Spellweaver (7 page)

Then he would turn his mind to the true reason he’d come to Beinn òrain, something he’d scarce been able to look at on that interminable journey across the plains of Ailean. Something that felt a great deal like Fate. Again. Pushing him along a path he hadn’t wanted to take, a path that had seemingly been laid out under his feet for a score of years, simply waiting for him to find it.

He could only hope to face that path without his soul shattering.

Four

Sarah slipped her hands up her sleeves and walked alongside Ruith with as much energy as she could manage—which wasn’t much. She didn’t dare lose her way, though. If her first views of Buidseachd had left her with little liking for the hulking keep sitting atop its bluff, scowling down on the poor inhabitants of Beinn òrain, a closer acquaintance with it had only worsened her opinion. She’d seen the spells draped over the walls and falling to the bulwark like heavy drapes, though she would admit, reluctantly, that most of those spells hadn’t been anything out of the ordinary. She hadn’t wanted to look any closer on the off chance that she might see something she didn’t like.

She put her shoulders back as best she could and marched on doggedly. She wouldn’t know what other sorts of echoes of cast spells filled the place because she had no intention of being there long enough to find out. Her mother, surprisingly, would likely have agreed. Seleg hadn’t done anything but disparage the university every chance she had, without giving any specifics as to why she might have disliked it so. Sarah had assumed that had been because Daniel had been so keen to attend it, which her mother had no doubt considered a slight to her own magical tutelage. For herself, Sarah could hardly face the irony of her situation. Her recently made vow to have nothing to do with mages was still fresh in her mind, yet now she found herself surrounded by no doubt the largest nest of them in all the Nine Kingdoms.

She turned a jaundiced eye on the blond man walking but a pace or two in front of them. He had, she could say with absolute certainty, simply stepped out of thin air and stopped that other agitated mage from asking all sorts of questions she’d been sure Ruith wouldn’t want to answer. It wasn’t possible that he was a master of anything but the most rudimentary of spells given that he didn’t look any older than Ruith. Perhaps he was an apprentice, or an underling sent by someone to fetch Ruith, or had just happened to be in the right place at the right time.

She squinted upward, just to help herself feel as if she were still in the world and not lost in some terrible dream full of spells and mages and things she couldn’t begin to understand. The sky was already dark with heavy clouds, but she found that the morning had grown even darker, as if a strange and unpleasant fog had suddenly sprung up.

She realized she had wandered away from Ruith and their guide only after she found herself standing at a convergence of passageways. She had lost all the light she’d had, lost Ruith, lost everything but an overwhelming desire to find a place to sit down and rest. There was a cool, not unpleasant breath of air coming from the passageway on her right. She turned toward it and started to walk only to have someone catch her and jerk her backward. She spun around, curses halfway out of her mouth, only to find Ruith standing there with the mage at his side. They were looking at her with no small bit of alarm.

“I’m tired,” she said crossly, because it was all she could manage. She pulled her arm away from Ruith’s hand. “I wasn’t lost.”

Apparently he didn’t believe her. He took her again by the arm and the pain was so intense, she thought she just might faint.

She realized only as she woke that she had done just that. She watched a door be opened by a tall, frightening-looking man, then realized all that was alarming about him was the fact that his face was completely shadowed by a deep cowl. An odd thing to be wearing inside a chamber, but perhaps the chambers were very cold.

“Put me down,” she said, attempting to crawl out of Ruith’s arms. “Damn you, put me down.”

He complied reluctantly, though Sarah wasn’t sure what he thought she was going to do. She certainly wasn’t going to go back out into that passageway without some sort of guide or perhaps a map. She was absolutely not going to attempt any sort of journey without at least an hour to sit and rest. With any luck, she would manage a meal as well.

She looked around her to see if she might find the latter. The solar was enormous, but what left her turning round and around again—and forcing Ruith to turn with her given that he wouldn’t let go of her arm—was the light. The day outside was dark, she knew that, but somehow the windows that stretched from floor to ceiling captured what little light shone on that bleak morning without and drew it inside where it could happily tumble through the air.

Whatever else might be said about the man who inhabited the place where she stood, it had to be supposed that he didn’t care for shadows.

Their rescuer followed them inside, sending dogs she hadn’t noticed following them bounding into the chamber before him. They turned on her and sniffed her enthusiastically.

“Leave off,” the man said with a half laugh. “I don’t know why I keep the damned things.”

“To torment your guests?” Ruith asked pointedly.

Sarah looked at the blond man, who only sent the dogs off to their places with a stern look, then turned a much lighter look on her.

“Welcome to Buidseachd,” he said, making her a small bow. “I am Soilléir. And you are Sarah of Doìre, I believe.”

She felt her mouth fall open. “How did you know?”

He smiled. “A good guess.” He glanced at Ruith. “I don’t suppose you and I need introductions, do we, Prince Ruithneadh?”

Sarah looked at Ruith quickly to see what his reaction would be to someone else—and possibly a servant, no less—calling him what he was. He only pursed his lips.

“I don’t suppose we do and I don’t suppose you need to break with the tradition of calling me
lad
, given that you’ve called me that the whole of my life.”

“The first ten years of it, at least,” Soilléir agreed. He turned to Sarah. “What will you have first, my dear? Food, sleep, or a bath?”

“All,” she said, then realized Ruith had said the same thing at the same time.

