Twenty
Sarah stood at the door of the king’s private solar and reminded herself that she’d been instructed to treat it as her own. Considering the fact that she was keeping company with a notorious spell-poacher, that was likely saying something.
She walked inside, and found that she was still breathing and hadn’t been overcome by a nefarious spell designed to keep her immobile long enough for the king to come collect her and deposit her wherever he took thieves. Down to his lists, no doubt, to relentlessly show them where they had room for improvement in their magic.
She had to sit down, even though she’d been sitting for the better part of three days. She’d been offered a variety of locales where she could take her ease whilst Ruith was about the heavy labor of being shown where he could make improvements in his own magic. She had passed a bit of her time in the library, reading obscure books that the king had personally selected for her, or pacing through the passageways, listening to the tales the stone had to tell her. She’d also sat on the edge of what served King Uachdaran as some sort of training field, though she wasn’t sure anyone would have marked it as such without aid.
If the great hall had been cavernous and the king’s throne room enormous, the lists eclipsed them by sheer size alone. Well, that and the fact that once a body entered through the stone doorway, the stone sealed behind him and left no indication of having been there.
She’d felt a little claustrophobic, truth be told.
But she’d decided that if Ruith could bear the work, she could bear the watching. She’d occupied a tidy little stone bench near that doorway that came and went capriciously, and never lacked for food or drink. She had watched Ruith train during the morning on that first day, if training it could be called, building his strength without complaint.
Actually, it hadn’t been done without complaint; it had been done with an attitude of thankfulness that she’d been sure hadn’t been lost on Uachdaran, though he’d not gone easier on Ruith because of it. He had tested Ruith in a thousand different ways, relentlessly, ruthlessly, far, far past the point where she would have begged for mercy. She had asked Ruith, when he’d been released to find water after countering ever-increasingly complex and weighty spells, why he was doing it. She had fully expected him to say it was so he could fight the mages out in the world who wanted his father’s spells.
She’d been rendered speechless by his answer.
“For you.”
He’d made her a low bow, then turned away to walk back out into the middle of the uneven stone floor.
She might have thought he was simply flattering her, or angling for another dance, but each time she’d had that thought creep into her head, she’d caught a look he’d sent her way, as if he’d known the precise moment she’d begun to disbelieve him.
For you.
It was almost enough to make her believe he was serious in his professions of, well, affection.
There had come a point, somewhere during the afternoon of that first day, when she had no longer been able to soldier on so well. King Uachdaran had dredged up from some unpleasant well in his mountain home an entirely new collection of very vile spells. They had made her ill to watch them. Even Ruith had paled a time or two. He had called for a halt, then walked over to her. He’d pulled her to her feet, opened the door, then pushed her through it wordlessly.
He’d shut it in her face.
One of Uachdaran’s granddaughters, Dreachail, had seemingly been waiting for just such an occurrence. She had introduced herself, then offered the comfort of her private chamber for the afternoon. Sarah had accepted the offer and the distraction gladly. Ruith had appeared for supper, looking very much worse for the wear, but apparently having had the energy to arrange for a pair of gowns to be fashioned for her. She’d worn the flaming red one in spite of what she thought it might do for—or to—her hair, because she’d learned he had chosen the color himself. She hadn’t protested the crown, nor had she argued with him when he’d announced, after two dances with Dreachail, that he was down to seven.
Never mind that he’d already danced with Dreachail the night before when she had been number nine.
She pushed herself to her feet and began to pace, because if she sat too long, she began to think about what Ruith might be doing below, and she didn’t want to see any vision of the depths to which he’d no doubt been forced to descend. She wandered about the solar with her hands clasped behind her back until she found herself standing in front of the king’s map table.
She wondered, as she studied it, if it was there for his own amusement or if he ever found it necessary to use it to plan battles. It was of the entire Nine Kingdoms, though the eastern part of the world seemed to have been given short shrift. She started in Doìre and retraced her steps to where she now found herself. It was surprising to realize how far she’d come and how much longer it took to ride a horse than to fly on a dragon.
Ruith would have agreed.
She noticed a collection of markers in two bowls, little carved stones for which she couldn’t see any especial significance save they were small enough to use for all sorts of representations. She held a pair of them in her hand for a moment or two, their chill rather soothing all things considered, then put the first one in Doìre, where she had first seen one of Gair’s spells.
