Dreamspinner (33 page)

“You know,” he said loudly into her ear, “you’d best stop with that, else you won’t ever catch your breath.”

“We’re off the ground!”

“Well, aye, we are,” he agreed, “but you are when you’re riding as well. What’s the difference?”

“Several hundred feet!”

“Oh, perhaps more than that—”

“Be silent, you fool!”

He laughed. She would have elbowed him sharply to accompany her suggestion, but she didn’t want to knock him off because then she would go with him. So she clutched his forearms that were wrapped around her and tried not to shriek. She closed her eyes, because that seemed the wisest thing to do.

Eventually, though, she found herself growing accustomed to the rushing of wind in her ears and the security of Rùnach’s arms
around her. She ventured a look down and realized how far up off the ground they were. That was every bit as startling as she’d suspected it would be. She looked over her shoulder at the horse’s wings and blinked. Then she blinked again, but it was still there, something trailing from them.

Magic, no doubt.

She felt as though she were lost in a dream. She considered, reconsidered, then cast caution to the wind. She reached out and trailed her fingers in whatever the horse was flying them through.

Her fingers left streams behind them, just as the horse’s wings had done.

Rùnach made a garbled noise of some kind.

“Do you see that?” she managed.

He only tightened his arm around her briefly in answer.

She was dreaming. It was the only explanation that made sense. She had been cast up into the night and somehow thereafter into a dream. She would wake on the morrow and everything would be the same as it had been. Perhaps she would even find herself back in Beul, at the Guild. She would walk quietly from her dormitory to the enormous weaving room with its endless rows of looms, take her place in her assigned spot, and begin her daily task of weaving a never-ending amount of dull grey cloth that would have none of the painfully beautiful sparkle that the threads her fingers seemed to be drawing out of nowhere did.

The thought of that almost brought tears to her eyes, she who had never wept in her life.

“Am I dreaming?” she asked aloud.

“I don’t think so.”

“Is there a way to be sure?”

He laughed a little. “At the moment, I’m not sure. We’re hundreds of feet—”

“Don’t say that!”

He laughed again, a rumble in his chest that was surprisingly soothing. “We’re sitting safely and comfortably on the back of a horse with additional, unexpected appendages, traveling just
barely off the ground, and you seem to be trailing your fingers through strands of something I’m not quite sure should be there.”

“Can you see it?” she asked.

“To my everlasting surprise, I find I can. And if we aren’t dreaming, we certainly should be.” He tightened his arms around her briefly. “There are always answers. We just have to find out where to look.”

“You’ll help me?”

“Yes, Aisling, I will help you.”

She couldn’t imagine why, except that he loved a good mystery. She supposed she had a goodly amount of them to solve.

Perhaps there was reason to travel together a bit longer after all.

R
ùnach walked along the smooth stone path that led to the front doors of Chagailt and sighed in pleasure. Not only was
the palace itself exceptionally lovely, but the gardens were renowned
throughout the Nine Kingdoms for their beauty and variety. He supposed that shouldn’t have been surprising given that they had been designed by Iolaire the Fair, queen of Neroche and daughter of Proìseil the Proud, a former king of Ainneamh. Rùnach had been to the palace several times, but that had been in his youth. He had forgotten how impressive the castle was and how lovingly tended were the grounds.

He looked at Aisling walking alongside him, staring mute at the castle rising up before them. He wasn’t sure if she was overwhelmed or just exhausted. He couldn’t fault her for either. He was weary from being awake the whole of the night, but that had been his choice. He had been torn between the desire to make sure his companion didn’t fall out of the saddle and the diversion of
watching her touch magic that he could, to his continued surprise, see running beneath her fingers.

He thought he might have to send a thank-you along to his uncle, when he could properly express his gratitude.

Iteach had been left in the forest surrounding the keep to see to his own affairs and Rùnach had carried on with Aisling on foot. He wasn’t quite sure how he would present himself to the inhabitants of the keep, given that there might be one old soul who might mistake him for his father, or his uncles on either side, or perhaps even for himself. To further complicate matters, he had no idea how to explain his hesitation to Aisling.

Because he had the feeling she wouldn’t like finding out he’d been, ah, hedging.

He had gone out of his way to simply avoid answering things he couldn’t respond to with the truth. He had heard in great detail just how angry his sister Mhorghain had been when she’d found out that her now-husband Miach had lied to her about his identity. Then again, Mhorghain had thought mages were evil. Aisling just thought mages were myths. There was a difference there, though he wasn’t quite sure how to qualify it.

The only thing that saved him at present was that it was raining and he had to keep his hood up over his head to keep the weather off his face. He was accustomed to hiding, so it was no trouble. It did remind him uncomfortably, however, of how often he’d done it in the past.

He wondered, absently, if his scars bothered Aisling.

And he wondered why he was wondering.

“This is very…large.”

He looked at his companion to find her still wearing that look of absolute astonishment she had put on the day before and not taken off since. He pulled her hood up over her hair and nodded.

“It is,” he agreed.

“And you think they’ll allow us inside?”

“Scholars are never turned away.”

She made a little noise that sounded a bit like a laugh. “I’m hardly a scholar.”

“Pretend.”

She looked up at him. “I don’t know how.”

I know you don’t
was almost out of his mouth before he could stop himself. And that was, he had to admit, one of many things about her that intrigued him almost beyond his power to resist.

“Do you?” she asked.

He met her eyes. “Do I what?”

“Know how to pretend to be something you’re not?”

He managed not to catch his breath because he had, as he was loath to admit, become very good at pretending. He had done it in one form or another for the whole of his life. First he had feigned interest in his father’s mighty magic when all he’d wanted were his damned spells so he could learn how to counter them. Then he’d pretended to be a servant at Buidseachd, so he could keep himself alive. His reasons had been understandable, he supposed, but he had to admit he was growing tired of it.

