The Mage's Daughter (32 page)

He turned instead to something else that had puzzled him. Why had Gair named himself after a place that hadn't belonged to him, given that his father was from Ainneamh and his mother from Camanaë? Ceangail was not a place travelers nowadays went willingly, for 'twas rumored that there was evil in the forest…there…

Miach froze.

There was evil in Ceangail.

He sat there for several minutes, stunned by the direction his thoughts were taking him. Was it possible that Gair's well was still geysering, twenty years later? Was
that
what was washing away his spells?

He examined the possibility of that from all angles and decided upon one thing only.

He was an idiot.

A deep shudder went through him. How could he have been so stupid? He rubbed his hands over his face. He should have seen it before. If that evil was still gushing out of that well, it was possible it was trickling down through all the Nine Kingdoms. He had no idea why it had only begun to assault his spells in the fall, but there had to be an answer to that as well.

He turned back to the diary and continued on. Làidir had come home and relayed the tidings to the king. Sìle had turned away and refused to speak further of the entire affair.

Làidir continued on with the events of his own life, but Miach shut the book before he went any further. Those were details he didn't need.

He stared down at the book in lap. The most unsettling thing about what he'd read was seeing in such detail just how badly Sarait had failed. Surely she would have known the spell Gair had intended to use to open the damned well. Nay, something had gone horribly awry.

He drew his hand over his eyes, then set the book aside. It was enough for the day.

He looked around him to see if anyone else was left below and saw a woman sitting across the room from him. She was arrestingly beautiful, with dark hair curling down to her waist, dressed in a lovely, flowing white gown. She wore a crown, but it was slightly askew—

Miach realized with a start that it was Morgan.

He rose to his feet in astonishment, then crossed the room toward her. He went down on one knee in front of her and stared at her because he simply couldn't look away.

He felt a little winded. “Morgan?”

She shoved her crown back atop her head. “Who else?” she said crossly.

“I thought there for a minute that I was dreaming,” he said. “You look so…well, elvish.”

“I feel ridiculous.”

“You're absolutely stunning, despite how you might feel.” He brought her hand to his mouth. “I'm almost afraid to touch you.”

“I'm afraid to move.” She pulled him up to sit in the chair next to her. She laced her fingers with his. “This thing is completely impractical. I had to leave Mehar's knife under my pillow because I didn't have a decent place to stash it. I didn't dare put a spell on it,” she said unhappily. “I also learned this afternoon that Sìle wants me to begin lessons in Fadaire. I didn't dare tell him what you'd already taught me.” She paused. “I don't think that I should have anything to do with that magic right now, do you?”

“Learning the spells wouldn't harm anything,” he said, “but I think you shouldn't use them.” He reached out to wrap a lock of her curling hair around his finger. “You're very distracting in that gown.”

She blew a stray hair out of her eyes. “Am I less distracting in boots?”

He laughed softly. “Nay. I just didn't expect the pleasure of seeing you today. I'm overwhelmed. And your hands are cold—” He stopped suddenly. “You were in Sarait's bedchamber today, weren't you?”

She started to shiver. “It wasn't as disturbing as I thought it would be, but…”

“But?”

She took a deep breath. “I look like her.”

“Of course you do, my love,” he said quietly. He rose and pulled Morgan up with him. “That padded chair over there in front of the fire is large enough for two if we're friendly.”

“Will you hold my feet?”

He realized then that tears were rolling down her cheeks. “Of course, Morgan.”

She walked with him across the chamber, then waited whilst he sat down. She kicked off her shoes and curled up on his lap. He took her very cold feet in his hands and rubbed them until they weren't quite so chilly. Then he reached up and took off her crown to set it aside. He trailed his fingers through her hair and looked at her gravely.

“Would you like to tell me about it?” he ventured.

She took a deep breath, then nodded. “I saw paintings of Sarait's children.”

“And how was that?”

She met his gaze. “I knew them.”

“Did you?” he asked gently.

She nodded. “I can't deny what my eyes have seen, but I don't want to believe it.” She hesitated, then put her arms around his neck and buried her face in his hair. “I wish I were anywhere but here.”

Miach held her as she shook. He didn't think she was weeping, but he couldn't help but think that would have been better than what she was doing.

“You should have sent for me,” he said quietly.

She let out a shuddering breath. “Queen Brèagha offered to fetch you, but I thought you might be busy—”

“Morgan!”

A half sob escaped her, then she took a deep breath. She pulled back and pressed her sleeve-covered fists against her eyes for a moment. “I've spent my whole life alone. Now, it seems a strange thing to not be with you.” She took her hands away and looked at him. “Isn't that odd? I never expected that when I left Gobhann to come with you.”

“I'm so happy you did,” he said, taking her face in his hands and wiping her cheeks with his thumbs. “Thank you, my love. And the next time I'm too stupid to sense your distress, send for me.”

She managed a faint smile. “It was enough to know you were near, though I cannot deny it was difficult to face alone.” She looked at him seriously. “I will give you anything you ask if you'll fly away with me right now.”

He combed through her hair with his fingers for a few moments, then met her eyes. “Of course I will go with you,” he said. “If that is what you truly want.”

She looked at him for several moments in silence, then sighed and put her head on his shoulder. Miach put his arms around her and simply held her until her breathing evened out and deepened. He knew she didn't sleep because she was stroking the side of his hand she held.