The world shuddered.
She didn’t enjoy the feeling, but she had to admit she reacted to the otherworldly sensation better than she had in times past. She took her courage in hand, then considered the next place they’d seen a spell—or, rather, the imprint of one, in Lord Connail’s solar. It was with hardly any flinching at all that she marked the spot where they’d found a spell in that farmer’s barn. Marking the spot on the plains of Ailean was easily done as well.
But it was then that things began to take a turn she hadn’t expected.
She placed markers on other places where she’d seen spells in her dreams; that didn’t trouble her. What bothered her was realizing that she was seeing fires on the map in front of her without the buffer of a dream.
She covered those fires with the little stones, because she couldn’t bear to look at them and the stones seemed to extinguish the flames. That, and she was obsessed with apparently marking every damned place in the Nine Kingdoms where Gair’s spells resided.
Once she was finished, she set the rest of the carved stones down on the table and walked away.
And almost into someone poking his nose through the crack she’d left in the doorway where she hadn’t managed to shut the door.
It was Eachdraidh, that bard masquerading as a historian. He’d been watching her for three days now, both when she hadn’t been looking for him and when she had been. He seemed to be everywhere she was, peeping at her. She’d had enough.
She started toward him.
He squeaked and fled.
Thrilled beyond measure for something useful to do, she ran after him. He was speedy, she would give him that, but she had been either walking, running, or riding for the past two months and she was hardened to the labor. She caught him just as he was attempting to slip inside his door.
“Why do you keep following me?”
He tried to shut the door on her, but along with her newfound stamina, she had apparently gained a bit of strength as well. She shoved the door open, sending him stumbling back into his chamber. He scuttled behind a table piled with scrolls and pots of ink and piles of quills.
“Ah, nothing,” he said nervously.
She looked at him narrowly. “I don’t believe you.”
“’ Twas a mistake,” he said. “My eyesight isn’t what it was a millennia ago, but perhaps that is to be expected.”
He continued to spew out a lengthy bit of nonsensical excuses for his bad behavior, but she had long since stopped listening to him. She found a marginally sturdy chair, dusted it off, then sat down and looked at him expectantly.
His hands fluttered like nervous butterflies up and down the front of his tunic, finally coming to rest briefly on his cheeks before he seemed to gain some measure of control over himself. He took a deep breath, then put his hands down. They continued to twitch nervously, but perhaps that couldn’t be helped.
“How may I serve you?” he asked, only half sounding as if he were choking to death.
“You can tell me why you’ve been following me,” she said sternly. “It’s been three days now.”
“You noticed.”
“I’ve become accustomed to looking for things in the shadows.”
He looked as if the very thought might have induced a bout of terror he wouldn’t soon have recovered from. He sank down on a tall stool behind his table, wrapping his arms around himself. “I see.”
“And I’ve seen as well—you, following me. I want to know why.”
“I mistook you for someone else,” he said promptly. “My apologies.”
She had no reason not to take him at his word, but she had to admit it was a little unsettling to find a king’s bard following her. Then again, the entire journey had been unsettling so perhaps this was just another in a long series of things that would unbalance her.
Or perhaps he was lying through his teeth.
She decided that since she was so comfortable, perhaps she would take a few more minutes and determine which it was.
“You were prepared to favor the king with an heroic tale or two,” she said smoothly. “I am a very sympathetic listener, should you care to relate those tales just to me.”
He looked at her suspiciously for a moment or two. “In truth?”
“In truth,” she promised. “I am always interested in a good tale.”
Especially if those tales might lead to the odd bit of truth slipping out unnoticed. Perhaps during the course of the afternoon she might even manage to pry from him a detail or two about Soilléir’s kin. Finding someone to undo what he’d done to her eyes might be very useful.
Eachdraidh eyed her suspiciously for another moment or two, then sidled around his table and took up a chair a goodly distance away from her.
“I’m not sure you’ll find them interesting,” he said slowly.
“I don’t know many dwarvish tales,” she said, which was mostly true. Franciscus had only told her a handful, and she hadn’t paid the attention to them she likely should have, having been more interested in torturing herself with tales of elves. “I would hear yours quite happily.”
