Eleven
The spell slammed into Ruith so hard, he lost his breath. He staggered, then caught himself. He pulled Sarah behind him out of sheer instinct alone, then turned to face his foe.
Droch of Saothair.
He heard his grandfather’s gate click shut behind him and the spell drop to the ground so quickly, it sounded as if half the hill had come down with it. At the same time, he realized that something else had fallen over him, a spell of protection that fortunately gave him enough time to gather his wits about him. That was Soilléir’s doing, he knew immediately. He would have to thank the man, if he managed to overcome the first test of his resolve, a test he hadn’t thought would come so quickly.
Droch smiled, then hurled a spell of Taking at him that flew through the air with the swiftness of a bolt thrown from a crossbow. Ruith used his own spell of protection—augmented as it was by Soilléir’s—without thinking. Just as Keir had trained him to do, testing him a score of times a day, every day, for as much of his youth as he could remember.
Thankfully, it held.
Droch swore at him.
Ruith clucked his tongue. “Still haven’t ironed all the wrinkles out of that one, have you?”
He felt Sarah’s hands tangled in his cloak clutch him all the more tightly. He supposed she would have called him an idiot, if she’d had the breath for it. He would have agreed, if he’d had the breath for it. He’d come to terms with fully claiming his birthright from both his parents, but that didn’t make his power any less heavy or unwieldy. Having it come lightly to his hand would take time, time he didn’t have at the moment so he would simply make do.
He put one hand behind him and around Sarah on the off chance that she might lose all sense and decide to bolt. He didn’t suppose she would, though. Soilléir’s spell was actually quite a lovely thing from what he could see, steel covered by illusion and underpinned by an imperviousness that Ruith suspected not even all the masters of Buidseachd together could have breached. Thankfully.
He looked at Droch again, listened to him spit out a spell of death, then watched as it was absorbed by Soilléir’s spell, gathered together, then flung back toward Droch with a speed so furious Ruith blinked in surprise. It reminded him sharply of what had befallen Amitán, with his spell of death repulsed by the Olcian spell of protection Ruith had been covered with. But why would anything of Soilléir’s resemble anything made by someone who, from all indications, had been a master of Olc?
Yet another question to ask Soilléir when he had the time. At the moment, though, he was rather less at his leisure than he would have preferred to be.
Droch, however, was not a master of his craft because he was a fool, nor because he would ever be caught unawares. He sent his own spell that returned with a bit more added to it into the ether with a disgusted flick of his wrist. He looked at Ruith calculatingly.
“I demand a duel,” he said. “With spells.”
“Dueling is forbidden,” Ruith said promptly, “which you well know, my lord.”
Droch looked down his nose at him. “The youngest son of Gair of Ceangail, unwilling to fight when called upon? Your father would be embarrassed by you.”
Ruith only shrugged. “He’s too dead to have an opinion on the matter. Not that your opinion would have mattered to him, of course.”
Droch’s face grew very red. “Even the archmage of Neroche wasn’t above defending his honor. Does that not gall you, Ruithneadh? That Mochriadhemiach would venture where you dare not?”
“He has more courage than I have,” Ruith said with another shrug, refusing to be baited.
“He certainly has more power.” Droch studied him for a moment or two. “Or perhaps ’tis that he has a more worthy companion to want to protect.”
Ruith gritted his teeth and reached for his nonexistent sword only to be greeted with laughter.
“Surely you jest,” Droch mocked. “Steel against my spells? I believe, my boy, that you have been out of decent society for too long. I wouldn’t waste the effort to conjure up such a pedestrian weapon, much less trouble myself to use it.” He smiled unpleasantly. “Perhaps your sister is fortunate you aren’t the one protecting her, though I will admit I was a bit surprised by her choice of guardsmen.”
Ruith managed to keep his composure only through sheer will alone. “My sister?”
Droch’s look of triumph was hard to watch. “Ah, something you don’t know,” he said, coming very close to purring. “Obviously you haven’t been hiding with her all these years.”
Ruith chose not to answer, but the truth was, he could hardly maintain a neutral expression.
Mhorghain?
Droch’s eyes narrowed. “And just so you know, I’m not finished with you. Perhaps we’ll meet again when I have your little coquette there in my garden again where you can watch her finally take up one of the lesser spots amongst my chess pieces.”