He didn't press her for a decision. It was certainly one he couldn't make for her.

He heard the door behind them open, listened to Sosar and Leabhrach argue for a moment, then heard a tray be set down with a bang. Supper had arrived, apparently.

He looked up as Sosar came to a halt in front of them. Sosar had hardly opened his mouth to speak before there was a bellow from behind them.

“What in the
hell
is going on here?”

Sosar was already striding back across the library before Miach could ask him if he would mind seeing to the disturbance.

He didn't bother looking over his shoulder because he could easily hear Làidir and Sosar discuss quite vigorously the fact that Sosar was a liar and Mhorghain was consorting with someone who should have been thrown in the dungeon yesterday.

“Leave them be,” Sosar said loudly. “If you have half a thought in that empty head of yours, you'll turn around, make yourself present at table, and keep your mouth shut. And take this bloody, huffing keeper of the books with you. We would like a bit of peace.”

“You lied,” Làidir repeated incredulously. “You said Mhorghain was indisposed, yet here she is—with
him
! You
lied
.”

“Aye, I lied,” Sosar said unrepentantly. “I lied and I will again. Mhorghain is tired, heartsick, and in need of comfort. It isn't for you to say where she finds it.”

“But—”

“Go!”

Miach listened to Leabhrach and Làidir being shoved out of the room and the door being slammed behind them. He trailed his fingers idly through Morgan's hair and listened to Sosar curse as he apparently looked for a lock. He was soon weaving a spell of closing Miach suspected would take Sìle and Làidir both to undo.

Morgan sighed. She lifted her head and looked at him bleakly. He smiled and smoothed her hair back from her face.

“Stay or go?” he asked quietly.

She took a deep breath. “I do not run.”

“Nay, love, you don't.”

She closed her eyes briefly. “You have more to do here, don't you?”

“A bit, but I might find those answers elsewhere. Don't stay on my account.”

She looked at him, then nodded just the slightest bit. “I'll stay. But I want to remain with you tonight whilst you work.”

“I would welcome your company,” he said. “I'm sure Sosar's spell will win us peace. And if it doesn't, I have my sword.”

She hugged him briefly, then dragged her sleeve across her eyes and looked up as Sosar sat down across from them. “I don't suppose you brought supper, did you?”

“The finest the kitchens could produce. And, as you heard, I lied through my teeth so you could eat it here and not upstairs. Is there another lad to equal me anywhere?”

Morgan smiled faintly. “I suppose I'll reserve judgment until I've seen what you brought.”

Miach watched Sosar fetch a tray laden with food from across the room and set it on another table in front of the fire. He would have given Morgan her own chair, but she seemed content to share with him. He ate, made sure she did as well, then sat back and listened to Sosar relate impossibly unflattering tales of men, dwarves, and elves of Ainneamh who had come to woo the various eligible, elvish misses to be found within Tòrr Dòrainn's borders.

Miach supposed that Morgan might have even laughed at one point. For himself, he was simply happy to have her near. He would have to work eventually, but for the moment, he was content.

“I envy you.”

Miach realized that Sosar was speaking to him. “Do you? Why?”

Sosar looked at him evenly. “A beautiful woman who obviously loves you? I should be so fortunate. I don't suppose you have any sisters tucked away in Tor Neroche, do you?”

“You know I don't,” Miach said.

“I won't bother asking Mhorghain. It wouldn't do me any good if she had a sister. I suppose 'tis up to me to find myself a bride.”

“Why aren't you wed?” Morgan asked.

“I have a sour disposition.”

She smiled. “I daresay you don't. You should make a visit to Lismòr. Lord Nicholas is a decent matchmaker.”

Miach listened to Morgan and Sosar discuss whether or not Nicholas had any taste when it came to matters of the heart and smiled to himself. If Nicholas could have seen Morgan at the moment, he would have been very relieved. She had faced many, many difficult things and survived.

Well, perhaps that wasn't exactly true. She spoke to Sosar at length about several things, but she avoided discussing her place as a princess of Sìle's court, she hedged when Sosar asked about her magic, and she completely ignored any tentative references he made to Sarait.

Miach wasn't surprised.

She turned to him, at one point, smiled bleakly, then leaned close and kissed him.

Sosar cleared his throat. “Cards, anyone? Before you nauseate me overmuch with any more of that sort of affection?”

“Miach will lose,” Morgan said without hesitation. “He doesn't cheat well.”

“But I do,” Sosar said, pulling cards out of thin air and shuffling them expertly, “so perhaps you and I will have a game after all.”

Miach played only one hand, partly because he preferred to simply watch Morgan and partly because as much as he would have liked to ignore them, his thoughts nagged at him.

He needed to find that well and he would have to go see it without Morgan.

She wouldn't like that.

“Miach?”

He pulled himself back to himself. “Aye?”

“I think we're distracting you,” she said quietly. “I don't have to stay—”

“I want you to,” he said, putting his arms around her waist.

“I'll stay as well,” Sosar said. “It will irritate Làidir no end to know we're safely tucked inside here whilst he remains without, and you know I can't pass up an opportunity to do that.”

Miach smiled and closed his eyes. He felt Morgan kiss his cheek, then pull away to sit on the floor between his feet. He heard her talking with Sosar quietly, but soon lost himself in his work.

By the time he finished, Morgan had fallen asleep with her arms around his calf and her head on his knee. He looked at Sosar and found him watching them both with a smile.