That seemed to put him at ease. He settled a bit more comfortably into his chair, looking quite a bit like a hen settling onto her roost, then he began spinning a tale that featured several dwarves in the thick of heroic deeds. She nodded in what she hoped were the right places, made the appropriate noises of shock, horror, and appreciation, then waited a bit longer whilst he was about the happy labor of providing refreshments for them. She accepted a small square of cake, a cup of tea, and the invitation to direct him to other things she might be interested in.
“What do you know of Cothromaiche?” she asked.
He spewed out a mouthful of cake all over his finely embroidered robe. He looked at her, a few crumbs clinging to his chin.
“What?” he asked, his eyes darting about nervously as if he looked for an escape.
“Cothromaiche,” she said. “The country, if that’s what one calls it. I met someone from there recently, but I couldn’t seem to pry anything interesting out of him besides a book of poetry and a lexicon.”
Eachdraidh’s ears perked up. “A lexicon?”
“It isn’t mine, or I would give you a peep at it. I might anyway, if the inducement is sufficient.”
He looked horribly torn, over what she couldn’t imagine. She waited, then waited awhile longer as he struggled to apparently overcome his aversion to telling her what she wanted to know. He leaned closer.
“What do you want to know?” he whispered.
“Everything.”
He looked as if she’d just handed him a bag of gold—or manuscripts, rather. Before she could catch her breath, or finish her tea, he had launched into a recounting of things she couldn’t keep pace with. Perhaps he was a good historian for Uachdaran, but as a raconteur of tales he hadn’t planned in advance, he was like a mouse darting across a kitchen full of hungry cats. She had scarce attempted to determine who one set of players might have been before he was off recounting the exploits of another. There seemed to be a great many wars and more bloodshed than a single, small country merited, but a good deal of that seemed to stem from their neighbors to the southwest.
Sarah would have asked for a map, but she didn’t have time before Eachdraidh leapt to his feet, sending his tea and a cake that hadn’t made it into his mouth crashing to the floor.
She looked behind her to find Ruith leaning against the doorframe, watching her solemnly. She lost her breath—an alarmingly regular occurrence where he was concerned—then managed to find enough of it left to speak.
“What are you doing here?” she managed.
“Shadowing you.”
“I thought you were training.”
“I finished.”
He looked impossibly tired, but he was still standing, so perhaps it had all been a success.
She gestured helplessly toward the historian. “He kept following me. I followed him instead to find out why.”
“Did he answer you?”
“Not yet.”
Ruith pushed away from the doorframe and walked—slightly unsteadily, truth be told—across the chamber to lean against the edge of Eachdraidh’s table. He looked down at the historian.
“Well?” he asked politely. “Why were you following her?”
Eachdraidh’s hands recaptured their former inability to remain still. “I, er, I ... ah ... I thought your lady reminded me of someone, but I was mistaken.”
“It is easy to be dazzled by her beauty.”
Eachdraidh sank back down onto his chair and nodded enthusiastically.
Ruith glanced at what was behind him on the table. “Working on something in particular?”
Eachdraidh leapt to his feet and hurried around his table to show Ruith just what that had been. Sarah couldn’t bear to listen to any of it. She realized at that moment that she had simply listened to too many tales—told by mortals or stone, as the case was—to be interested in yet another. She busied herself cleaning up the tea things and tidying up Eachdraidh’s floor. She put everything to rights, then looked for something else useful to do. She would have stacked books, but that seemed a bit too invasive, so she settled for sitting in front of the fire. She put her fingers over her eyes to stave off the headache she could feel coming on.
Too many tales of bloodshed and woe, no doubt.
Surely only a moment or two passed before she felt Ruith’s hand on her head.
“Let’s be off,” he said quietly.
She looked up at him in surprise. “Are you finished already?”
“I think you are,” he said wryly, “and actually I only came to fetch you.” He held down his hand, then pulled her to her feet. “Thank you, Master Eachdraidh, for the pleasant conversation.”
Eachdraidh was profuse in his returning niceties, but fortunately Ruith had apparently dealt with that sort of thing before because he politely extricated them from the stuffy chamber without delay. Sarah didn’t feel her headache ease any, but her brow definitely unfurrowed.
“He is well suited to his life’s work,” Ruith remarked as they walked down the passageway.
