Dreamer's Daughter (16 page)

She pulled back and met his eyes. “Well, that won't happen.”

He smiled and bent to kiss her cheek. Her father was standing at the door, after all. He looked at her. “He's returned.”

Aisling sighed deeply, then pulled away from him. She turned and looked at the man standing at the door, holding a tray of tea things. His expression was less haunted than it was rather sad.

“You look like your mother.”

Aisling didn't move. “Do I?”

The man walked over and set his tray down on a table. Rùnach pretended not to notice that table was in the center of the chamber and that when they sat down, they were merely spokes in its pattern. He poured because neither Aisling nor her father looked equal to the task. He considered what was in his cup and couldn't tell if it were poisoned or not. Aisling traded cups with him, then looked at her father pointedly.

He only shook his head. “Just tea.”

Rùnach sipped and was relieved to find it was just that. He sat back and watched Aisling's father begin his tale. It was obviously something he'd considered more than once.

“I am Bristeadh,” he said gravely, “and Aisling I am your sire.”

Aisling set her cup down and sat back in her chair. She said nothing, but only waited. Rùnach supposed he shouldn't have been impressed with her ability to remain silent. She'd obviously done it for years in the Guild.

He looked at them with a frown. “Do you want something to eat first?”

“I don't think I can,” Aisling said quietly. “Rùnach?”

“I'm fine,” he said. He thought he might be fine for at least another hour or two until he'd forgotten the sight of scores of spikes hanging over his head whilst he'd been too dumbfounded to do anything to save his own sorry arse. “Please, go on.”

Bristeadh sighed again, as if he'd been holding on to his breath for years. “I'll give you answers to all your questions about Bruadair later, if you still want them. For now, I'll tell you about your family. Your mother was Cridhe, who was the daughter of Cuilidh of Cairadh, granddaughter of Muinear of Cairadh—”

“Wait,” Aisling said, holding up her hand. “Who? The last one, I mean.”

“Muinear of Cairadh,” he repeated.

“But,” she said slowly, “I know a Muinear.”

He looked at her steadily. “Indeed you do.”

Aisling stared at him for a handful of moments in silence, then her mouth fell open. “Are you talking about Mistress Muinear? The
weaving
mistress?”

Bristeadh nodded. “The very same.”

Aisling pushed herself back against her chair. “I can't believe it.”

Bristeadh looked like a man who wanted to divulge all his secrets as quickly as possible before the storm brewing unleashed its fury. Rùnach couldn't say he didn't understand the sentiment.

“Your mother died shortly after your birth,” he said quietly. “They refused to leave you here with me, of course—”

“Of course?” Aisling interrupted. “Who are they? And why
of course
?”

“I'll answer the last first,” he said. “They refused to leave you with me because I have no magic.”

“You appeared to have a damned fine bit of it outside when you almost killed my future husband,” Aisling said tartly.

Bristeadh smiled. “I can't take any credit for that. Muinear left that for me years ago. I wasn't precisely sure it would work as it should, but apparently I was wrong. Or, rather, I would have been wrong had it worked.” He shrugged helplessly. “So you see why they thought it best not to leave you in my care. The miracle is I was allowed to wed your mother, of course, she being who she was.”

“And who was she?” Aisling asked.

“Well, a dreamspinner, of course,” Bristeadh said. He looked at her, obviously puzzled. “Didn't you know?”

“Of course I didn't know!” Aisling exclaimed. She took a deep breath. “Rùnach and I have speculated on things, but how was I to know who I was? I thought I was the unwanted daughter of those two miserly fools from Malcte!”

Bristeadh shook his head slowly. “Your grandmother Cuilidh is—or was, rather—the dreamspinner.
The
dreamspinner. The final Dreamspinner who holds all the strands together and blends them as is called for. Muinear was that for centuries before her. Your mother . . . well, your mother—” He sighed and looked briefly at the ceiling. “I'm not sure it was ever meant for her to take that place even if she'd wanted it, which I'm almost afraid to admit she didn't. What she wanted was to have you.” He smiled. “You were her dream.”