At the moment, though, he thought spewing out all the details about himself and his family would be rather ridiculous. Aisling wouldn’t believe him in the first place and in the second, she wouldn’t care.

There are those in the world who might care very much to learn you’re alive…

Nicholas’s murmured words to him before he swung up onto Iteach’s back had haunted him for most of the night. No one would care, least of all a simple weaver from a place apparently too humble for her to want to name. He couldn’t imagine that anyone with any more importance in the world would be interested, not even his bastard brothers. After all, what did he have that they could take? Magic?

Knowledge?

He pushed aside that thought, because it was troubling, and wished however briefly for power enough to at least defend himself from lads possessing more than sword skill. But because he had nothing more than sword skill and little enough of that,
he shoved aside all his troubling thoughts and concentrated on the woman at his side.

“I think I can pretend to be a scholar with enough effort,” he said. “What of you?”

“I thought I would just be quiet and follow along.”

He smiled. “I imagine we’ll get on well enough, then. At least we’re not bristling with weapons. They’ll most likely let us in.”

Or so he hoped. He continued to walk with her, knowing he had been marked long before then. He had no spell of Un-noticing to use, and they had left their weapons carefully hidden in the forest where Iteach would or wouldn’t honor his promise to keep an eye on them. It made him nervous not to have anything save his hands with which to defend them both should the need arise, but there was nothing to be done about it. He would simply have to throw himself on the mercy of the steward and pretend to be nothing more than a simple scholar. That, at least, he thought he could manage well enough.

He walked up the front steps as if he had a right to and knocked on the front door. It opened slowly and a liveried servant stood there.

“Yes,” the man intoned.

“Scholars,” Rùnach said easily, “seeking the library, if you please.”

“Very well. Your names?”

“Our errand is private,” Rùnach demurred.

The guard looked them both over, scowled, then bid them wait where they were. Rùnach kept his hands in front of him where they could be clearly seen and waited. There was nothing else to be done.

It wasn’t long before someone arrived at the doorway, preceded by complaints about preparations being interrupted. Rùnach soon found himself facing none other than Sgoilear of Chagailt, keeper of the king’s private books. He continued to complain to the servant who had fetched him, then he stopped long enough to glare at them both.

“I am very busy,” he said briskly. “Who are you and what do you want?”

Rùnach lifted the hood back from his face and spoke quickly, because he knew there was no possible hope for secrecy unless he enlisted aid where he hadn’t anticipated needing to. “We are humble, nameless scholars,” he said firmly, “seeking but a handful of hours in the general library.”

Sgoilear of Chagailt looked at him for a moment or two, then his mouth fell open.

“Our errand is private,” Rùnach repeated. “Not even my companion here knows anything about it.”

Sgoilear shut his mouth with an audible snap. “Simple scholars,” he managed.

“Aye,” Rùnach said, nodding until Sgoilear began to nod with him. “If we might beg this time for research that cannot be done elsewhere, we would be most grateful.”

“Of course,” Sgoilear said faintly. “No one is denied entrance to Chagailt’s library. Especially—”

“Simple scholars,” Rùnach finished for him.

“Simple scholars,” Sgoilear repeated, even more faintly. He beckoned weakly, then gave a guard a hearty shove out of their way. “They need the library. I’ll see them there.”

“Very generous, Master, ah—”

“Sgoilear,” Sgoilear said, looking at Rùnach as if he’d just run into a pillar and was still stunned from the encounter. “Keeper of the king’s books. But surely you—”

“Aye, I have heard tell of you,” Rùnach agreed quickly. “Your reputation amongst those of a scholarly bent is flung far and wide. How fortunate Neroche’s king is to have you minding his tomes.”

Sgoilear apparently realized his mouth had fallen open again, because he shut it and nodded. He said nothing more, but continued to steal looks first at Rùnach, then at Aisling, who had removed her hood as well. To his credit, he didn’t blurt out anything untoward or gape any longer. Rùnach suspected he would not escape the palace, however, without having had speech with the man.

Rùnach looked about him and wondered slightly at all the activity. He looked at Sgoilear.

“Is there a reason for all the cleaning?”

“King Mochriadhemiach is bringing his bride here for a visit,” Sgoilear said. “Queen Mhorghain, but you—”

“Had heard tell that His Majesty was recently crowned and wed,” Rùnach interrupted. “Aye, I had heard. Of course, there is great sadness for the passing of King Adhémar, but I am sure Neroche is safe in the hands of his youngest brother.”

Sgoilear managed to nod. “He has been tireless as archmage. We feel we are in the best of hands now that he has taken the crown.”

Rùnach nodded, then exchanged a polite smile with him before Sgoilear’s attention was drawn away by someone in a panic about something only Sgoilear could attend to. Rùnach glanced at Aisling to find her wearing a look that was slightly skeptical.

“Archmage?” she whispered. “What does that mean?”

He considered how best to explain it to a woman who didn’t believe in either mages or magic.

“It’s complicated,” he said, because that seemed simpler.

She looked satisfied enough with that answer. Actually, she looked utterly overwhelmed. Rùnach reached for her hand and wrapped his around it.

“The palace is large, isn’t it?”

“I’ve never seen its like.”

“The library is smaller.”

“What a mercy.”

He shot her a smile, then continued along with her behind Sgoilear, who was now engaged in a very spirited discussion with a woman Rùnach didn’t recognize about how many of his librarians she was poaching to iron linen napkins when he needed them for the freshening up of several things His Majesty and his bride might care to read during their stay. The head housekeeper, which Rùnach decided she had to be, was not having any of it.