjoying their company was an unexpected joy.

  He realized with a start that his favorite family member was walking down the path from the house toward him. He went to wait for her at the bottom of the path instead of climbing to meet her only because he knew she savored her moments on the shore where she could put away the fabric of the world and simply breathe.

  She walked into his arms and sighed. “I thought you might be here.”

  “Waiting for you,” he said gathering her close. “How are you?”

  “Happy,” she said, sounding very much that. “A little tired, but I think a walk along the ocean’s edge will cure that.”

  He nodded, then took her hand and walked toward the water. She didn’t seem inclined to speak, but he expected nothing less. Selecting threads to make up the tapestry of the world was quite often a difficult business, which he knew she had expected. He was happy to walk with her when she needed it and offer the exceptionally rare single word and simple thought when she requested it. Soilléir came to supper regularly. Rùnach supposed all those years at the man’s elbow had done more to prepare him for his current life than he ever would have imagined they would.

  He breathed deeply of the lovely sea air and thought back over the last year of that life. It was difficult to believe so much time had passed.

  He had been a little surprised initially that Aisling hadn’t taken longer to recover from her work of spinning all Bruadair’s magic back into itself, though perhaps she’d had help from sources that valued her light magical touch. He’d slept for close to a se’nnight, then stumbled through the subsequent fortnight feeling as if he’d been trapped in a dream. It had occurred to him at one point that perhaps that was simply his reality tapping him firmly on the head and telling him to wake up. Accustoming himself to living in a dreamspinner’s palace had been an adventure, to be sure. If he hadn’t grown to manhood in a land full of mythical elvish happenings, he might not have survived it.

  As time had passed, he supposed he’d done his bit, removing spells that blocked the magic here and there and lending a hand where needful. He had definitely made his share of visits to various and sundry rulers of affected countries—accompanied, to his surprise, most often by his grandfather Sìle—to smooth over where necessary and chastise where appropriate. Acair had come to a handful of those meetings, looking utterly unsettled and periodically rubbing his chest as if something inside it vexed him. Heartburn, Rùnach had supposed, from not only memories of his foulness but perhaps tummy upset from being subjected to stern moral lectures from the king of Tòrr Dòrainn. Rùnach had enjoyed both thoroughly.

  Bruadair had seen its share of happy events as well. Frèam and Leaghra had been restored to their throne, Alexandra and Ochadius had been married in a glorious ceremony, and Beul had become less a hellhole and more what it had been in the past, a bustling city with a grand tradition of very fine, exclusive cloth sought by the finest courtiers in the Nine Kingdoms.

  His own wedding had been much quieter, attended by those he and Aisling loved, and celebrated in a great hall where it was difficult to make out the ceiling for the dreams hovering there.

  He smiled at the memory, then realized that there was something in the air that sounded a great deal like a melody he recognized from somewhere. He listened for a bit longer, then pulled up short.

  “Rùnach?”

  He considered, then looked at his wife. “Do you hear that?”

  “The song?”

  He blinked in surprise. “Is it a song?”

  “Of course,” she said with a smile. “The palace sings it occasionally. I think it might be a thread running through the tapestry as well, but I haven’t had time to investigate. You’re welcome to, if you like. Why do you ask?”

  He laughed a little because he couldn’t help it. “Sgath was humming that tune the evening I left for Gobhann all those many months ago. I’ve heard it, or thought I heard it, here, but I couldn’t place it.”

  “I wonder where he heard it?” she mused.

  “I wonder,” Rùnach said with a snort. Obviously he was going to have to make a visit with Aisling at some point and ask his grandfather how he’d known, but he had the feeling Sgath would only smile and talk about fishing.

  He, however, would think of wheels that went around and around, drawing visions and lives into their centers, blending lives and hopes into the endless tapestry of dreams his wife spun.

  “Rùnach?”

  He smiled, kissed her softly, then nodded down to the edge of the sea. “Nothing. Just thinking pleasant thoughts. Shall we walk more?”

  “A bit more,
” she said, “then I want to show you something.” She smiled, but her eyes were full of tears. “I found my mother’s thread in the tapestry.”

  He looked at her in surprise. “Did you? I didn’t think she had spun.”

  “She didn’t spin anything.” She smiled, her eyes bright with tears. “It was a dream.”

  He rubbed his free hand over his face, then pulled her into his arms so she wouldn’t see him weep. How he, son of a black mage, had come to stand in a place of wonder and hold the woman he was wed to in his arms . . . well, he hadn’t done anything to merit it and wasn’t sure how he would ever repay anyone with a hand in it.

  Dreamer’s daughter that she was.

  He would ask her what that dream had been later, when he thought he could speak successfully. For the moment, he simply held her until the sun set and the sea breezes seemed to suggest a return to a warm fire and a glass of something equally warm.

  “Home?” she murmured.

  He nodded, took her hand, then walked with her back up the shore.

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