Dreamspinner (47 page)

She looked at Morgan. “I am beginning to have doubts about several things.”

“Are you?”

Aisling nodded. “I think I must go. I need to find the truth.”

Morgan sighed. “I understand that, perhaps better than I’m able to tell you at the moment. Where will you go to find this truth?”

“Diarmailt, I think.” Aisling frowned thoughtfully. “Rùnach said there was a very important library there. I think I might at least begin to acquire the truth I need in such a place.”

Morgan looked at her in silence for another moment or two, then looked around her. A page sprang immediately to her side.
She leaned down, whispered in his ear, then ruffled his hair before he ran off. She linked arms with Aisling.

“I think you might be right. Let’s go to the stables. I’m always happier out of doors. Thomas will bring your gear—or do his best to, that is. We’ll chat whilst we wait, if you don’t mind.”

Aisling didn’t suppose she minded much of anything at the moment, so she walked arm in arm with the queen of Neroche and jumped every time someone bowed to her companion.

It didn’t take long for them to reach the stables. Morgan asked for Iteach to be groomed and prepared for a journey, then sat down with Aisling on a bale of hay. The stable lads seemed to not quite know how to take their queen, which Aisling found rather charming, all things considered. She supposed she should have been annoyed that Morgan had been just as deceitful as the rest of them, but the truth was, she hadn’t been. She had promised to give the absolute truth for the questions she thought she could answer and she hadn’t answered the ones she presumably would have been forced to lie about.

Perhaps Rùnach had done his best to do the same thing.

“I told you before that Nicholas had sent me on a quest to take Mehar’s knife to the king of Neroche,” Morgan said, “but I didn’t tell you everything. Do you care to hear it now?”

Aisling nodded. Truth was truth, wherever she found it.

“Then what I didn’t tell you was that in my company north was not only Adhémar, the king of Neroche himself, but Miach as well. I didn’t know either of them, of course, because Adhémar was traveling in as much disguise as he could muster, and Miach was pretending to be a farmer.”

Aisling considered, then smiled briefly. “I can imagine that.”

“He doesn’t exactly put on airs, does he?” Morgan said, sounding as if she thoroughly approved. “Unfortunately, being one of Weger’s devotees, I had made no secret of my loathing for mages. This problem was made worse by Miach’s becoming convinced he knew the past I had forgotten, the one that cast me in the role of youngest daughter to one of the worst black mages in history.”

Aisling blinked, realizing the connection she hadn’t made before. “Gair of Ceangail? He is your
father
?”

Morgan lifted her eyebrows briefly. “If you want to be exact, then yes.”

“Rùnach’s too,” she said, feeling slightly horrified.

“Actually, that’s true as well,” Morgan agreed, “though Rùnach is nothing like him. As for the other, the particulars of our journey here are unimportant, but let’s just say that Mehar of Angesand’s sword—”

“The one in the great hall that glows with a blue light?”

Morgan looked faintly startled. “Aye, that one. And when I first saw it in the great hall, it not only glowed for me, it sang, then it leapt off the wall into my hand. I turned around and found Adhémar and his six brothers standing on the other side of the high table. It was then that I was told he was the king and realized that Miach was his youngest brother, the archmage of the realm and a liar of the first water.”

“Ah,” Aisling said, beginning to suspect that things had not turned out well for Miach. “What did you do?”

Morgan shifted uncomfortably. “I’m not proud of this, but I was so angry—” She had to take a deep breath. “Well, I took Mehar’s sword and slammed it against the table, shattering it into hundreds of shards.”

Aisling felt her mouth fall open. “What did you do then?”

“I ran.”

“Ah,” Aisling said, finding the word surprisingly satisfying. She looked at Rùnach’s sister and felt as if she were truly seeing her for the first time. “Then you do understand.”

“I do understand,” Morgan agreed. “Miach followed me, eventually, when he could. We came to an understanding.”

Aisling sighed. “I don’t know if I can ever come to an understanding with your brother.”

“Why not?”

Aisling rubbed her hands, because they pained her a bit. Too much spinning, perhaps. At least her skin was soft from the lanolin in the wool, not scratched to bits from the coarseness of thread
spun from who knew what. She looked down at her hands until she thought she could look at Morgan and not say too much.

“He is a prince,” she said finally, “and I am nothing at all.”

Morgan shrugged. “That is not how my brother thinks, though perhaps that may not be as clear as it should have been. But I understand your hesitation. His scars are quite off-putting—”

Aisling looked at her sharply only to realize that Morgan was watching her with a half smile that wasn’t quite teasing but was definitely knowing. She pursed her lips.

“I don’t see them anymore.”

“I didn’t imagine you did.”

“He lied to me.”

“Before or after you told him the absolute truth about yourself?”

Aisling blinked, then smiled. “You spent too many years at Gobhann.”

Morgan laughed a little. “I fear Weger ruined me for polite company, ’tis true. But perhaps you can see where Rùnach might have a bit of room for hedging. As for this curse you seem to believe in, all I can say is that Weger would tell you to find out the truth of the matter for yourself. Though I imagine Rùnach has suggested the same thing already.”

“He has,” Aisling said slowly.

“And if something in your country needs to be changed, Weger would tell you to see it changed. If you’ve the courage for it.”

Aisling looked down at her hands, hands that had done things she’d been forbidden to do for the whole of her life, and wondered what else her hands might do. She looked at Rùnach’s sister. “I don’t yet,” she said, “but I think I might do well to find it.”

Morgan slapped her hands on her knees. “That was exactly what I wanted to hear. I will tell you, though, that I don’t think you should go alone.”

“I don’t think there’s a swordsman alive who would come along with me when I could not guarantee either payment or success.”

“You might ask Rùnach, you know. He’s handy enough with a blade.”