Rùnach closed his eyes briefly. He wasn't sure if he felt sorrier for Aisling that she had never known her mother, or her mother that she hadn't had Aisling for as long as she had no doubt wanted her.

“How did she die?” Aisling asked hollowly.

Bristeadh shifted uncomfortably. “I would like to say that it was from illness or accident, but it wasn't. She wasn't unwell. She simply . . . passed away. Your grandmother died soon after. At that point, we began to suspect that perhaps there were other forces at work than nature.”

Rùnach suppressed the urge to rub his hands over his face. If the tidings weren't terrible enough for Aisling, they were for him. He needed the infallible ability to protect her, yet there he sat with magic he wasn't sure would work when necessary in a country that was likely still home to souls who had apparently slain Aisling's mother and grandmother. He was going to have to come to an understanding with Bruadair's magic sooner rather than later.

He looked at Aisling to see how she was taking it all. She was very pale, but he wouldn't have expected anything else.

“Muinear was convinced we had to hide you,” Bristeadh continued carefully.

“In the Guild?” Aisling asked.

“Where is the last place anyone would have looked for the seventh, most powerful dreamspinner?”

“But you were there,” she said flatly.

“I wouldn't agree to sending you there unless that was part of the bargain,” Bristeadh said grimly. “Not that I was able to do anything useful. I certainly couldn't draw attention to either of us.” He looked at her seriously. “Perhaps this won't ease you any, but there were more souls watching over you than you might realize.”

“If you tell me Quinn and Euan are my brothers, I will scream,” Aisling warned.

“Quinn is working for Sglaimir,” Bristeadh said. “But Euan is your cousin.”

“He knows me?” she asked in astonishment.

Bristeadh nodded. “Indeed he does, though he was sworn to secrecy. I believe Soilléir threatened to turn him into a pile of manure did he breathe a word of either your identity or his.”

“You know Soilléir as well?” Aisling asked incredulously.

Rùnach couldn't decide if he were surprised or not, though he supposed he would eventually come down on the side of not. It said something about the seriousness of the situation, that Soilléir was willing to be so involved.

“I know many people,” Bristeadh conceded. “Soilléir is one with an interest in the happenings in Bruadair, which I understand he indulges with great caution. His threats, however, did leave an impression on Euan who definitely kept your secret for as long as he was free. I think he's paid a steep price for that.”

“Free?” Rùnach echoed. “What do you mean?”

“Sglaimir's had him at the palace for the past pair of months. Fortunately, he hasn't broken.”

“And how do you know that?” Rùnach asked cautiously.

“We have our spies.” Bristeadh looked at him. “We know who comes and goes inside the palace, who comes and goes across the border. Your bastard brother Acair has been a regular visitor over the years. A very frequent visitor of late, but perhaps you suspected that already.”

Rùnach sighed deeply. There was nothing to add to that.

Bristeadh looked at Aisling. “You can ask Muinear for more details, of course—”

“She's dead!”

Bristeadh blinked. “Well, of course she's not.”

“I saw her be slain by the Guildmistress with my own two eyes,” Aisling said in disbelief. “I
saw
her fall.”

“She's alive, daughter,” Bristeadh said gently. “She sat in that very chair not a month ago. Prince Soilléir sat where your friend is sitting and Lord Freasdail made up the fourth place.”

Rùnach suppressed the urge to purse his lips. Soilléir yet again in the thick of things. He was going to have a few simple words with that one the next chance he had.

“Lord who?” Aisling asked.

“Freasdail,” Bristeadh said. He smiled very faintly. “He has been acting as the First's steward for the past several years.”

“The First?”

“The First Dreamspinner. That is what we call the one who holds all the strands. He or she is the final dreamspinner, but the first in power and might.” He looked at her with a grave smile. “You.”

Aisling shoved herself back from the table without warning. Rùnach caught her chair and pulled it out of her way before it went over backward, taking her with it. She was trembling so badly, he could see her shaking. She looked down at her father with an expression so akin to horror, Rùnach felt his eyes begin to burn. Perhaps she could have denied who she was before . . .

