Dreamer's Daughter (14 page)

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 couldn'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.”

“Are his spells that powerful?” she asked. “Truly?”

“Aye, they are, truly,” he said. He rubbed his hands over his face, then sighed. “I'm not sure I want to think about what would happen if they fell into the wrong hands.”

“And if someone tried to pry them from you?”

He looked at her steadily. “Death first.”

“If I asked nicely?”

He blinked, then he smiled. “Would you?”

“Death first,” she said seriously. “I can scarce bear the thought of knowing the one I already know.” She paused. “I'm trying to forget it. Unfortunately, it was a very useful spell.”

“I daresay it was,” he agreed. “I wonder if Bruadair's magic has anything like it.”

“Sìorraidh,” she said without thinking.

“What?”

“That's what the magic is called.”

He smiled. “I wish you'd stop that sort of thing. I'm running out of things to do besides gape at you.”

She walked across the chamber and into his embrace. She closed her eyes and was simply happy to have his arms around her.

“It has been a very long spring so far,” she said.

“So it has, my love,” he said with a sigh, though he didn't sound unhappy about it. “What does that word mean, do you suppose? Sìorraidh?”

“Everlasting,” she said, finding the word there on her tongue without having called for it.

“Fitting.”

“Am I losing my mind?”

He laughed a little, then hugged her tightly before he pulled away. “I don't think so, but we could find a dreamspinner and ask her opinion. And to do that, we need to find your father. Why don't we have a look at the map Riochdair gave us and you see if anything strikes you in particular. I know what he told me, but I'm interested in what you think.”

She waited until he had fetched a map out of his pack and spread it out on the bed. It was a more detailed map than she'd been given by the madame's runner boy, so she supposed it might serve them best at present. She sat down on one side of it and looked at him sitting on the other.

“Do you see anything?” she asked.

“Roads and rivers. You?”

She scowled at him. “Chicken scratches, rather. I have no experience with reading anything save the odd weaving chart. What did my cousin tell you?”

Rùnach pointed to three places, then turned the map so they were facing the right way for her. She trailed her fingers along roads and, aye, rivers as well. And then she blinked.

“Did you see that?”

“See what?” he asked.

“That sparkle there,” she said. She pointed to a place on the map where the roads and rivers were not so well demarcated. “That little glade there—” She looked at him. “Why does everything always end in a glade?”

“Because foul deeds are often wrought in forests and apparently sunlight is useful for revealing them,” he said dryly. “Hence the need for a spot missing trees.” He peered at the map. “So, you see something there?”

“Unless I'm imagining things.”

“Do you think you're imagining things?”

She had to take a rather deep breath. “Nay.”

“Then let's go investigate.”

“I'm not sure I know how to get there. Maps are not my strong suit.”

“That's why you have me,” he said cheerfully, rolling the map up and reaching for his pack. “I love maps.”

She put her hand on his arm. “It isn't just for maps, Rùnach. Loving you, that is.”

He paused, then looked at her seriously. “Will you remember that when I'm on my knees in front of your father, begging him to let me wed you?”

“I'm not sure he'll have anything to say in the matter.”

“Well, that may be true, but I imagine there will be someone somewhere in the next fortnight or two who
will
have something to say about it. Perhaps even you.”

She looked up at him as he rose and started to stuff the map into his rather empty pack. “You know,” she said slowly, “I've spent so much of my life not having any say over my life.” She paused and met his eyes. “I think I want a say.”

He reached over and pulled her to her feet, then into his arms. He smoothed a stray hair or two back from her cheek. “Of course you do. And I will, of course, acquiesce to all your demands.”

“You will not,” she said with a snort.

“Well, probably not,” he agreed, “but what would you do with a man you could walk all over?”

“Wonder where
you'd
gone,” she muttered, pulling out of his arms. She picked up her pack she hadn't even opened, then looked at him. “Shall we?”

He smiled, kissed her briefly, then reached out and opened the door for her. “We should. Perhaps the innkeeper will prepare something for us to eat before I anger him by paying him for the effects of my magical adventures. Next time, I think I should attempt the same out in the open.”

“In a glade?”

“It worked for my father,” he said wryly, “though I'd like to hope my spells are slightly less objectionable to the surroundings than his would have been.”

She nodded and left the chamber with him, hoping that would be the case. She wasn't exactly sure what they would do if hers was the only feeble magic they had to rely on.

•   •   •

T
wo days later she walked into a clearing with Rùnach. It was the place she'd seen on the map, of that she was certain. She'd found that she hadn't needed to consult the map more than a time or two that first day before she realized she knew where she was going. She had looked at Rùnach often during their journey, but he'd only been watching her gravely.

She wondered if he could possibly be as unnerved as she was.

The horses currently loped along behind them in the form of enormous, ferocious-looking hounds. She supposed Iteach couldn't be blamed if he spent as much time looking at Orail as he did Rùnach. Her shapechanging horse was glorious as a horse, but her golden hound's coat was truly something to behold. That said, she wouldn't have walked up randomly to those two beasts for any amount of gold.

Rùnach had stopped and was simply standing there in the glade, a little off to one side, watching her. She supposed she wouldn't have walked up to him either, if she hadn't already known him. He looked lethal enough with that terrible sword at his side and an aura about him that warned he wouldn't be trifled with. He also seemed perfectly content to simply stand there and wait for her to do something, damn him anyway.

“Well?” she demanded.

He smiled briefly. “Don't look at me. This is your country.”

She wrapped her arms around herself. “I don't like being the one making the decisions.”

“I don't think I can make that any different for you,” he said seriously. “What do you think we should do now?”

She blew out her breath. “Continue to look for my father, if he's still alive.”

He clasped his hands behind his back and simply looked at her.

“Well?” she said crossly. “Just how am I supposed to do that from this point?”

“I don't know,” he said slowly “How are you supposed to do that from this point?”

She would have glared at him, but she couldn't bring herself to. “Do you always answer a question with a question?”

He opened his mouth, but she shot him a warning look. He smiled. “Very well, I'll give you an honest answer. I think you should attempt a bit of magic. Perhaps Bruadair will hide us long enough for you to unhide what you need to use at this point.”

“I never hid that magic I don't have,” she said firmly, “because, as I said, I don't have any.”

He looked around himself, then fetched something and put it on a small, flat rock. “A pinecone,” he said seriously. “Why don't you see if you can hide it.”