“He was full of all manner of tales, none of which answered the question of why he kept spying on me.”
“Your beauty overwhelmed his good sense.”
“And too much time in the lists has overwhelmed yours.”
Ruith laughed. “I am in full possession of my good sense and all my wits. What did he bludgeon you with first? Anything useful?”
She walked with him down the passageway, rather more happy than she should have been to find his arm suddenly around her shoulders. She leaned on him a little, which she likely shouldn’t have given that he was the one who had been wrung out for the past three days, but she couldn’t help herself.
“I encouraged him to talk by asking him for the tales he’d intended to give the king that first night. After that, I attempted to learn details about Cothromaiche since I seem to have been given the task of translating the runes on my own knives.”
“The runes that match my sword.”
There was no point in denying it. “Aye. I thought that perhaps he could enlighten me.”
“And did he?”
“Unfortunately not. He blurted out some ridiculous tale about a renegade dreamweaver—whatever that is—and an equally dreamy lad from Cothromaiche who wed her.”
“It sounds like a love match.”
“I think it was, but it didn’t end well for them. Apparently, one of their neighbors was convinced they had a mighty power between them and wanted it. When they wouldn’t do as he bid, he slew them.”
“Tragic,” Ruith murmured.
“And not at all what I was looking for,” Sarah said grimly. “It isn’t as if I can travel to meet this pair and have answers from them that Soilléir won’t give me, is it? I am left to myself to learn what I can from the books Soilléir gave me.”
“I could attempt to intimidate Eachdraidh for you tomorrow, if you like.”
“I’m not sure you’ll have any more success than I did, but you’re welcome to try.” She looked up at him. “Are you finished with your training in truth?”
“I could spend a year here and not be finished,” he said with a sigh, “but Uachdaran was afraid any more of his tender ministrations might kill me.”
She smiled. “You’re not serious.”
Ruith smiled in return. “Those were his words, and he was certainly serious. For myself, I’ll say that ... well, I’ll say that it was time well, if not pleasantly, spent.”
“I’m not sure I want to know what you’ve been fighting the last three days.”
“You don’t,” he agreed, “which is why I wouldn’t let you back through the door after I pushed you out of it.” He shivered, no doubt in spite of himself. “I do not want to know where he’s learned what he’s learned and if I meet one of those spells again, it will be too soon. But,” he said brightly, “’tis done and I’m the stronger for it. The king has called us to his solar for a parley and then I believe we’ll have the opportunity for more dancing tonight.”
“If you can stay awake for it.”
“I wasn’t asleep last night. I was resting my eyes.”
“I saved you from planting your face in your soup, Your Highness.”
“A feat for which I am most grateful, my lady,” he said politely. “Even if I’ll bear the bruise from your elbow in my ribs for some time to come.”
She laughed a little, then felt her smile fade abruptly. “I’m not sure the king will be pleased with me.”
“And what terrible thing have you done?” he asked gently.
“I fear I made free with the king’s map.”
“I know. That’s why I came to fetch you. Well, other than I missed you.”
She looked up at him quickly. “Is he angry?”
“Curious,” Ruith said. He slid her a look. “You’ve marked the locations of the pages, haven’t you?”
She could only nod.
“Have you been dreaming them?”
“I don’t have to any longer.”
He closed his eyes briefly, then stopped and pulled her into his arms. “Ah, Sarah,” he said, his voice full of pity. “I’m so sorry, my love.”
“’Tis a gift, or so says Soilléir.”
“He would say as much, being who he is.” He held her close for several minutes in silence. “I’m sorry I haven’t attended you as I should have recently.”
“I don’t need a keeper, Ruith.”
“A betrothed, then?”
“Not when he might be a man who has eight princesses left to seek out,” she said, pulling away from him and feeling profoundly flustered.
“Seven.”
“Oh, very well, seven, then,” she said, grumbling because it was easier than facing the fact that he seemed to be quite serious about his offer. She took him by the hand and pulled. “Let’s go.”
He didn’t argue. He also didn’t let go of her hand as he opened the door to the king’s solar and led her inside. Sarah found Uachdaran standing at his map table, studying it. He looked up and smiled when he saw her.
“Sarah, gel,” he said. “I trust you’ve passed your time pleasantly today.”
