Dreamer's Daughter (8 page)

Rùnach was happy to accept the proprietor's invitation to examine his collection of fine wines and suggested that perhaps a discreet exit out the kitchens might induce him to come back and purchase a bottle or two in the very near future. Aisling knew nothing about wine and couldn't have cared less about rain—or lack thereof—in the area of Shettlestoune that seemed to produce the perfect grape for something renowned for its dryness. That made no sense to her at all, but it was a decent distraction for a moment or two.

She was just as happy to leave it all behind, though, and be free of the man's cellar. Their exit was made, as promised, out the back where there fortunately seemed to be a dearth of guards of any sort.

“So,” Rùnach murmured as they made their way down the alley behind the restaurant, “that was interesting company your friend Quinn kept back there.”

“I can hardly believe he's one of
them
,” she said. She looked up at him. “I was very naive.”

“I think you were trusting and innocent. And watched over by very powerful people.” He studied the alley for a bit before he looked at her. “I wonder about your other mate. Euan, was it?”

“The last time I saw him, he was being swallowed up in a large group of city guards. He's no doubt either dead or wishing he were dead.” She shook her head. “Perhaps he's in league with them as well.”

“I hope not,” he said, “but I suppose we'll discover that in time. First, let's find some sort of lodging commensurate with the stature of a rich trader and his faithful servant, then we'll see what we can discover about the rooster lounging on a perch that isn't his.”

She would have preferred they do anything but either of those two things, but she realized there was nothing else to be done. She pretended not to notice when Rùnach examined the inside of a carriage he hailed, then put her inside first while at the same time keeping hold of her. She supposed if things had gone awry, he would have hauled her out just as readily.

She was enormously grateful not to be in Beul by herself.

A suitable accommodation was eventually found and a very expensive chamber taken in a part of town she had never managed to visit. It was even possible, she supposed, to take a walk in the surrounding environs without fearing for her safety, but she wasn't sure she would have attempted it very often. Beul was, after all, still Beul and full of ruffians and scoundrels of the worst sort.

She had lost most of her gear at some point during the journey through that underground river, though Soilléir's servants had been kind enough to replace most of it. Rùnach had fared better with his own things, but he seemed rather less eager than she would have suspected to leave much of it behind. Then again, he seemed to travel very lightly, which she supposed served him well if he needed to make a hasty getaway.

She kept her pack with her and her satchel pulled across her body, then left the inn and walked with Rùnach along streets as if they had every right to be where they were.

“Where now, do you think?” he asked at one point.

She nodded at the hill plainly visible from most parts of the city. “The castle is there.”

“Have you ever gotten close to it?”

She shook her head. “No means and no desire.”

“It might be a good place to start.”

She couldn't disagree with that, so she walked with him without protest, hoping they would be mistaken for simple travelers out for a look at the city.

The closer they came to the castle set there on the hill, though, the thicker the clusters of guards and the more nervous she became. There came a point where even she could see that they wouldn't get any farther without engaging more guards than they cared to. She stood with Rùnach and simply stared at Sglaimir's lair. She couldn't say she even had any memories of it looking any different from how it appeared at present. She suspected, however, that the grey tone of the entire city was seeping from under those ugly stone walls.

“I think we can go no farther,” Rùnach said with a sigh. “Let's find a place to sit and think.”

She wandered with him back the way they'd come until they arrived at a public park of sorts. They found the only stone bench that seemed to have escaped decay, and sat before it was appropriated by any of the rather cheeky-looking youth loitering there. Rùnach sent the lads off with a look that even she had to appreciate for its fierceness.

She sighed. It was surprisingly difficult to imagine that the expanse in front of her had ever been anything but an unkempt park full of noxious weeds. Even the trees were silent.

Aisling looked at Rùnach. “It's unpleasant.”

“I've seen worse,” he said slowly, “but I will concede this holds few charms at present.”

There were times she forgot who he was and where he'd come from. “I'm sorry,” she said quietly. “I'm sure Ceangail was much worse.”

He smiled briefly. “I suppose it depends on how you look at it. Ceangail is evil, whilst Beul is merely grim. Let's just say that neither locale inspires a burning desire to set up house within its confines.”

“I wouldn't live here again if the inducement were all the gold in the world.”

“What if the inducement were me with a shop on some seedy street where I peddled paltry magical spells?”

She couldn't help a brief smile. “Well, I might reconsider for that.”

He took her hand in both his own. “I would never ask. Just testing the waters, as usual.” He watched the lads playing ball in front of them for a moment or two in silence, then turned to her. “So, what do you think?”

“I'm not sure why this surprises me, but I think things are worse than when I ran.”

“More soldiers than one might reasonably expect, to be sure,” he agreed. “'Tis obvious we're not going to be able to simply walk up to the palace and toss Sglaimir off his perch. Not that we ever expected it to be that easy.”

“Do you think King Uachdaran was correct about who he is?” she asked. “That he's the grandson of that terrible mage whose name escapes me?”

“I have no reason to disbelieve it,” Rùnach said slowly, “but I'm not sure it matters whose grandson he might or might not be. He is the problem we must solve. I asked Soilléir for details about him, but he had none to give. I suppose I should have asked Mother Fàs about him, but I was too busy worrying that we might not escape her back porch alive.”

Aisling smiled in spite of herself. “She is very fond of you. And nay, it isn't simply because you built shelves for her greenhouse.”

“When her alternative is her beloved youngest son Acair as a houseguest, perhaps she has reason to prefer you and me,” he said with a smile. He studied something in the distance for several minutes, then sighed. “I'm not sure it would be wise to ask too many questions here. Sglaimir isn't going to be noising about any of his secrets to his underlings, I don't imagine, but I suspect he's perfectly happy to learn about anyone who asks questions about him.” He frowned thoughtfully. “Did you ever hear any gossip about him at the pub?”