Ruith forced himself to concentrate as Droch turned on his heel and walked off, his boots clicking against the cobblestones.
Mhorghain? Alive?
“Ruith?”
He looked at Sarah standing next to him, watching him with frank concern on her face.
“Nothing,” he said immediately. “’Tis nothing.” He took her hand. “Let’s go back to the keep.”
“Eleven.”
He stopped and looked at her. “What?”
“You just increased your number of princesses to eleven. Do you care to make it twelve?”
He retrieved his jaw from where it had fallen, then realized what she meant and why. He stopped, turned her to him, and pulled her into his arms. He let out a breath that was rather less steady than he would have liked. “I’m too accustomed to keeping things to myself.”
“I know.”
He pulled back far enough to smile down at her. “Are you telling me I was taciturn on our journey here?”
“That’s one way to describe it.” She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “You needn’t tell me anything, of course—”
“Of course I will,” he said without hesitation. “If you want the entire truth, it galls me to have Soilléir’s spell protecting us. I fear I wasted a score of years hiding in the mountains when I should have been honing my spells so I might face what I must—”
“Ruith, we’re still breathing,” she interrupted. “And you are responsible for that.”
He suppressed the urge to shift uncomfortably. “Aye, well, perhaps, though Soilléir—”
“Gave you time to catch your breath,” she said seriously. “The rest was your doing. And now that I’ve made you blush, you may tell me the rest.”
He laughed uncomfortably. “You are a heartless wench, though I thank you for the time to catch my breath at present.” He helped himself to another. “What has startled me the most is that the master of Olc just hinted my sister might be alive, and I’m wondering if Soilléir knows.”
“You can’t kill him if he does,” she said seriously. “He saved my life.”
“Aye, yet another reason to be annoyed with him. And myself.”
She looked at him gravely. “You cannot call back the river that has already flowed past you, Ruith. All you can do is be grateful for where you are in it.”
He dragged a hand through his hair. “I feel as if I’m dreaming.”
“I understand.”
“I imagine you do.” He put his arm around her shoulders. “Very well, we’ll return to the keep—alive, thanks to Master Soilléir—then you’ll keep me from killing him until after I’ve put a few pointed questions to him.”
“Is it your younger sister, do you think?” she asked quietly.
He looked at her in surprise, then shook his head. “I haven’t even told you their names, have I?”
“You’re a private man, Ruith.”
“And a fortunate one that I have you now to trust with my innermost thoughts.”
She smiled a little. “Comrades in arms, and all that, no doubt.”
If she wanted to believe that, she was welcome to it. He supposed it might be for the best, given the task that lay before him and the inescapable fact that in order not to kill them both, he would have to concentrate on something besides her very fair face, her glorious hair, and the fact that even though he could feel her trembling, she was doing her damndest to carry on in spite of it.
Besotted?
Nay, he was lost.
“Names, my friend,” she prodded.
He continued on with her up the way to the keep, without haste only to give himself time to calm his fury so he didn’t flatten Soilléir the moment he saw him. First Soilléir, then Rùnach, then perhaps Soilléir for another dose of his anger. Rùnach might not have known Mhorghain was alive, but Soilléir most certainly should have—and likely did.
“Keir was the eldest,” he said, before he wound himself up again. “He was followed by Rùnach, whom you know.” He frowned. “I think his hands must have become caught in the well when my mother tried to shut it.”
“They did,” Sarah said. She looked up at him quickly. “The marks from the stone are still buried in his flesh. And in his cheek.”
Ruith felt a little faint. “Bloody hell, Sarah, what don’t you see?”
“Many things, most notably the path laid before me,” she said faintly, “but I don’t want to think about that. Let’s talk about things that make you uncomfortable.”
“Are you saying I’m the only one in this companionship who must bare his soul?” he asked lightly.
“Consider it penance for your very bad behavior on our journey from Shettlestoune.”
“Your turn will come, Sarah,” he warned. “There will come a time when you’ll need to face what you don’t want to now.”
“Spoken like the recently enlightened,” she said darkly.
