“You’ve no idea.”
“Oh, come now, Miach,” Turah said with mock surprise. “Are you telling me that isn’t a pity mark over your brow?”
Miach glared at his older brother. “Pick up a sword in the next day or two, Turah, and see for yourself.”
Turah slung his arm around Miach’s shoulders and laughed. “I’m provoking you. Haven’t you been sleeping well? You’re terribly cross.”
“And you’re a dolt,” Miach muttered. “You wouldn’t like Gobhann, brother. It’s a magic sink.”
Turah blinked in surprise and pulled away. “Is it?”
“Aye.”
“Well, I haven’t much magic anyway, so it wouldn’t matter.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Miach said, because he knew it would gall his brother. “Mother once told me that you were next in line after me for the lovely office of archmage.”
Turah gave Miach a hearty shove. “That isn’t amusing.”
“She told me as much after you’d blundered into a pair of her favorite rosebushes and cut your way out of them with your sword, so perhaps she was merely vexed.” He shrugged. “Who knows?”
“I wouldn’t wish that curse on anyone,” Turah said with a shiver. “Look what a sourpuss it’s turned you into. Ah, there are the stables—”
Miach found himself suddenly jerked back into a deep doorway. He had his knife out of his belt before he realized who was holding him captive by the back of his cloak.
A long, slender-fingered hand pointed over his shoulder toward the street. Miach turned around and saw none other than Droch of Saothair, who had apparently braved the overcast skies to see what mischief he could stir up in town. It was his companion, though, who left Miach gaping.
“Who’s that with Droch?” Turah asked, pushing himself back farther into the shadows.
“Cruadal,” Miach murmured. “A prince of Duibhreas whom Sìle thought to see Morgan betrothed to. And before Morgan tells you as much, you may as well know that he shoved a sword through my chest less than a fortnight ago. I daresay Cruadal wants me dead almost as much as he wants to make Morgan his wife.”
“Understandable.” Turah turned to look at Morgan. “Are you still looking for a current spouse and might I—
oof
—very well, never mind answering that. Goodness, Morgan, you’re testy. I think, though, that you’re beginning to feel quite comfortable with me, if these displays of affection are any indication.”
“Turah,” she said with a sigh, “be quiet.”
Turah only rubbed his side where Morgan’s elbow had recently resided and turned back to the street.
Miach smiled to himself, then took Morgan’s hand, more relieved than he wanted to admit to find it free of any blades. He watched for several minutes as Cruadal tried to carry on some species of conversation with Droch. The master of Olc merely stood there with his arms folded over his chest and watched as Cruadal became increasingly agitated. Finally he simply looked at Cruadal with the same distaste he might have a steaming pile of dung and walked back up the street.
Cruadal cursed loudly for a moment or two, then threw up his hands in frustration. A heartbeat later and in full view of everyone on the street, he turned himself into a black dragon and leapt into the sky with a harsh cry of anger.
But it was Beinn òrain, after all, so none of the villagers did much past looking up, yawning, then returning to their tasks.
Miach let out an unsteady breath, then turned to look at Morgan. It was too dark to take full measure of her expression, but he didn’t suppose she was smiling.
“How long had they been there?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I’d forgotten a knife and run back to the inn to fetch it. I saw them as I was coming back down the street.”
He started to ask her if she’d gone farther than just the inn, then thought better of it. Even if she had shadowed him, she couldn’t possibly have heard any of his very brief conversation with Rùnach.
Though he wondered if it might have been better if she had.
“Let’s go find the others,” he suggested. He leaned out of the doorway and looked up and down the street. Droch was nowhere in sight and no dragons hovered overhead, so perhaps they were safe enough for the moment.
They walked quickly down to the stables to find the rest of their company waiting for them.
“Took you long enough,” Sìle said impatiently. “Now, how are we to escape this accursed place?”
“What say you to flying?” Miach asked.
“Elves do not shapechange,” Sìle said, though he didn’t sound as convinced about it as he usually did.
“I wasn’t suggesting
we
shapechange,” Miach said. “I was thinking perhaps that we might convince the horses to take wing. Turah can take my horse and I’ll fly with Morgan. If the beasts are willing.”
“Hearn won’t like it,” Sosar said in a singsong voice. “And you
know
the horses will tell tales when they return to Angesand.”
“Go convince them for me,” Miach said pointedly. “Your elvish beasts, too. It is either that or leave them behind—which would probably be safer for them but less comfortable for us. Speed is, I daresay, of the essence.”
Sosar nodded readily and went into the stables, followed by his father, less readily. Miach turned Morgan to him and put his arms around her, resting his cheek against her hair. He looked at his brother, but Turah was only watching him with the gravest expression Miach had ever seen him wear.
“Be careful with yourself,” Turah said. “And I say that for the most selfish of reasons. I don’t want to be taking over any positions of . . . well, any positions in the kingdom, if you know what I mean.”
Miach nodded. He had his own reasons for wanting to be alive and well, and they were certainly no less selfish than Turah’s.
Turah put his hand briefly on Miach’s shoulder, then went inside the stables. Miach continued to hold Morgan, watching the street as he did so. She was very quiet, far quieter than she should have been. That she had no questions for him about his supposed return inside Buidseachd’s gates led him to a conclusion he didn’t think he could avoid any longer.
“You followed me back to the keep, didn’t you?” he asked.
“I thought it wise.”
He smiled. “A spell or just skill?”
She pulled back far enough to scowl at him. “The latter, assuredly.”
“Did you hear any of my conversation with our erstwhile rescuer?”