He found his hand taken and he was pulled up out of his chair so quickly, it did tip over.

“I need air.”

He wasn't about to argue with her. He shot Bristeadh a questioning look and had a subtle pointing toward the doorway in return. He didn't do anything but hurry along with Aisling as she fled from the library. She didn't seem to have any idea where to go, but that didn't deter her. Before long, he found himself standing in a garden at what was obviously the back of the house. It was, again, full of circles.

Aisling paced—in circles, it had to be said—then suddenly stopped and looked at him as he sat on a bench in what sunlight he could find.

“It's true, then.”

“It?” he ventured.

“All of it.” She waved her hand about with a jerky motion. “This. Dreamspinners. Bruadairian magic. All of it.”

“Aye,” he said carefully, “I daresay it is.”

Her eyes were as haunted as her father's. “Then what am I to do?”

He sighed deeply. “Keep walking forward, I daresay.”

“What if I don't like what's at the end of the path?”

“You don't have to accept your destiny.”

She reached out and absently plucked something from the air, looked at it, then put it in the bag Weger had given her all those many se'nnights ago in Gobhann. Then she froze. She looked at him.

“I can't help myself.”

“So I see,” he said faintly. He'd been watching her do that for the past few days, but there was something profoundly unnerving about watching her absently pluck strands of magic out of thin air. He almost didn't want to think about what she was capable of, he who had grown to manhood watching his father trying to undo the world. “It's in your blood, I daresay.”

She considered, then seemingly came to a decision. She walked over to him. A collection of pebbles rolled over to congregate at his feet, fashioning themselves into a small stool. Soft moss swept up to cover it. Rùnach wasn't altogether certain that a wee flower hadn't sprung up to wave at Aisling as well.

“I was going to throw myself at your feet and beg you to run with me,” she said faintly.

“Bruadair apparently prefers that you be comfortably seated whilst about your begging.”

She pursed her lips at him, then reached out to touch the flower. It leapt up into her hand, rested there for a moment, then vanished into a hint of a song that even he heard. The song lingered, then wafted off into the woods, where it was welcomed into a chorus that hummed just out of hearing and memory.

Rùnach bowed his head and laughed. He honestly couldn't think of anything else to do. He lifted his head to find that Aisling had sat and was scowling at him.

He reached out and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “You were saying?”

“I was wondering how best to run,” she said crossly. “Which you seem to find rather amusing.”

“Oh, I think it's anything but that,” he said, his smile fading. “'Tis anything but that, my love.”

She looked at him bleakly. “What am I to do, then? I was fully prepared to flee, but that was before. I don't see how I can now.” She rubbed her arms. “I just don't know how I'll manage any of this.”

“One step at a time,” Rùnach said. “Bruadair seems to have an interest in your path, if I might offer an opinion.”

She took his hand in both her own and looked at him seriously. “And when you knew where your path lay, what did you think?”

“I was arrogant and stupid,” he said, “so I'm not sure my thoughts would be worth knowing. And I couldn't let my mother go there alone.” He paused, then sighed. “The thought that we were mad crossed my mind more than once, but what else was there to be done? My mother and older brother believed the fate of the world hung in the balance and I shared that belief. We did what we had to.”

“I don't have your courage,” she said very quietly.

“Aisling, my love, you don't,” he agreed. “Yours is far greater.”

She shook her head. “All I want to do is run.”

“Why don't we shapechange instead?” he asked. “Well, once we come to an understanding with your magic. I don't want to fling myself off the roof of your father's house in dragonshape and become part of his garden path where I land.”

Her look of misery hadn't faded. “I thought I was alone. There in the Guild.”

“I know,” he said softly. “But it sounds as if they did the best they could not to leave you by yourself, doesn't it?”

But what he didn't say was that if they had resorted to hiding her out in the open in a bloody weaver's guild, she must have powerful enemies indeed. If those enemies had been able to slay her mother, that was one thing. That they'd apparently slain her grandmother the dreamspinner . . . well, that was something else entirely.