He laughed in spite of himself. “Aye, I daresay. Very well, I give you at least a pair of months to growl at me every time I bring up what you can do, as repayment for all the growling I did on the way here.”
“Fair enough,” she said, “and you’ve used up your allotment of diversions for the day. After Rùnach, who came next?”
He continued up the way with her, looking at the castle as it rose up before them, unrelentingly grey and massive. He supposed no one would have faulted him for keeping a sharp eye out for Droch, though he imagined the man had retreated to his solar to vent his anger on whatever fool had agreed to be his servant at present. “Can you not read the names written on my soul?”
She stumbled. “Don’t ask me to do that.”
He squeezed her shoulders briefly. “Forgive me.” He could only imagine the discomfort she’d suffered in Droch’s garden and how her sight troubled her presently. Vexing her over it was something he never would have tolerated had it been directed at him. He supposed he was fortunate she was of a much better temperament than he possessed. Perhaps he would ask Soilléir about it when Sarah looked less likely to do damage to anyone who brought it up.
He took a deep breath. “After Rùnach, came Brogach, Gille, and Eglach. All dead, I’m certain, for I saw them fall.” He attempted a shrug, but failed. It was impossible to speak with any degree of carelessness about what had come next on that fateful morning. “I was to keep hold of my sister, Mhorghain, after my mother sent us to hide in the trees. But when I saw my mother fighting my father, unsuccessfully ...” He let out his breath carefully. “I let go.”
“I don’t think they would blame you for it, Ruith,” Sarah said quietly. “Either of them.”
He could only nod, because speaking of it was beyond him.
She walked quietly with him until they were almost to the gates. “Do you think she’s alive?”
“Droch would lie as soon as he would breathe, but I’m not sure he would see any benefit in lying here.” He shrugged. “We’ll ask Soilléir and see, I suppose.”
The gate guards recognized them, thankfully, and only waved them through the barbican. Ruith continued on into the courtyard with Sarah, then found himself suddenly in the middle of a circle of swords pointed at his chest. Alarm bells were ringing wildly in the distance. He cursed succinctly, then looked at Sarah.
“I’m distracted.”
“And no longer anonymous, apparently,” she said, wide-eyed.
He wanted to say that it could have been her setting off alarms with her seeing—indeed, he wondered if that might have been that single, delicate bell they’d heard their previous trip through the front gates—but he thought silence might be the wisest course of action at present. He attempted to use what was left of his poor brain to invent a reasonable-sounding tale, but came away empty-handed. All he managed to do was watch as black-robed bodies came flying out of doors and across the courtyard, Ceannard in the lead.
The headmaster came to a skidding halt, then his mouth fell open, and he looked at Ruith in astonishment.
“Prince Ruithneadh,” he managed. “Yet another lovely familial surprise.”
Ruith suppressed the urge to scowl at the words. Aye, Soilléir had several things to confess. He exchanged pleasantries with Ceannard, but kept his eyes open for Soilléir, who had apparently decided the comfort of his solar was preferable to braving the brisk winter breezes—and irritated houseguests, no doubt—outside. Damn him anyway.
“What an honor,” Ceannard said breathlessly. “And to have seen your grandfather not a fortnight past! We are delighted to welcome you, of course.”
Ruith was happy to note Ceannard was too flustered to ask him how he’d managed to get himself and Sarah inside the gates without announcing themselves properly. He kept his mouth shut and simply listened to the headmaster continue on breathlessly.
“I’ll see a chamber prepared for you befitting your exalted and quite royal station. And, of course, one for your guest, who is ...” he trailed off, looking at Sarah expectantly.
“Worthy of your finest accommodations,” Ruith said without hesitation, “but we won’t be trespassing on your graciously offered hospitality.”
Ceannard’s expression was one of alarm. “But surely you don’t intend to stay in an inn,” he protested.
“I’ve business with Master Soilléir,” Ruith reassured him. “I imagine he’ll find a scrap of floor for us tonight.”
“I cannot argue with that,” Ceannard said, sounding as if he very much wished he could have. “You must at least allow us to provide a luncheon for you and your, er, guest. The honor would be ours, of course.”
