Dreamspinner (43 page)

Rùnach smiled pleasantly and took the note. He sent the lad on his way with thanks and a coin, then opened the note and read it. He considered, then decided perhaps it was time to pry a certain gel away from her wool.

Before the jig was up.

A
isling sat on the same stool she’d been sitting on for the past…well, she wasn’t sure how long she’d been sitting there. Since the previous afternoon, she supposed, save for when Rùnach had forced her to eat or insisted that she come sleep. He had been so polite about it that she hadn’t wanted to argue.

But she hadn’t wanted to walk away from her wheel.

Her first attempts at making yarn had been, she had to admit, absolutely dreadful. Mistress Ceana had insisted that even the thickest most uneven yarn had its own beauty, but she couldn’t see it. What she wanted was perfect, thin thread that she could then ply into something she could use for things that would be worth saving.

She looked at the last of the roving she was spinning and watched it as the bobbin turned, putting in the amount of twist she allowed, then pulling the yarn onto itself. She reached out and stopped the wheel, marveling at the feel of the smooth wood under her hand. She looked at what she’d spun, then looked at Mistress Ceana.

“Well?”

Mistress Ceana peered at it, then smiled and looked at her. “Beautiful.”

“The wool I started with was perfect.”

Mistress Ceana shook her head with a smile. “You underestimate your gift, my gel.” She covered Aisling’s hand with one of her worn, wrinkled ones. “I’ll ply it for you, shall I? I think you might have somewhere to go for the evening.”

Aisling looked up to see the door open. Rùnach peeked inside.

“It is safe?” he asked.

Mistress Ceana laughed merrily. “Of course it is, my lad. Have you come to fetch your lady for supper?”

“If she can be pried away from her art,” he said politely. “Just for an hour or two, if possible. We’ve had an invitation I think we should accept.”

Aisling found that her cheeks were unusually hot. She put her hands to them, which seemed particularly foolish, but what else could she do? Rùnach was fetching her as if she’d been some sort of grand lady. It was utterly ridiculous, but he seemed to think nothing of it, so she supposed she shouldn’t either. She rose, then looked down at Mistress Ceana.

“Thank you,” she said, “though thanks seem particularly inadequate for what you’ve taught me.”

Mistress Ceana waved away her words gently. “It was my everlasting pleasure, my child. Come again tomorrow, if you have the chance, and we’ll begin your lessons in dyeing. Anything else you need to do with a wheel, you can learn on your own.”

Aisling thanked her profusely, though, again, it seemed not enough. She allowed Rùnach to wrap her up in her cloak and fasten the catch under her chin. When he offered her his hand, she put hers into his without thinking. She smiled once more at Mistress Ceana, then walked with Rùnach out into the passageway. The door closed softly behind them.

She looked up at him. “She has been very kind.”

“You’re easy to be kind to.”

She found that she couldn’t move, because he was wrong. She
took a deep breath. “I have terrible thoughts about my parents,” she admitted, “and the Guildmistress.”

“Well,” he said slowly, “I didn’t say you were perfect.”

She looked up at him in surprise, then realized he was laughing a little at her. She pursed her lips but continued on with him.

“Where are we going?”

“Miach managed to forage for supper, or so I understand. I thought we might pass a pleasant hour or two with him and my sister. Or, rather, with my sister.”

She smiled. “You’re terrible to him.”

“He expects it,” Rùnach said dryly. “We might even convince him to tell us a few tales. He’s not completely without merit as an entertainer.”

“Does he know many tales?”

“Scores, but then again, he’s done nothing useful with his life but memorize tales, so that’s understandable.”

She followed him along passageways, up and down stairs, and finally up a dizzying set of circular steps to a tower chamber. She hesitated on the landing and put her hand on his arm to stop him before he knocked.

“What does he do here?” she asked quietly. “It must be something important, to have these privileges. Wouldn’t you say?”

