Spellweaver (22 page)

“I’ll leave the intimate details of her life for her to give you when next you meet,” Soilléir said carefully, “but I’ll tell you as much of her tale as you need to know now. She found herself, through a series of fortuitous events—”

“Orchestrated by someone, no doubt,” Ruith interrupted darkly.

“There have been those interested in keeping her safe,” Soilléir agreed, “which shouldn’t surprise you. She was taken in by mercenaries after they found her near the well, then deposited on the doorstep of Nicholas of Lismòr where she proceeded to turn the university upside down until she made her way to the opposite side of the island for studies that didn’t include books.”

Ruith wished he could keep his mouth from continuing to fall open.
“Gobhann?”

“The very same. And she bears Weger’s mark, so I’d be careful about challenging her to any sort of contest with steel. After her release, Nicholas sent her on a quest to take a knife, which happened to be one of Mehar’s, to the king of Neroche.”

“And why would Nicholas ...” He found himself considering things he hadn’t before. “Something isn’t right there. Why would the head of a backward university on a provincial island have one of Queen Mehar’s blades?”

Soilléir only waited, silent and watchful.

Ruith suppressed the urge to scratch his head and instead settled for keeping his jaw from falling yet again to his chest. “He’s Lismòrian’s Nicholas. The wizard king of Diarmailt.” He looked at Soilléir in surprise. “I’d never considered that before.”

“I believe he counts on that sort of thing to protect his anonymity,” Soilléir said. “I also understand that your mother asked him to watch over you all if something happened to her. He looked after Mhorghain as best he could.”

“Then why in the
hell
did he allow her to go into Gobhann?” Ruith asked, incensed.

“I don’t think he had a choice. You’ll find that your sister is very determined when she’s chosen a path for herself.”

Ruith pursed his lips. “I’m surrounded by stubborn women.”

“Necessarily so,” Soilléir said, “to keep you from running rough-shod over them.” He smiled briefly at Sarah, then continued on. “And to continue, Mhorghain couldn’t refuse Nicholas’s request to take the blade to Tor Neroche, though I understand she wasn’t overly fond of the knife, having no knowledge of her own parentage and a healthy disgust for all things magical.”

“She didn’t know?” Ruith asked. “Anything?”

“I daresay she blocked most of it out, for reasons you would understand. Once on this quest, though, she began to remember things about her past. It would also seem that during the journey she also became rather ... fond, I believe is the word ... of a certain member of a company she acquired on her way north. When she found out he was not the simple farmer he’d claimed to be, she took the Sword of Angesand and slammed it against the edge of the high table in the great hall of Tor Neroche, shattering the blade into countless shards.”

Ruith looked at him evenly. “You can’t mean Adhémar. If you tell me my sister has fallen in love with that great horse’s arse, I will—” He spluttered a time or two before he could manage further coherent speech. “I’m not sure what I’ll do, but it will be dire and it will include departing immediately for Léige to bring her to her senses.”

“It wasn’t Adhémar, but you would know that if you remembered our discussion in the library below. He is wed to—”

“Adaira of Penrhyn,” Ruith interrupted with a sigh. “I’d forgotten.”

“Any other guesses, then?” Soilléir asked with a smile.

“Not Cathar,” Ruith said immediately. “Nor Rigaud, I daresay. I can’t imagine she would have patience for his preening. Nemed she would grind under her heel inside a se’nnight. That leaves Mansourah, but he hasn’t the wit to see to her.”

“Nay, he does not,” Soilléir agreed.

Ruith considered other brothers, then realized there was only one left to consider. He looked at Soilléir in surprise. “Miach?”

“It would seem so.”

“But, he’s a
child
!”

“He’s a score and eight,” Soilléir said calmly. “Almost a score and nine. A scant year and a bit younger than your own ancient self, if I’m counting it aright.”

Ruith sat back and shook his head. “How in the
hell
did she meet
him
?”

“As I hinted, he was a member of her company. He had been following Adhémar, who was supposed to be looking for a wielder for the Sword of Angesand but was instead studying the inside of as many taverns as possible. I believe that for Miach it was love at first sight. Your sister, I understand, resisted her feelings for a bit.”

“I’ll help her resist them a bit longer,” Ruith growled.

“Too late for that, I fear,” Soilléir said cheerfully. “Your grandfather betrothed them whilst they were here. In the garden of Gearrannan, if memory serves.”

“He did,” Sarah said helpfully. “The trees were singing about it this morning.”

Ruith shot her a dark look. “You didn’t say anything.”

“At the time I didn’t know who the names belonged to,” she said. She paused. “They were singing about quite a few people, truth be told.”

Ruith looked at her sharply. He’d heard the trees singing as well, but the only names he’d heard had been his own and Sarah’s. He frowned, promising himself a goodly think on it later, then turned back to Soilléir.

“I’m surprised Grandfather agreed to it.”

“He offered it,” Soilléir said pleasantly, “which I think surprised Miach as well. The runes are actually quite lovely. I’m not sure you can gouge them off, but I suppose you might try.”

Ruith scowled. “The last time I saw the youngest prince of Neroche, he was hiding under a table in my grandfather’s library, memorizing spells and eating figs. I’m sure he hasn’t improved since then.”

Soilléir laughed. “I think you’ll find he has. And how is it you saw him there?”

“Because I was sitting next to him, eating figs and memorizing spells. We were hiding from my grandfather, who had threatened to take a switch to us both for spending the morning flying in dragonshape.” He looked up at his brother lounging against the wall, his expression inscrutable. “You didn’t say anything.”

“I’m discreet.”

Ruith snorted.