Ruith would have extricated himself from that delight without the slightest hesitation if he could have, but he wasn’t at his best, so he conceded the battle with as much graciousness as he could muster, then accepted an escort fit for a king to Soilléir’s chamber. He gave Ceannard assurances of his presence—and Sarah’s in spite of how hard she elbowed him in the ribs—at a meal befitting his exalted station a pair of hours hence, then escaped into Soilléir’s chamber happily and looked at Rùnach who shut the door behind him.
“What a collection of imbeciles.”
Rùnach laughed. “Grandfather would agree, of course.”
Ruith reached for Sarah’s hand only to find her with both hers firmly clasped behind her back. He frowned at her. “What is it?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“What—oh, that.” He shrugged. “’Tis simply a meal.”
“Which you’ll enjoy on your own, Your Highness,” she said briskly. “I have other things to do.”
He was tempted to fight her, but he had the feeling he would be wise not to. That she had come back inside the keep was a large concession on her part. Being willing to continue on a quest he was certain terrified her to the core was something that would leave him in her debt for quite some time to come.
Besides, the necessity of being polite would be a misery. She would be miserable surrounded by curious eyes, and since one of those pairs of eyes would likely be Droch’s, there were at least three good reasons for her to remain safely out of sight.
He folded his arms over his chest. “If I leave you behind, I want you to remain inside the chamber where you’ll be protected by Soilléir’s spells.”
“Gladly,” she muttered.
“And,” he said, because apparently he just couldn’t keep his mouth shut, “the next time we’re summoned to a torturous function such as what I’m about to be subjected to, you will come along.”
She glared at him. “Twelve.”
“Ten,” he said firmly. “And you may have three.”
She blinked. “Three whats?”
“Three instances where you beg off from a formal meal. You’ve just used one.”
Her mouth fell open, but she shut it soon enough. “I need to weave. And I want ten as well.”
“Three.”
She glared at him. “Are we to spend the entire morning haggling?”
“Nay, I agreed to ten, you’ll agree to three. Which is now two.”
Rùnach laughed, a hoarse sound that was nonetheless full of good humor, and walked away. Ruith folded his arms and looked down at Sarah. “Well?”
“I’m humoring you,” she warned.
“Done.” He found her hand, took it in his own, then pulled her across the solar to find Soilléir sitting in front of his fire, looking perfectly at peace.
Ruith found Sarah a chair, saw her seated with a cup of wine at her elbow, then sat down and fixed Soilléir with a pointed look.
“Droch said Miach was here recently.”
“Had a little chat over tea, did you?” Soilléir asked mildly.
“Don’t make me do damage to you, my lord,” Ruith warned.
Soilléir smiled. “Perish the thought. And aye, Miach was here recently.”
“With Mhorghain.”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Soilléir said with a discreet yawn. “But I see you’ve made a few changes in yourself since last we spoke.”
“Thank you for the spell this morning,” Ruith said shortly, “and aye, I have stopped being a fool and embraced what I am, so thank you for that as well, and what is this about my sister!”
He realized he was very close to shouting, but perhaps he could be forgiven for it considering the circumstances.
Soilléir looked at Sarah. “How are you, my dear?”
“Unable to protect you against him,” Sarah said, a smile in her voice. “He’s had a long winter so far, my lord, and I’m not sure he slept well last night, so perhaps you shouldn’t torment him anymore.”
“Wise,” Ruith added shortly. “So I beg you, my lord Soilléir, please do me the favor of telling me what you obviously knew and couldn’t see your way clear to telling me before.”
“You wouldn’t have enjoyed the tidings before,” Soilléir said with a shrug, then held up his hand quickly. “Nay, do not growl at me, Ruithneadh. I’ll tell you the details that are mine to give. Your sister is indeed alive and well. She’s with Sìle and Sosar.”
Ruith could hardly believe it, but Soilléir never lied, and his own ears worked perfectly well. “Is she at Seanagarra, then?”
“I didn’t say that,” Soilléir said, “and you won’t care for some of what I am about to say, so hand your knives to your lady—”
“Comrade in arms,” Sarah corrected without hesitation.
Soilléir smiled at her. “Take his blades away from him, Sarah, before he loses control during the tale and uses me for a handy place to stow them.”