He put his hand on the doorframe and looked at her seriously. “I’m not sure you want to know right now.”

“Is he dangerous?” she managed.

“Very,” he said honestly, “but noble.”

“He bears Weger’s mark as well, doesn’t he?”

Rùnach nodded.

She took a deep breath. “I don’t think I want to know anything else about anyone,” she managed. “I definitely don’t want to see anything else.”

“Then come sit next to me, keep your eyes on your supper, then you may use my shoulder as a fine resting place for your head whilst you close your eyes and enjoy all manner of tales to delight and astonish.” He smiled gravely. “Will that suit?”

She almost looked down, but she decided that she was finished
with that sort of business. She lifted her chin, though it cost her a great deal.

“I have the feeling,” she said unwillingly, “that this is the calm before the storm.”

He lifted one eyebrow briefly. “I would argue with you, but I cannot. I’ve been thinking the same thing.” He looked at her in silence for a moment or two, then opened his arm, the one that wasn’t resting against the doorframe.

She walked into that embrace as if she’d been doing it the whole of her life.

“I am becoming far too accustomed to this,” she said lightly.

He wrapped both arms around her and rested his cheek against her hair. She didn’t know which one it was, so she reached up without looking and felt the other cheek. It was unscarred.

“The scars are terrible,” he said very quietly.

“I don’t see them.”

He laughed a little, though it sounded quite a bit like a groan. He pulled back and looked down at her. “I think we should knock before I do something.”

“What?”

“If you don’t know, I’m not going to enlighten you,” he said dryly. He kept his arm around her shoulders and knocked lightly. “Let’s see if Miach is in good form tonight. If not, we’ll throw things at him.”

She didn’t particularly think they should, but she wasn’t going to argue. The door was opened and they were welcomed inside.

The chamber was small, but she supposed that said nothing about it for it seemed very luxurious to her. She stood just inside the door and tried not to gape.

There was a hearth set into the wall to her right, but the rest of the chamber was nothing but windows. The sun had set, but twilight left enough light to see by. She walked over to a window and looked down over the castle, then up and out to the sea. She supposed if she had tried hard enough, she might have been able to smell it as well.

She watched the faint lights below her for a moment or two,
then turned and looked at the chamber and its occupants. Miach and Morgan were sitting together on a sofa on one side of a low table placed there in front of the fire. There was enough food there to feed a dozen people. There was a spot left for her on the opposite couch, or so she dared assume since Rùnach was still standing, waiting for her to come and sit. She started to, then froze. She looked up, then frowned.

There, pressed against the ceiling far above her head was…a spell. She stood in the middle of the chamber and turned around slowly. The spell was a diaphanous thing, scarce visible, that fell from the ceiling to the floor. It wasn’t under her feet, for there was another sort of spell there, something she couldn’t quite name, though it seemed to be woven into the very floorboards. It was very old, indeed.

She looked at Rùnach. “There are spells here.”

“For protection, no doubt,” Rùnach said promptly.

Aisling walked over to the wall, smoothed her hand over the magic woven there, then smiled in spite of herself. It was beautiful and it was indeed for protection. She had no idea who had put it there, but she wasn’t going to complain. She walked back over to Rùnach, smiled at him, then sat down where she was invited to. Rùnach poured her a glass of wine and started to hand it to her.

“What did you see?” he asked.

“A spell of Fadaire.”

She caught the glass before he dropped it.

“It isn’t evil,” she added, “if that’s what’s worrying you.”

“Nay,” he managed, “nay, nothing worries me.”

She looked at Miach and Morgan, but they were busily filling their plates, so she thought perhaps she should do the same. She served Rùnach, who seemed rather rattled, then helped herself.

The meal was just as lovely as everything she’d eaten in the palace. She was terribly tempted to ask Miach how he’d managed it, but she just couldn’t bring herself to. She hadn’t lied when she’d told Rùnach she felt as if she were standing on the edge of a storm. She didn’t want to think that her days wouldn’t carry on as beautifully as they had been for the previous two days, but she knew better.