“None that I remember,” she said, “but I'll confess I wasn't paying all that much heed to what the lads were saying. I was too busy trying to forget the Guild.”

“I imagine you weren't the only one,” he said, “which is perhaps something Sglaimir counts on. Easier to control the populace when it's distracted with endless amounts of work.” He looked off into the distance thoughtfully. “'Tis a pity we don't have Ochadius here with us. Or a way to connect with Freàm's niece in the palace.”

“Is it worth trying to find either of them?”

“I don't think so at the moment, not that there would be any guarantee we would manage it even if we tried. I wouldn't recognize the king's niece if she appeared in front of us and introduced herself. And for all we know, Ochadius is dead.”

She started to agree that such might be the case, then realized it might not be true. She closed her eyes, stilled her mind, then saw without effort things that didn't belong to her dreams. It took a moment before she thought she could speak.

“He's not,” she said hoarsely. “He's dreaming.”

His mouth fell open. “How in the
hell
do you know that—nay, never mind.”

“I fear they aren't pleasant dreams, if that makes it more palatable.”

“Aisling,” he began, then he shook his head. “Let's just say that if I didn't know you better, you would terrify me.”

“I promise only to use my power for good.”

He smiled, as if she had either amused him or pleased him somehow. “Somehow, love, I never doubted it.” He leaned back and studied her for a moment or two. “Well, now we've exhausted this idea, why don't we consider others that might be less pleasant?”

“Such as?” she asked reluctantly.

“Finding a certain group of spinners missing one of their number might be useful.”

Which was, as it happened, the very last thing she wanted to do. It was difficult enough to deny that she actually had magic, something she had ignored for as long as possible. To be forced to admit that she might have more than just an obscure bit of power running through her veins—

She attempted to swallow, but she failed. “Why would we want to do that?”

“Because they might know what had befallen the seventh of their number,” he said quietly. “They might also be able to tell us if she's connected at all to the current political situation. And there are other questions you might be interested in putting to them.”

She wanted to say she couldn't think of anything she wanted to ask, but she could think of at least one question she
needed
to ask, namely if she herself might be—

She pushed the thought away. It was such a ridiculous idea, she could hardly entertain it, no matter the conversations she'd had with Rùnach at Inntrig. There were seven dreamspinners, or so 'twas said, and the most powerful of them all had reportedly been slain twenty-seven years earlier. The position held by that seventh dreamspinner had lain empty for—well, she couldn't say for how long. It was a mystery. But presumably there would be another dreamspinner in the world destined to take that place. It also followed that the person destined to be that spinner of dreams would need to have particular skills.

Spinning skills, perhaps.

Those were in short supply in Bruadair, actually. She supposed the thread she had once used to weave endless amounts of cloth had come from somewhere, but she'd never thought to ask where. Someone was spinning thread, but she had only ever known weavers. Spinners were rare. Actually, spinning was considered a capital offense. Those who set hand to wheel were slain immediately by a terrible curse that attached itself to anyone brazen enough to attempt such a thing.

Only she had spun without dying.

Unfortunately, it was also true that in a country of weavers, she could not only spin wool, she could spin all sorts of interesting things using wheels made of yet more interesting and unusual substances. It was also true that she had spent all of her life she could remember in a weaver's guild—nay, not just any weaver's guild, but the most brutal and notorious of them all. Of all the places in Bruadair, it was the last place where anyone would have looked for a spinner.

But none of that meant she was a dreamspinner.

It certainly didn't mean she was that missing seventh dreamspinner.

She looked at Rùnach. “I'm afraid.”

“Now that,” he said with a faint smile, “is perhaps the most sensible thing either of us has said all day.”

She had to simply sit there and breathe until she thought she could speak without shrieking. “What should we do?”

“Find your parents—or the pair masquerading as your parents—and ask them a pointed question or two about the past of a certain girl who can do things others cannot.”

“Sensible,” she managed. “Useful, even.”

“I have the feeling it might be. So, let's discuss our direction. Where is your village?”

“How would I know?” she asked.

He looked at her blankly, then he frowned. “I was going to say because you were raised there, but that isn't true, is it? I'm assuming you know your parents' names.”

“Riochdair was his name, Dallag hers. But more than that, I don't know.” She looked at him bleakly. “We could perhaps find the nearest library and look through maps until we see something interesting.”

He nodded. “We could, but that would take time.”

“I'm not even sure they have libraries here in Beul.”

“Appalling.”

“You would think so.”

He smiled. “Aye, I would.” His smile faded. “What do you want to do, Aisling?”

She shifted uncomfortably. “I want to go hide back in Durial.”

“You'd never get a decent night's sleep for the rocks and veins of ore fighting each other to most loudly declare their magnificence to you. We'll have a holiday each year in Inntrig, if you like. The surroundings there seem to be of a more modest mien. And you're stalling.”

What she wanted to do, as she had very honestly said, was run to Durial and hide behind the king's very sturdy door. At the moment, she would have braved Annastashia of Cothromaiche's wrath to seek asylum in Inntrig. But she knew she couldn't. She also knew that the only way to find out anything about dreamspinners was to find out things about herself. And there was only one place to do that. She looked at Rùnach.

“Don't want to lay siege to the castle?”

He shook his head slowly.

She closed her eyes briefly, then looked at him. “The Guildmistress would know from whence my parents hail.”

“Could we get inside, do you think?” he asked. “Is there magic there?”

“I have no idea.”

“Don't you?”

She thought it was impossible to feel any more terrified than she felt at present, but she realized that wasn't at all true. “Are you asking me to try to determine that?”