Ruith handed Sarah his knives only because he thought it might purchase him a bit more time to control his rampaging and quite useless emotions. If he’d had any idea his magic would have wrought such a foul work on his good sense, he would have left it where it was. He tried to refill Sarah’s cup that needed no refilling, cursed silently as his hands shook, then looked at her in consternation when she took the bottle away from him. He sat back and wished for something to carve at with a knife.
Sarah’s hand appeared in his line of sight. He looked at her quickly only to find her watching him gravely.
“A friendly gesture,” she said. “Nothing more.”
“Are you reading my thoughts as well, lady?” he managed.
“Your face, Your Highness,” she said quietly.
It said much about how unsettled he was that he couldn’t muster up the energy to chide her for her choice of address. He simply took her hand in both his own, gratefully, then turned to Soilléir.
“Very well. Now that Sarah’s unbent enough to keep me from throwing myself into your fire in a fit of pique, tell me everything.”
Soilléir sighed. “If you must know—and I’m not certain these are tidings you should have, I want it noted—Mhorghain has embarked on a quest to shut your father’s well.”
Ruith was on his feet without knowing exactly how he’d gotten there. He glared down at Soilléir. “She most certainly—”
“Is,” Soilléir finished for him. “And there’s nothing you can do to stop her, so you may as well sit down and spare my floor your stomping. Sìle isn’t happy about it, but you’ve seen the monsters the evil is producing. They’re created by a spell of Lothar’s, or so I understand.”
“And they’re hunting those with Camanaë,” Rùnach said, from his accustomed position against the wall. “And Father’s get, more particularly.”
Ruith shot his brother a look—equally irritated with him for not having said anything—paced for a moment or two more, then cast himself back down into his chair. He pulled Sarah’s chair closer to his without asking permission, then reached for her hand again.
“I refuse to believe that Sosar and Grandfather are going to go to that bloody well with her,” he said. “They never would have agreed to such a thing, especially Grandfather.”
“Believe it or not, they did,” Soilléir said, “and they are very concerned with keeping her safe, as you might imagine. She has other companions as well, to aid her with her task.”
“Who?” Ruith demanded. “They’d best be decent ones.”
“Turah of Neroche—”
“Turah?” Ruith interrupted incredulously. “And what is he going to do? Sing a lay to all the monsters there and hope to distract them?”
“I heard—” Soilléir paused, then sighed. “Very well, I saw her with Keir. They’re currently in Léige, if you’re curious, preparing their assault. And reforging the Sword of Angesand, which Mhorghain broke in the fall.”
Ruith felt his mouth fall open. “She did what?”
“She was ... angry,” Soilléir said carefully.
Ruith rubbed his free hand over his face, exchanged another pointed look with his brother, who he was quite certain knew many things he hadn’t seen fit to share, then glanced at Sarah. “Wake me when the nightmare is over.”
She smiled gravely. “You’ll manage.”
“I’m not sure how,” he said honestly. He turned back to Soilléir. “I can’t believe any of this. To start with, I’m stunned she’s alive because I saw no sign of her after ... well, after. I should think she would have sought out one pair of grandparents, but she was very young so perhaps she found refuge in a place I don’t want to think about. Last of all, I can’t fathom why she would touch Mehar of Angesand’s sword, much less destroy it. What in the hell has she been doing all these years?”
“I’ll leave the intimate details of her life for her to give you when next you meet,” Soilléir said carefully, “but I’ll tell you as much of her tale as you need to know now. She found herself, through a series of fortuitous events—”
“Orchestrated by someone, no doubt,” Ruith interrupted darkly.
“There have been those interested in keeping her safe,” Soilléir agreed, “which shouldn’t surprise you. She was taken in by mercenaries after they found her near the well, then deposited on the doorstep of Nicholas of Lismòr where she proceeded to turn the university upside down until she made her way to the opposite side of the island for studies that didn’t include books.”
Ruith wished he could keep his mouth from continuing to fall open. “Gobhann?”
“The very same. And she bears Weger’s mark, so I’d be careful about challenging her to any sort of contest with steel. After her release, Nicholas sent her on a quest to take a knife, which happened to be one of Mehar’s, to the king of Neroche.”