“Nay, but I saw you shove something down your boot, which makes me very curious about what it was your friend found in the library during all those years he spent looking.”
“Morgan, where
were
you?” he asked with a half laugh.
“Twenty paces behind you.”
“I didn’t see you.”
“Of course you didn’t.”
He smiled down at her. What a marvel she was. “Weger would be impressed.”
“Nay, he would have chastised me for not having rid you of both your papers and your purse whilst having left you feeling as if but a gentle breeze had stirred your cloak. I’ve grown horribly soft.” She looked at him in silence for a moment or two. “It was Soilléir’s servant, wasn’t it?”
Miach nodded.
She was silent for quite a bit longer. “Was it Rùnach?”
“Aye, but surely you couldn’t have heard me call him by name.”
She smiled briefly. “My powers of eavesdropping are not so formidable.” She shook her head. “Nay, it was what happened last night. I healed his hand, then I dreamed about him. I never dream of my brothers.” She shrugged, though she didn’t look very blasé about it. “I wondered.”
“I think it made him happy to know you were alive,” Miach offered.
She nodded slowly. “I should like to see him again. If we’re successful.”
He tucked stray strands of hair behind her ear. “We’ll do our best. In the meantime, we can rest easy knowing that Léir will keep him safe. Now, do you have anything else to tell me?” he asked politely. “Any more nuggets gleaned from eavesdropping? Spells stolen from under the very noses of powerful mages? Purses pinched and papers pilfered?”
She looked at him with one eyebrow raised. “Nothing so exciting, though Master Soilléir did tell me something about your mother this morning whilst you had your nose buried in a book. I think he relished the tale, truth be told.”
“I imagine I will as well.”
She leaned up and pressed her lips against his cheek briefly. “What a wonderful woman she was and what a wonderful son she raised,” she whispered, then she sank back to her heels and smiled. “Apparently, there had been a time when she too scaled the walls of Buidseachd and broke into his solar for a particular spell she wanted.”
“Did he catch her?” Miach asked, smiling.
“Nay. He slept right through the, um, borrowing.”
“How did he know she’d been there?”
“She left him a thank-you. He said you could stand to learn a few things from her yet.”
“I daresay,” he agreed with a half laugh.
“My mother did the same sort of thing,” she said, sobering. “Only she didn’t assault his chamber.”
Miach didn’t bother asking where Sarait had gone, for Droch had said as much earlier. And the thought of her having to resort to breaking into Droch’s chamber in order to protect her children against their father made him rather ill.
“I know you don’t need me to,” he began very quietly, “but I will keep you safe, as often as you’ll let me. ’Tis what your father should have done for your mother. I’m sorry that he didn’t.”
She took a deep breath. “I am, too. And I thank you for the offer. I’ll return the favor.”
He nodded, then gathered her close again. He hoped she never had to, but he would be the first to admit their road was not likely to be a pleasant one. He certainly couldn’t guarantee safety for either of them.
He waited silently until the rest of the company appeared, leading the horses. He kept his arm around Morgan’s shoulders as he took Fleòd’s and Luath’s reins from Sosar. “Did you ask them what they thought?”
Sosar smiled. “They were of the opinion that they could already fly, but were willing to consider other shapes to see if more speed might be achieved. Cheeky lads, those.”
“Did they express an interest in merely adding wings, or would they prefer to try dragonshape?”
“The latter, definitely. Bragging rights, apparently, are worth any potential discomfort.”
Miach smiled. “I daresay. And your beasts?”
“I think there may be a bruising of dignity when it comes to inhabitants of Seanagarra’s stables, but they weren’t completely opposed to the idea, especially after Hearn’s beasts looked down their very aristocratic noses at them for not readily embracing the idea. I’d turn your horses first, though, then see how ours react.”
Miach looked around to see if anyone might be marking their progress, but saw no one out of the ordinary. There were a few locals who gaped at Sìle, but that wasn’t unexpected. Wizards from up the way and their accompanying antics were one thing; the view of an elven king in all his haughty glory was something else entirely.
Miach followed Morgan’s grandfather down the road and along the way to the garden of Gearrannan. Sìle opened the gate and led them along the path that wound up to the top of the hill. Miach looked at Morgan to find her watching their surroundings with a grave expression.
He understood. He had knelt with her in that beautiful grove of trees on the top of that hill and plighted his troth with her . . . was it two days ago? Three? It felt like months.
He was actually rather relieved to find that he was needed to change the horses into something less equine, for it gave him reason enough to think on something that wouldn’t make him weep. He went into the mind of each beast in turn, showing them what he planned to do to them, then made the change when he thought they could bear it.
Hearn’s horses took to dragonshape with roars of approval; Sìle’s beasts with little sighs of resignation.
Within moments, they were wheeling up into the morning sunshine. Miach put his arms around Morgan and concentrated on keeping his seat.
“Thank you for the reins this time,” she shouted over her shoulder.
He smiled and squeezed her hands. If only the rest of their troubles could be addressed so easily.
He hoped Rùnach had found something that might make that possible.
Nine
M
organ paced around the edge of their hastily pitched camp, too restless to sit, too unsettled to take a watch. It wasn’t the journey so far that had bothered her. Riding Hearn’s horses-turned-dragons hadn’t been any more troubling than turning herself into a dragon. Leaving Beinn òrain behind had actually been a pleasure. She was once again out in the open with air that wasn’t full of spells and streets that weren’t full of mages. Unfortunately, being back out in the open reminded her of what hunted them, where those creatures had been created, and what they were fashioned of.