“I don’t think he’s going to want to talk to me anymore.”

“Now that you clipped him under the chin?” Morgan only laughed. “He deserved exactly what you gave him and more.”

“He’ll be furious when he wakes.”

“He won’t,” Morgan said cheerfully. “He’ll consider it penance.” She shot Aisling a look. “He is a bit bossy, though, and will likely dictate your actions to you, which you may not want. Best disabuse him of that notion right off. As for anything else, I’ll do for you what I can.”

Aisling managed a smile. “You’re very kind.”

“Blessed,” Morgan corrected, then she smiled. “And here is my page with your gear. I think you should steal my brother’s horse. I’ve had him saddled for you, as you can see.”

“Rùnach won’t be happy.”

“They never are,” Morgan said with a wink. “Always overattached to their horseflesh, but Rùnach will survive.”

Aisling took the satchel and her bow and arrows from the lad who bowed respectfully, then moved to stand a discreet distance away. The satchel contained nothing but Ochadius’s book and the book Nicholas of Lismòr had given her, but it was enough. She looked at Morgan.

“I think this is all I need.”

“Perhaps you’ll find other things in your saddlebags,” Morgan said. She looked at Aisling. “If you want one suggestion, it would be that you find out who you are, and very quickly before someone you won’t like does.”

“Does that happen?”

“I’m afraid it does.”

Aisling didn’t want to know how Morgan knew, so she didn’t ask. She simply stood and waited until she heard the sound of horse hooves.

Iteach whinnied when he saw her. Aisling was so surprised, she felt her eyes burn with tears she couldn’t manage to shed.

“He knows me,” she murmured.

“Of course he does,” Morgan said. “Likes you too, apparently. Look at that lovely saddle he’s conjured up for you.”

Aisling looked at Rùnach’s sister. “He has magic.”

“I would hazard a guess he does,” Morgan agreed, “but Rùnach admitted that already, if memory serves.” She turned and faced Aisling squarely. “I want you to know, Aisling, that you may come back here any time you like. You will always be welcome in our hall.”

It took a moment before Aisling could find her voice. She looked at the queen of Neroche and attempted a smile.

“Thank you,” she managed. “It is a very great gift.”

“I understand needing a place to land,” Morgan said. “I was very fortunate to have such a place in my youth. I’m pleased to be able to provide the same for you here. As for anything else, what can I do?”

“Don’t tell Rùnach where I’ve gone,” Aisling said. “He’ll just follow me and jam up the works.”

“Men tend to do that,” Morgan agreed.

“He doesn’t like me very much.”

Morgan smiled. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that.”

“He’ll like me even less when he finds out I’ve poached his horse, but I’ll send Iteach back when I’m finished. You could apologize for the theft to him, if you like.”

“I’ll think about it,” Morgan said with a smile. “We’ll see how he behaves when he wakes.”

Aisling returned her smile, accepted reins, then led Iteach out of the stables into the courtyard. She climbed on, waved to Morgan, then held on as the horse leapt up into the air. She supposed it said something that she merely gasped instead of shrieking.

Life was, she had to admit, full of things she hadn’t expected.

S
he landed two hours later, because she’d seen something in a clearing below her that she thought she might have to have a closer look at.

Rùnach, as it happened.

Iteach wasn’t particularly enthusiastic about landing, but she insisted. She had forgiven Rùnach before Morgan had even told
her details about her own little scuffle with Miach’s family sword. It had taken but another hour to make her think that she had leapt where she should have looked first. When she’d seen the man in the clearing below, looking up into the sky, she’d known that she’d been given a gift.

She would have landed in the clearing, but Iteach balked. She supposed if she managed to get him on the ground, that was perhaps all she could ask for. She slid off the saddle when she was able, took a moment to gather not only her legs beneath her but her thoughts in her head, then walked into the clearing to find Rùnach standing there with his back to her.

He was a little more travel-stained than she remembered him being, but perhaps he had come in haste. That was almost enough to bring a smile to her face.

“Rùnach?”

The man was very still, then he turned around.

It was at that moment that she realized she had made a very serious mistake.

R
ùnach woke. It took him a moment or two to realize that no one had bothered to pick him up off the floor where he’d fallen when he’d been felled—

By a slip of a girl who had apparently learned more at Weger’s bony knee than he’d suspected.

He looked up to find Miach in the same place he’d seen him before, sitting on the lord’s table, swinging his legs idly back and forth, as if he simply didn’t have anything better to do. Rùnach sat up, clutched his head until it stopped spinning, then glared at the king of Neroche.

“What in the hell was that?”

“You,” Miach said, “being bested by a wraith of a wench who I will tell you is absolutely furious.”

“She was hedging as well,” Rùnach muttered.

Miach laughed a little. “Rùnach, my friend, if you haven’t learned for yourself that it is a far different thing when they do
something than when we do the same thing, then there is no hope for you. I suggest a quick trot after her and an apology.”

“Where did she go?”

“I have no idea. Ask Morgan.”

Rùnach staggered to his feet, then had to lean back against the table. He watched his sister saunter into the great hall as if she hadn’t a care in the world.

“Where is she?” he rasped.

“Gone,” Mhorghain said cheerfully. “Is there wine?”

Miach reached behind him and poured her a cup, which he then handed to her. He looked thoughtfully off into the distance. “You know,” he said to apparently no one in particular, “there is something very different about that gel, but I can’t quite lay my finger on what.”

“She spins air,” Mhorghain said. “That’s something different.”

“And she pulled my spell of Un-noticing right off its frame and spun it into something that is no longer there. Interesting, wouldn’t you say?”

“I would,” she agreed. “Very interesting, that.”

“I’ve been thinking other thoughts,” Miach offered helpfully.

“Which ones, my love?”