“And why would Nicholas ...” He found himself considering things he hadn’t before. “Something isn’t right there. Why would the head of a backward university on a provincial island have one of Queen Mehar’s blades?”
Soilléir only waited, silent and watchful.
Ruith suppressed the urge to scratch his head and instead settled for keeping his jaw from falling yet again to his chest. “He’s Lismòrian’s Nicholas. The wizard king of Diarmailt.” He looked at Soilléir in surprise. “I’d never considered that before.”
“I believe he counts on that sort of thing to protect his anonymity,” Soilléir said. “I also understand that your mother asked him to watch over you all if something happened to her. He looked after Mhorghain as best he could.”
“Then why in the hell did he allow her to go into Gobhann?” Ruith asked, incensed.
“I don’t think he had a choice. You’ll find that your sister is very determined when she’s chosen a path for herself.”
Ruith pursed his lips. “I’m surrounded by stubborn women.”
“Necessarily so,” Soilléir said, “to keep you from running rough-shod over them.” He smiled briefly at Sarah, then continued on. “And to continue, Mhorghain couldn’t refuse Nicholas’s request to take the blade to Tor Neroche, though I understand she wasn’t overly fond of the knife, having no knowledge of her own parentage and a healthy disgust for all things magical.”
“She didn’t know?” Ruith asked. “Anything?”
“I daresay she blocked most of it out, for reasons you would understand. Once on this quest, though, she began to remember things about her past. It would also seem that during the journey she also became rather ... fond, I believe is the word ... of a certain member of a company she acquired on her way north. When she found out he was not the simple farmer he’d claimed to be, she took the Sword of Angesand and slammed it against the edge of the high table in the great hall of Tor Neroche, shattering the blade into countless shards.”
Ruith looked at him evenly. “You can’t mean Adhémar. If you tell me my sister has fallen in love with that great horse’s arse, I will—” He spluttered a time or two before he could manage further coherent speech. “I’m not sure what I’ll do, but it will be dire and it will include departing immediately for Léige to bring her to her senses.”
“It wasn’t Adhémar, but you would know that if you remembered our discussion in the library below. He is wed to—”
“Adaira of Penrhyn,” Ruith interrupted with a sigh. “I’d forgotten.”
“Any other guesses, then?” Soilléir asked with a smile.
“Not Cathar,” Ruith said immediately. “Nor Rigaud, I daresay. I can’t imagine she would have patience for his preening. Nemed she would grind under her heel inside a se’nnight. That leaves Mansourah, but he hasn’t the wit to see to her.”
“Nay, he does not,” Soilléir agreed.
Ruith considered other brothers, then realized there was only one left to consider. He looked at Soilléir in surprise. “Miach?”
“It would seem so.”
“But, he’s a child!”
“He’s a score and eight,” Soilléir said calmly. “Almost a score and nine. A scant year and a bit younger than your own ancient self, if I’m counting it aright.”
Ruith sat back and shook his head. “How in the hell did she meet him?”
“As I hinted, he was a member of her company. He had been following Adhémar, who was supposed to be looking for a wielder for the Sword of Angesand but was instead studying the inside of as many taverns as possible. I believe that for Miach it was love at first sight. Your sister, I understand, resisted her feelings for a bit.”
“I’ll help her resist them a bit longer,” Ruith growled.
“Too late for that, I fear,” Soilléir said cheerfully. “Your grandfather betrothed them whilst they were here. In the garden of Gearrannan, if memory serves.”
“He did,” Sarah said helpfully. “The trees were singing about it this morning.”
Ruith shot her a dark look. “You didn’t say anything.”
“At the time I didn’t know who the names belonged to,” she said. She paused. “They were singing about quite a few people, truth be told.”
Ruith looked at her sharply. He’d heard the trees singing as well, but the only names he’d heard had been his own and Sarah’s. He frowned, promising himself a goodly think on it later, then turned back to Soilléir.
“I’m surprised Grandfather agreed to it.”
“He offered it,” Soilléir said pleasantly, “which I think surprised Miach as well. The runes are actually quite lovely. I’m not sure you can gouge them off, but I suppose you might try.”
Ruith scowled. “The last time I saw the youngest prince of Neroche, he was hiding under a table in my grandfather’s library, memorizing spells and eating figs. I’m sure he hasn’t improved since then.”
