Dreamer's Daughter (4 page)

Astar only laughed. “Much, which leaves me no choice but to demand satisfaction from you. Let's go outside and wreak havoc.”

Rùnach was tempted to pause and try to count from memory how many times Astar had said that very thing to him, mostly whilst leaning negligently against some wall or other in the poshest of salons overseen by the most exclusive of matriarchs. How the man had managed so many invitations from such notoriously discriminating hostesses was a mystery, but there was no doubt he was charming. Rùnach suspected he was also his grandfather's best spy, but discretion suggested he keep that to himself.

“Unless you're afraid I'll humiliate you in front of the delightful Aisling, of course.”

“You know,” Rùnach said, “I might like to maintain a bit of anonymity for reasons you don't need to know.”

“I can only imagine,” Astar said pleasantly. “But you know there are spells brooding over the lists. I'll add to them, if your fastidiousness demands it. Trust me, no one will know we've been there.”

Rùnach considered. “I wouldn't mind an hour or two in the lists, true.”

“We'll bring our lovely Aisling along with us and allow her to be impressed by me. You, perhaps not so much.”

“She is
my
Aisling, not yours, and she's seen enough unsettling things. She doesn't need to watch you attempt to hoist a sword.”

Astar laughed as he slung his arm around Rùnach's shoulders and pulled him down the passageway. “You know, Rùnach, if it were me, I would keep a close eye on her. Especially given the fact that my sister is roaming the halls.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Then again, perhaps you're the one who needs protecting.”

Rùnach rolled his eyes and shook off the other man's arm. “And you're the one to do that? I somehow suspect—still—that you told your sister where to find me this morning.”

“She would have tortured me if I'd left that little bit of truth untold,” Astar said without hesitation. “She's actually rather adept with a dagger. I believe she keeps them enspelled with unpleasant things and tucked in her reticule just for me. Trust me, you wouldn't have wanted an encounter with the same.”

Rùnach had to admit facing her over words had been perilous enough; daggers might have been more than he could have managed.

He walked with Astar through passageways that were comfortingly free of would-be fiancées and was grateful for the peace. If nothing else, he needed another day or two to catch his breath and determine exactly how it was he was going to go off and rescue a bloody country.

“At least your Aisling has had a pleasant morning.”

Rùnach glanced at him. “And you would know?”

“I would,” Astar agreed. “She and Léir were walking in the garden when last I saw them. She was planning to spend the rest of the day spinning.”

“Wool, I hope,” Rùnach said, before he thought better of it.

Astar blinked, then looked at him. “I'm not sure I want to know what you're talking about.”

“Nay, I don't think you do.”

“Who is she?”

Where to start? Rùnach considered all the things he could say about her, then eliminated them rapidly as things he
shouldn't
say about her. After all, it wasn't his place to reveal that he was positive that she was not just a simple weaver who had run away from the most oppressive Guild in all of Bruadair, but instead the missing dreamspinner that no one had the thought to look for save those who had to have known where she was.

The final dreamspinner.

The most powerful dreamspinner.

He looked at Astar. “She is someone who needs to be protected.”

“And you're the lad to do it.”

It hadn't been a question. Rùnach nodded slowly. “I daresay I am.”

“All the more reason to dredge up a few spells and see if you can use them, eh? Though I worry that you'll manage it, honestly. You look distracted.”

“It has been a very long year so far.”

Astar smiled. “Rùnach, my friend, I think it's been a very long twenty years. What were you thinking to hole up with Léir in Buidseachd? Surely there were only so many pranks you could pull on Droch with your mighty spells poached from your sire's book before you tired of the sport.”

Rùnach walked through the gate out into the lists that were obviously well-loved by King Seannair's guardsmen, then waited until Astar had joined him. He could safely say that over the course of his lifetime, he had been very choosey about his confidants. His brothers, of course, and more particularly Keir had always had his complete trust. A handful of his cousins at Tòrr Dòrainn, of course, and even one or two princes of Neroche. But outside that rather small circle, the men he had trusted had been few and far between. Soilléir, without question. And though he wasn't about to burst into tears over the thought, he could safely say that he trusted Astar well enough.