“Forgive me,” Sarah said, gesturing toward the table. “I was restless. I should have asked leave to trim your map before I took the liberty.”
“Of course you shouldn’t have, as I gave you leave earlier to be free with my things. The map was simply sitting here, waiting for some fierce strategy to be planned upon its surface.” He shot her a quick smile. “In case you’re wondering why I have this here, I believe ’tis always best to be prepared when you have a world’s ransom in gems hiding in your cellar. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Absolutely,” she said faintly.
“I’m curious, though, what sort of battle you have planned here,” he said slowly. “You seem to have chosen two kinds of stones, which I’m assuming represent two different things? I hesitate to ask the details of you, but I think it might be of some use to your lad there.”
Sarah looked at Ruith, who only watched solemnly. She knew he wouldn’t push her, but then again, he didn’t have to. She was under no illusions about the critical nature of their task that lay before them. She took a deep breath and looked at the king.
“They’re Gair’s spells,” she said. “The black stones represent the spells we’ve either found or I’ve dreamed.” She had to pause for a bit before she thought she could finish. “The others are ones I’ve seen whilst ... whilst not dreaming.”
Uachdaran motioned to her left, and Ruith fetched the stool that waited there and brought it to her. She sat, because she suddenly felt very close to being ill. It was ridiculous, actually, because she had been all alone in the solar with the map and the stones and hadn’t suffered any ill effects before.
She realized Uachdaran and Ruith were speaking in low voices but didn’t understand at first what they were saying. There was an annoying buzzing in her ears, which she realized was her headache ascending into new and hitherto unexplored heights of pain.
“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” Uachdaran was saying.
Sarah squinted to see Ruith’s face. He was absolutely grey.
“Aye,” he said. “A pattern.”
Uachdaran stroked his chin thoughtfully. “The first thing to decide,” he said slowly, “is whether the pattern comes from the spells themselves, or if someone has placed them purposely in that particular order. Or is someone merely using them to lead an inquisitive mage on a merry chase?” He looked up at Ruith. “What do you think, lad?”
“I don’t know,” Ruith said hoarsely.
Uachdaran lifted his eyebrows briefly. “I suppose if a mage wanted to gather a certain collection of spells, he could hope enough foolish wizardlings would happen upon and become enspelled by them, then march off with them to a predetermined place without knowing why they’d done so.”
Ruith didn’t answer. Sarah couldn’t blame him for that. Some of his color had returned, but not enough to leave him looking anything but shocked. She understood. She’d wondered, as they’d hunted the spells, why it was her brother had looked so, well, mesmerized in his bedchamber that day he’d destroyed their mother’s house.
“I think that part’s true,” she said, realizing then that she hadn’t said anything to Ruith about it. She shrugged helplessly when he looked at her in surprise. “After I touched that spell on his table, Daniel appeared in his doorway. I hadn’t been expecting him or I wouldn’t have dared enter his chamber. He was very angry with me, but once he saw the spell, he completely forgot about me. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but now I would definitely say he had been ...” She paused. “Well, enspelled is as good a word as any. “
“And afterward?” Uachdaran asked.
“He wanted more spells, as Ruith will attest, but I wouldn’t say that was anything more than his own greed driving him.” She paused. “I could be wrong.”
Ruith shook his head. “I think either answer is perfectly reasonable, which doesn’t aid us in determining the truth of it.” He looked at the king. “Why would anyone want to lure a mage—any mage—to a predetermined spot? And who would attempt it?”
“The only reason I can think of,” Uachdaran said slowly, “is that someone who wants these spells very badly has no other way to gather them to himself.” He paused and looked at Ruith. “Perhaps he can’t see them himself. In that case, it would certainly be useful to know someone who could see them.”
Sarah felt the chamber begin to spin. It spun even more violently when Ruith picked her up, carried her over to a chair in front of the fire and sat down with her in his arms. She heard, through the thunder rushing behind her ears, the dwarf king settle into a chair across from them.
“Someone wants my father’s spells very badly, then,” Ruith said.
“I agree,” Uachdaran said. “Unfortunately, even knowing that much doesn’t solve the riddle of why someone would tear a piece from a very valuable spell and leave it behind. It wasn’t unintentionally done, I can almost guarantee it.” He paused for a rather lengthy bit of time. “Unless the mage knew, again, that there was someone in the world who could see them and would find them.”