Soilléir laughed. “I think you’ll find he has. And how is it you saw him there?”
“Because I was sitting next to him, eating figs and memorizing spells. We were hiding from my grandfather, who had threatened to take a switch to us both for spending the morning flying in dragonshape.” He looked up at his brother lounging against the wall, his expression inscrutable. “You didn’t say anything.”
“I’m discreet.”
Ruith snorted.
“I said nothing to Mhorghain, either,” Rùnach added. “Because of ... well, I said nothing.” He shrugged. “Miach knew ’twas me, of course, but he always was a clever lad.”
Ruith had to admit that he’d been very good friends with the youngest prince of Neroche, having spent more time than his grandfather would have been happy about appropriating with him spells from various places they shouldn’t have been lurking in. But he’d been driven to find things to stop his father and Miach had, well, he’d simply been driven. Perhaps he’d assumed he would one day be facing Lothar of Wychweald.
He looked at Soilléir. “I understand he was a guest in Lothar’s dungeon for a bit. Sgath said as much.”
Soilléir nodded. “It didn’t damage Miach permanently, if you’re worried. And he loves your sister to distraction, if that worries you as well. She’ll never lack for whatever he can give her. I understand, though, that it took him a bit to convince her that he loved her. And you can imagine what Sìle had to say about it all. Miach had a difficult path to walk with the two of them.”
Ruith felt, rather than heard, Sarah fall silent. He released her hand when she seemed to want him to, though he shot her a look at the same time. He would have asked Soilléir for more tales, but a knock sounded on the door and he knew his doom had arrived. He looked at Sarah.
“Please come with me.”
“Thank you, Your Highness, but nay.”
Ruith sighed, then looked at Soilléir. “I don’t suppose you would come to luncheon downstairs and save me from my bad manners.”
“Or is it a saving from Droch you’re looking for?”
“I don’t engage in duels of magic with neophytes, though I understand Miach was fool enough to do so.”
“Miach wanted a look in Droch’s solar,” Soilléir said. “He thought he might find something useful there for Mhorghain’s use in closing the well.”
“My father never would have used anything of Droch’s,” Ruith said with a sigh. “I still cannot believe she intends to go to that horrible place and attempt anything at all. If I had any sense—”
“You would leave her to her task and carry on with yours.” Soilléir looked at him seriously. “Yours will not be any easier, I assure you.”
Ruith chewed on his words for a moment or two. “Are you going to offer any hints, my lord?”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Soilléir put his hands on his knees and rose. “Sarah, I found a pair of books you might be interested in. Luncheon is waiting for you on the table whenever you care to have it. Make yourself at home, of course. Nothing is private, so investigate all you like.”
Ruith listened to Sarah thank Soilléir, then waited until Soilléir had gone off to confer with Rùnach before he caught her by the hand.
“Don’t open the door,” he said in a low voice.
“I won’t.” She took a deep breath and looked at him. “If I knew how, I would try to see the other pages of Gair’s spells—”
“Don’t,” he said quickly. “Let me be here when you attempt it, lest you need me.”
She nodded, though he wasn’t sure how serious she was. He was half tempted to set a spell inside Soilléir’s that would let him know if she attempted anything untoward, but decided that was perhaps more invasive than he wanted to be. He waited until she’d walked away toward her loom before he looked at Soilléir.
“I’m ready,” he grumbled.
“Be polite.”
“I have manners. I would just rather save them for that woman over there.”
“Who doesn’t seem to want anything to do with you. Still.”
Ruith shot him a dark look, then followed him across the solar and out the door. He felt Soilléir’s spell close behind them, then looked at his host.
“You couldn’t add a little extra to that, could you?”
“An alarm?” Soilléir asked mildly.
“Aye.”
“I’m her host, not her jailor.”
“This will be an extraordinarily short luncheon, then.”
Soilléir only smiled at him and walked away.
Ruith looked behind him, on the off chance that Droch was lurking in the shadows, paused, then set his own spell across Soilléir’s doorway, one that would alert him if anyone but Rùnach or Sarah walked through it. He took a deep breath, then followed Soilléir.
And he hoped he wouldn’t regret it.