He folded his arms over his chest and looked at Annastashia's brother.

“I take it Léir didn't tell you what happened to me?”

“You know he says nothing,” Astar said, frowning slightly. “And tell me bloody what?”

“My father took my magic at Ruamharaiache's well.”

Astar's mouth fell open. “
What
? That's impossible.”

“'Tis quite possible, as I'm sure you know. He took my brothers' as well.” He sighed. “I don't think he took my mother's but I fear by the time he might have tried, she was past—”

“I understand,” Astar interrupted quietly. “Còir told me what his father had found there. I honestly thought you'd all perished along with her.”

Rùnach supposed he shouldn't have felt such profound gratitude to Soilléir for having kept his mouth shut, but he couldn't help a brief moment of it. He looked at Astar and shook his head slightly. “My mother perished, as did my younger brothers. Well, save Ruith. He was living peaceably in Shettlestoune until events forced his hand, though he did a goodly work with my father—”

“Your
father
is alive still?”

“If you can believe it,” Rùnach said grimly. “He's now quite contained, thankfully, behind spells that I would imagine Ruith managed to pry from your cousin. Mhorghain is alive and wed to Miach of Neroche, which I suppose you know.”

“I had heard that much at least,” Astar said with a faint smile. “A good match for them both, I daresay.”

Rùnach nodded. “Our mothers would be pleased. As for Keir, he perished shutting the well and I've been loitering in the shadows of Léir's solar for the past few years, mourning the loss of my magic and looking for replacements for my father's spells.”

Astar went very still. “Why would you want them, Rùnach?”

“So I knew how to counter them should they find themselves out in the world,” Rùnach said. “And trust me when I say it was a very academic exercise. Or it was until a fortnight ago when I discovered that perhaps my magic wasn't as plundered as I'd feared.”

“Should I be sitting down for the rest?”

Rùnach smiled. “I'll tell you if you can best me with the sword.”

Astar snorted. “And here I feared you would require something difficult of me. Let's go, then, lad, and I'll try to leave something of you so you might spew out the rest of your sorry tale over a bit of restorative beer. My grandfather's alemaster has had a particularly good year, you know.” He paused. “You're sure you wouldn't rather use spells than steel?”

That was tempting, Rùnach had to admit. Astar for all his ridiculous preenings was a very dangerous mage and he had a reputation for having no mercy on the field.

“You hesitate,” Astar noted, rubbing his hands together purposefully. “Come now, Rùnach. You weren't such a coward in your youth. Perhaps you've forgotten that you were forever begging me to trot out to the field beyond my granddaddy's glamour and beat on you.”

Rùnach laughed a little uneasily, because it was entirely true. He'd been to Cothromaiche at least a score of times he could remember, all whilst on his search for the impossible and powerful, and he'd never passed up a chance to hone his magic against the man facing him. He didn't want to speculate on which of the spells of essence changing Soilléir's younger cousin knew, and he'd never dared ask lest the knowledge not allow him to sleep easily at night. What he did know was that Astar had a penchant for the odd and the elusive, and Rùnach had queried him about both more than once.

“Spells, then,” Astar said brightly. “I can tell you're too polite to ask me to leave you on your knees, weeping, so I'll grant your unasked request. Leave your very fine Durialian steel on that bench there and let's see what sort of job was done by whoever took pity on you and restored your magic to you. I can't imagine it was my cousin.”

Rùnach had the feeling he might regret agreeing, but supposed he had reason enough to take any opportunity to hone his rather unwieldy magic.

It turned into a very long morning.

Astar proved to be every bit as unpredictable and offensive on the field as he had ever been. His spells weren't so much terrifying as they were full of twists and turns Rùnach very quickly found he couldn't counter easily or even begin to anticipate. It was thoroughly irritating, which he could tell Astar knew very well. And still Astar wove things around him, things that vexed him, poked at him unexpectedly, continually pulled at the ground under his feet as if he'd been standing on the edge of the sea as the tide was going out.