“I said nothing to Mhorghain, either,” Rùnach added. “Because of ... well, I said nothing.” He shrugged. “Miach knew ’twas me, of course, but he always was a clever lad.”

Ruith had to admit that he’d been very good friends with the youngest prince of Neroche, having spent more time than his grandfather would have been happy about appropriating with him spells from various places they shouldn’t have been lurking in. But he’d been driven to find things to stop his father and Miach had, well, he’d simply been driven. Perhaps he’d assumed he would one day be facing Lothar of Wychweald.

He looked at Soilléir. “I understand he was a guest in Lothar’s dungeon for a bit. Sgath said as much.”

Soilléir nodded. “It didn’t damage Miach permanently, if you’re worried. And he loves your sister to distraction, if that worries you as well. She’ll never lack for whatever he can give her. I understand, though, that it took him a bit to convince her that he loved her. And you can imagine what Sìle had to say about it all. Miach had a difficult path to walk with the two of them.”

Ruith felt, rather than heard, Sarah fall silent. He released her hand when she seemed to want him to, though he shot her a look at the same time. He would have asked Soilléir for more tales, but a knock sounded on the door and he knew his doom had arrived. He looked at Sarah.

“Please come with me.”

“Thank you, Your Highness, but nay.”

Ruith sighed, then looked at Soilléir. “I don’t suppose you would come to luncheon downstairs and save me from my bad manners.”

“Or is it a saving from Droch you’re looking for?”

“I don’t engage in duels of magic with neophytes, though I understand Miach was fool enough to do so.”

“Miach wanted a look in Droch’s solar,” Soilléir said. “He thought he might find something useful there for Mhorghain’s use in closing the well.”

“My father never would have used anything of Droch’s,” Ruith said with a sigh. “I still cannot believe she intends to go to that horrible place and attempt anything at all. If I had any sense—”

“You would leave her to her task and carry on with yours.” Soilléir looked at him seriously. “Yours will not be any easier, I assure you.”

Ruith chewed on his words for a moment or two. “Are you going to offer any hints, my lord?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Soilléir put his hands on his knees and rose. “Sarah, I found a pair of books you might be interested in. Luncheon is waiting for you on the table whenever you care to have it. Make yourself at home, of course. Nothing is private, so investigate all you like.”

Ruith listened to Sarah thank Soilléir, then waited until Soilléir had gone off to confer with Rùnach before he caught her by the hand.

“Don’t open the door,” he said in a low voice.

“I won’t.” She took a deep breath and looked at him. “If I knew how, I would try to see the other pages of Gair’s spells—”

“Don’t,” he said quickly. “Let me be here when you attempt it, lest you need me.”

She nodded, though he wasn’t sure how serious she was. He was half tempted to set a spell inside Soilléir’s that would let him know if she attempted anything untoward, but decided that was perhaps more invasive than he wanted to be. He waited until she’d walked away toward her loom before he looked at Soilléir.

“I’m ready,” he grumbled.

“Be polite.”

“I have manners. I would just rather save them for that woman over there.”

“Who doesn’t seem to want anything to do with you. Still.”

Ruith shot him a dark look, then followed him across the solar and out the door. He felt Soilléir’s spell close behind them, then looked at his host.

“You couldn’t add a little extra to that, could you?”

“An alarm?” Soilléir asked mildly.

“Aye.”

“I’m her host, not her jailor.”

“This will be an extraordinarily short luncheon, then.”

Soilléir only smiled at him and walked away.

Ruith looked behind him, on the off chance that Droch was lurking in the shadows, paused, then set his own spell across Soilléir’s doorway, one that would alert him if anyone but Rùnach or Sarah walked through it. He took a deep breath, then followed Soilléir.

And he hoped he wouldn’t regret it.

Twelve

Sarah watched Ruith and Soilléir leave the chamber, trailed by Rùnach, then saw a spell fall down like a curtain over the door. She knew she should have felt safe, but she was too restless to feel safe. She was tempted to have another bath, but even that didn’t appeal. She was cold, so she stood in front of the fire for a bit until she was then too hot and was left with no choice but to pace a bit more. She had no stomach for the very lovely luncheon Soilléir had provided, and she wasn’t sure she could sit at a loom and produce anything that wouldn’t need to be ripped out and begun again.

She began to pace. Far easier that than simply standing in one place where her thoughts could catch her up. She found herself eventually standing in front of Soilléir’s desk, looking down at the books he’d obviously left there for her. She was sure they were nothing out of the ordinary, but somehow even looking at them made her uncomfortable.

Which was, of course, ridiculous. They were simply words on pages. How dangerous could that be?

She took her courage in hand and had another look at them. If they were of a magical nature, she couldn’t see it. She picked them up, then carried them back over to the fire and sat down. The silence that fell around her like a cloak was warm and comfortable, Soilléir’s doing, no doubt. She concentrated on the books in her hands, happy to have something to do besides ignore the things she’d learned over the past pair of days.

Such as the fact that she could see things she didn’t want to. Or that she had, before she could stop herself, agreed to carry on with Ruith on a quest she was sure would lead to places she didn’t want to go. Or that she had left Ruith no choice but to at least have a look at ten other women before she would allow him to look at her—and those gels were to be princesses, no less.

She opened the books, just to distract herself. The world was, she was quite sure, full of places she’d never heard of, and apparently the tome she held in her hands was from one of them. It was poetry, she suspected, but she wasn’t equal to even beginning to decipher it. The other book was a lexicon, which she supposed would be useful in time in translating the runes on her knife. What she needed first, though, was perhaps a child’s primer to help her become acquainted with letters and simple words.

She kept the books in her lap and simply stared into the fire, grateful beyond measure for a bit of peace where she didn’t have to think about anything more serious than how she would stay awake.