“Then perhaps the spells themselves aren’t the pattern,” Ruith said, unwillingly. “Perhaps the pieces of the spell of Diminishing are.”
“Possibly,” Uachdaran agreed. “I suppose you’ll only know that when you find other fragments of it, I daresay. Of course, I could be wrong. It could simply be someone with a rather offensive sense of humor who has the time and means to see if anyone will bite at such bait.”
Ruith grunted. “It sounds like something my father would do.”
“It does, my boy.”
Sarah felt silence descend, a silence that was only broken by the rushing in her ears and the beat of Ruith’s heart in his throat where she rested her forehead.
“He’s dead,” Ruith said quietly.
“I don’t doubt it, son.”
Ruith took an unsteady breath. “I’ll think on other possibilities.”
“I believe I would if I were you. I am not much out in the world, and I don’t know as many mages as I should, but I would think that the lad we’re looking for will be a mage who wants your sire’s spells the most. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Ruith shifted. “Your Majesty, I didn’t think anything could possibly be worse than those unrelentingly, torturous hours in your lists, but I was wrong. Even giving thought to this makes that work pale in comparison.”
“But you’ll find the answer.”
“I will.”
Uachdaran rose. “I’ll leave you to rest for a bit, children. Don’t be late for supper. I think we’ll spend another day together, thinking on your route, but no longer.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty, for your hospitality,” Ruith said sincerely.
“Oh, don’t think I’m throwing you out the front gates,” Uachdaran said with a brief laugh. “I’d keep you both a bit longer and not regret it—and will in the future if you’re ever wandering close to my hall. I think, however, that time grows short to solve this tangle, and you may not be the only ones who stumble upon these spells. Best to find them sooner rather than later, eh?”
Sarah listened to Ruith agree that that would be best, heard the door soon shut, then remained with her head on Ruith’s shoulder for far longer than she likely should have.
“Who wants those spells?” she murmured finally, when she could chew on the question no longer.
“Only those who know about them,” he said with a deep sigh. “Franciscus—”
She lifted her head so quickly, she had to put her hand to it to keep from being ill. “Ruith, you can’t be serious.”
“I’m not accusing him,” he said wearily. “Just making a list.”
She let out her breath slowly. “Very well. List away.”
“Franciscus,” he said slowly and seemingly unwillingly. “Your brother. All my bastard brothers, as well as Rùnach, Soilléir, Miach of Neroche, and Uachdaran.”
She closed her eyes, because she couldn’t look at the names hanging in the air in front of them.
“Droch,” he continued grimly, “and his brother Urchaid, half a dozen kings on the Council I haven’t even considered, and last of all, me.”
“And what would you do if you had the spells, Ruith?” she asked quietly.
“Destroy them,” he said without hesitation. “Wrap them in illusion and rot and impotence, then drop them into a bottomless well before capping the thing, then burying it under a score of things that would take millennia to even begin to unravel.”
“A simple fire wouldn’t do?”
He smiled, apparently in spite of himself. “Nay, love. A simple fire wouldn’t do.”
She put her head back down on his shoulder. It was appalling how accustomed to it she had become over the past three days and how just the thought of his going off with some other perfectly pressed and mannered princess vexed her.
“Seven left,” he murmured, dragging his fingers through her hair. “And may they all descend at once.”
She smiled. “I loved the red gown, if you were wondering.”
“I wasn’t sure about the color,” he admitted, “but you were glorious in it.”
“You have excellent taste.”
“You’re proof enough of it,” he said, a smile in his voice. “What say you to a quarter-hour nap, then a final push to supper? I think if we last through it, we might both be weary enough to sleep.”
She had to agree. She closed her eyes and tried to let the sound of the steady beat of Ruith’s heart soothe her. In time, she could have sworn she heard the trees from the garden of Gearrannan begin to whisper their names across her mind.
Sarah ... Sorcha ... Athair ...
She frowned, for the last two names sounded uncommonly familiar, but she couldn’t bring to mind why. Perhaps on the morrow, when her head had ceased to pound.
She closed her eyes again and fell asleep to the feeling of a remarkably persistent man carefully combing his fingers through her hair.