She didn’t want to count, but had to. She had five days left, five days left to find a man to agree to her bargain. She knew she should have been looking since she’d arrived, but learning to spin had been…well, there had been only one other time over the course of her life in which she had felt such absolute peace.

And that had been half an hour earlier, in Rùnach’s arms.

“What are you thinking?”

She jumped a little when she realized he had leaned over to whisper in her ear. “Nothing useful.”

He sat up and patted her shoulder. “One more night, Aisling, one more night of peace before we turn to more difficult things. Take your ease and let us see if Miach can demonstrate his raconteuring skills to our satisfaction.”

Miach rubbed his hands together, then flexed his fingers. “What will you have tonight. The Two Swords?”

Morgan groaned. “Not that one, not again. I don’t care how much I love you, there is simply too much romance in that tale for my tastes. Choose something else.”

“And preferably without a lad from Neroche in the lead role,” Rùnach said with a snort. “There is only so much of that a man of taste and accomplishment such as myself can be prevailed upon to endure.”

Aisling laughed a little before she could help herself. She jumped a little when the other three looked at her in surprise. “Sorry,” she said quickly. “I didn’t mean to give offense.”

Miach only smiled. “I don’t think we’ve heard you laugh before. If this is what it takes to draw it from you, I’m happy to paint Nerochian lads in their most unflattering lights all evening.”

“That won’t be hard,” Rùnach said with a snort. “Miach, choose something interesting.”

“Something with bloodshed,” Morgan said firmly.

Aisling found that Miach was looking at her expectantly.

“Well?” he asked. “Have you an opinion?”

She might have felt foolish at another time saying what was on the tip of her tongue, but she knew that Morgan at least wouldn’t think her so. She looked at Miach seriously.

“Something about elves.”

“Excellent choice,” Miach said, sounding pleased. “We’ll skip the lesser elves of Ainneamh and strike out for the most exclusive lot of them all, the inhabitants of Tòrr Dòrainn.”

Aisling glanced at Morgan, but she didn’t seem to be rolling her eyes or making noises of disbelief, so Aisling thought she might manage the same.

“Whilst there are many elves who have had many adventures,” Miach continued, “I believe we will begin with a young, strapping lad named Sìle. Of course he is not as young now, but in his youth he was a tremendous adventurer and more ready with a sword than you might suspect. Not to Weger’s standards, of course, but Gobhann did not exist when young Sìle was honing his skill in the lists, so we’ll just have to allow that he made do with what he had.”

“Adventures?” Rùnach asked, sounding as if he might be choking.

“You might be surprised, though how you could have missed them being such a lover of tales yourself, I don’t know,” Miach said. “Settle in, my friends, and prepare to be astonished.”

Aisling realized at one point during Sìle’s adventures that her eyes were growing slightly heavy. She shifted, felt Rùnach take her hand and pull her closer, then made use of his proffered shoulder. She was convinced she would fall immediately asleep.

But to her surprise, and though she closed her eyes, she made it through all of Miach’s stories. She supposed part of it was because Miach was, as promised, an excellent teller of tales. She felt as if she were standing next to Sìle as he plighted his troth with his beloved Brèagha after satisfying her father with deeds worthy of song. She delved beneath the earth and rock with the dwarves of Durial, wandered the halls of the schools of wizardry, sat at the table and watched a king of Meith risk everything in a single game of chance for the thing he wanted most.

The other thing that kept her awake, she supposed, was Rùnach idly stroking the back of her hand. And where nothing else had induced her to open her eyes, that did.

She looked down at her hand in his, then turned her hand over
so his was visible. She supposed she should have thought better of it, or considered the consequences of her actions, but perhaps she had been too long out from under the Guildmistress’s iron rule. She looked at his hand, then reached out and traced the scars there.