Soilléir laughed and it was like the first bit of warm sun after an endlessly brutal winter. “Perhaps a bath first, then the rest to follow in short order.” He nodded toward the back of the enormous solar. “There’s a wee chamber back there to the left of the hearth, Sarah, complete with a hot fire and even hotter water. I fear I have no maidservant to attend you, but perhaps you might make do just the same.”

Sarah wasn’t particularly comfortable simply marching off into someone’s private bathing chamber, especially since she wasn’t entirely sure Soilléir wasn’t just a servant, but if he was going to have the cheek to invite her to make free with his master’s things, she wasn’t going to argue. She managed to slur out her thanks, then walk unsteadily across the polished stone floor. She avoided going too near that frightening-looking man standing near the window, then continued on her way, weary beyond belief, almost too weary to be terrified.

She found the door to the chamber set back in an enormous alcove to the left of the equally large hearth that dominated one end of the room, then paused with her hand on the doorknob and looked over her shoulder.

Ruith and Soilléir were standing in the middle of the solar, talking quietly. They were of a height and similarly built. Soilléir with his golden hair was all light and clearness, though she could almost see under it all a core of steel, as if his secrets were not dark ones, but were nonetheless unyielding. He was, she had to assume, who Ruith had come to see, though she couldn’t imagine why. She frowned, then looked at Ruith.

He was as she had always known him, sunlight behind a cloud. Now, she suspected that sunlight was more than what it appeared. It was his magic, an enormous, unlimited, unending source of power. The darkness that shadowed it had nothing to do with that magic, though she supposed he wouldn’t have listened to that from her if she’d shouted it at him.

She yawned, then turned away. The truth was, she wasn’t at all accustomed to seeing so much male beauty on endless display in front of her—Shettlestoune was not known for its handsome men, after all—and having to look at the two behind her was a bit much in her current state.

She let herself into the little chamber, then shut the door behind her. And there, as promised, was not only a hot fire in a modest-sized hearth, but an enormous copper tub filled with steaming water, buckets full of equally steaming water for rinsing, and a lovely selection of fine soaps for her use. There was also, set near the fire, a tray full of heavenly smelling, delicate-looking edibles that she had to force herself not to fall upon like the starving woman she was.

She took a deep breath, reminded herself she was a lady and not a tavern wench, then made herself at home. She would bathe, eat a bit, then hopefully feel slightly more herself so she could make her plans.

Which, she reminded herself sharply, would not include mages.

 

 

An hour had surely passed, perhaps longer, before she managed to pry herself from the bath that seemed to be perpetually warmed to just the right temperature—she supposed there was some use in knowing a mage, but a bath hardly made up for all their other flaws so she tried not to feel too grateful—and dress herself in something she found in a wardrobe full of things that seemed to be just the right size.

More magic at work, apparently.

It seemed a little ridiculous to put on nightclothes—painfully soft and luxurious—and swathe herself in a gorgeous brocade dressing gown—silk she guessed, not having ever touched the stuff before—during the daytime, but since her plan was to retire to a corner as quickly as possible and sleep away the hours until dawn, she supposed she might be forgiven for it. She was modestly dressed. They couldn’t ask for anything more than that.

She took her knives with her, slipping them into one of the deep pockets of the dressing gown. They were nothing more than a false bit of security, but since they were all she had, she wasn’t going to give them up.

She saw Ruith immediately, sitting in front of the fire, freshly scrubbed as well and dressed in clothing that was quite a bit simpler than hers was. She imagined that if he’d exited his bath to find lord’s garb, he had put up a fuss.

She yawned before she could stop herself. Perhaps the rest of her life could wait for another day until she’d slept off the trauma that had led her to where she was at present.

Ruith rose the moment he saw her. “Feel better?” he asked, looking at her gravely.

She nodded, because she couldn’t say anything without saying too much. She didn’t want to forgive him, she didn’t want to understand him, and she definitely didn’t want to look at him and feel her heart softening toward him. She looked away to find one large pallet laid there before the fire, looking as fine as what she’d always imaged the princes of Neroche would have slept upon in their royal palace. She looked at Ruith.

“Where are you going to sleep?”

“Right there. With you.”

Softening feelings for the man? She realized abruptly that she didn’t have to wring her hands over the potential for those any longer.

“You most certainly are
not
,” she said sharply.

“I don’t want you escaping before I can have speech with you.”

“You forget, Your Highness, that I’ve no interest in anything you have to say.”

She said the words with vigor, but she found that she sounded less angry than shrill and that wasn’t in her nature. Or at least it hadn’t been before she’d embarked on a quest that had turned out to be far more difficult than she’d anticipated it might be.

“
One
bed will suffice,” he said.

“Aye, because
you
will be sleeping on the floor,” she retorted.

The hooded man standing against the wall made a muffled sound of ... something. She didn’t think it was polite to glare at him—nor did she have the courage given that he was easily as tall as Ruith was and much more intimidating—so she settled for glaring at Ruith. She was half tempted to march back into that luxurious bathing chamber, change into something suitable for travel, and leave, but she wasn’t sure how she was going to get from her current locale to the gates without running afoul of spells she might not be able to see.

“Sarah.”

She looked at Ruith coolly, but said nothing.

He clasped his hands behind his back. “I apologize for the things I said on the way here. I feared that if what followed us thought I held you in any esteem, you might be in danger.”

“You could rather have used your magic, I think.”

“That wasn’t an option.”

Then what good were you to me
was almost out of her mouth, but she stopped the words just in time. It was something her mother would have said, having been the sort of witch to look at things, animals, and people with a jaundiced eye and judge them according to their usefulness to her.