He dragged his sleeve across his face. When had the sun become so bloody hot?

Astar only smiled in a way that tempted Rùnach almost beyond reason to go wipe that smirk off with his fists.

There came a point where he'd had enough, yet holding up his hand to cry peace went unheeded. He opened his mouth to point out to Astar the concession he'd missed only to have a spell he hadn't seen slam into him and wind him. Damned Cothromaichian magic that made no sense. Who had invented such ridiculous spells?

He reached for something to match his irritation that had somewhere during the past half hour become something far stronger. He wasn't so much surprised as rather satisfied to find there were spells there at his fingertips, spells that came readily to his hands, complicated pieces of magic that were worthy of the power he could feel rushing through his veins—

He realized abruptly that he was standing in the midst of terrible spells that were robbing him not only of what breath Astar's spells had left, but almost all movement as well. It took him only a bit longer to realize those weren't Astar's spells, they were his own.

Or his father's, rather.

The tangle that had sprung up around him and was dense and full of thorns. He couldn't move without something impaling him and causing him intense pain. It was, he could admit freely, agony of his own making. A dark, unrelenting, breath-stealing agony that left him feeling as if he were falling into a blackness that had no end—

And then, suddenly it was all gone.

He leaned over and gasped for breath. He saw Astar's boots before he managed to straighten, and felt his sparring partner's hand on his shoulder.

“I'm sorry,” Astar said, sounding very sorry indeed. “I pushed you too hard.”

Rùnach attempted to shake his head, but he couldn't. He stood there for another few moments, waiting for the stars to clear and the ability to breathe to return. He finally heaved himself upright.

“My fault,” Rùnach managed. “My apologies.”

“Nasty spells, those,” Astar said faintly. “They were . . . dark. And I couldn't stop them, if you want the truth.”

“Neither could I,” Rùnach said, then he realized they weren't as alone as he might have suspected.

Soilléir was standing twenty paces away, watching him thoughtfully.

“What?” Rùnach said defensively, though he knew the answer himself. He had reached for things he shouldn't have, things that had come too easily to hand. His brother Ruith had warned him he wouldn't want their father's spells, but he hadn't heeded that warning. He supposed he should have.

Yet still Soilléir said nothing.

Rùnach rolled his eyes, trying to save his pride. “An aberration or two. I've been without magic for half my life now. One makes the odd mistake now and again when pressed.” That Soilléir had been forced to stop whatever he'd been doing and come to rescue not only him but Astar as well . . . well, he supposed that was something he could avoid thinking about, surely.

“There is that,” Soilléir said mildly.

Rùnach shot him a look. “Regretting giving me your spells?”

Soilléir blinked, as if the question not only surprised him, but also wounded him slightly. “Nay, my friend. I know what lies at the bottom of your soul.”

Rùnach dragged his hand through his hair. “Forgive me. I'm weary.”

“You've had a busy day that looks to be not ending anytime soon.” Soilléir smiled. “But perhaps after supper we can escape the madness in the hall and retreat to the library for a bit of peace. I'll go see if I can make that happen.”

Rùnach didn't dare hope for it, but perhaps Soilléir had means at his disposal beyond the norm. His spells certainly qualified.

He waited until Soilléir had left the field before he looked at Astar. “I apologize.”

Astar clapped him on the shoulder. “Not to worry, Rùnach.”

“I'm not sure how things got so out of hand there.”

“And I have no idea what in the hell you were spewing at me, but I suppose we could save that for some light after-supper conversation. Let me nap this afternoon and we'll talk tonight when I've recovered. Though if you want to hasten my recovery, you might tell me how it was you regained your power. I'm a little surprised at that, Rùnach, I don't mind saying so. Gair was notorious for not leaving any spoils behind, as it were.”