She smiled. “I don’t know if I deserve any ease, given what my grandfather put you through. Keir as well.” She paused. “Sìle was happy to see him, wasn’t he?”
“He was in tears, though I’m not sure if that had more to do with seeing your brother, or his intense headache.”
She folded her hands together and rested her chin on them. “What happened to him?”
Miach settled himself more comfortably. “Well, there is a bit of a tale there, but since we’re at our leisure, perhaps you won’t mind my relating it.”
She managed a smile, loving him all the more for knowing how desperately she wanted to hide for a bit longer. “Thank you.”
“Surely you jest,” he said, leaning forward to kiss her softly. “You, in front of a marginally useful fire, without a chaperon in sight? I should be thanking you for the excuse to linger. I’ll tell you tales all day for the privilege, if you like.”
She nodded happily. She had forgotten in the madness of elves and wizards and darkness pressing against her from all sides just how pleasant it was to sit with Miach and enjoy his company.
Would that she might do so long into her old age.
“Now, as you might imagine,” he began with a thoughtful frown, as if he discussed something of particular import, “elves and dwarves have traditionally not gotten on very well. That problem is only exacerbated by an elvish belief in their race’s inherent, um—”
“Superiority?” she offered.
He shot her a smile. “Aye, that. Fortunately for us, King Gilraehen and his lovely bride arrived a se’nnight ago and smoothed the way for us all.”
“Did they?” Morgan asked, finding that her heart was suddenly beating uncomfortably fast. “Queen Mehar is here? I hesitate to ask why.”
Miach brushed stray strands of hair back from her face. “To give you whatever aid you ask of her, I imagine. She convinced King Uachdaran to allow us to use his smithy—which wasn’t hard, actually, considering this was where she forged the Sword of Angesand in the first place. She also made certain your lads were allowed in and that the gates weren’t barred against your grandfather. I think your friend Camid also put in a good word for anyone of our particular company from last fall, even though he is a northern dwarf and is therefore under suspicion since he prefers roaming to mining. But you can thank your grandfather for the luxury we’re enjoying and the niceties we’ll enjoy later.”
“What did he do?”
“It would seem that by the time he arrived, King Uachdaran was prepared to choke back his gall and humor your grandfather with all manner of concessions, beginning with grudgingly providing a very fine, delicate wine at supper to appease the dainty sensibilities of the elven king. What I heard from a very reliable source is that Sìle looked at the goblet in front of him, then at the heavy pewter mug in front of his host, then he turned to King Uachdaran’s page and said firmly, ‘I’ll have what he’s having.’ Their Majesties then descended happily into their royal cups filled with very strong ale, only to later stumble together from the hall singing raunchy Duriallian pub songs. Relations between Durial and Tòrr Dòrainn were thus forever changed.”
“You jest,” Morgan said, fighting her smile.
“Sosar assures me ’tis the absolute truth. I suspect Làidir won’t recognize his father when he sees him again.”
“Is this a good thing?” she asked.
Miach smiled mischievously. “Sìle has terrorized and intimidated his neighbors for centuries. It wouldn’t hurt him to make a few friends amongst them for a change. There are, after all, only nine kingdoms making up the council of kings. He might like to make an ally or two on that council for a change. I don’t think the exclusivity of his kingdom would suffer for it.”
“Eyewitness reports of his splendidness would only enhance his reputation, is that it?”
Miach laughed. “Precisely. The tremors that will run through your family will be felt for generations, no doubt.”
She trailed her fingers over the back of his hand resting on the edge of the cot until she trusted herself to speak. “You know, it is difficult to think on. All that family,” she added, meeting his eyes. “I was very fortunate to be cared for as a child and during my youth, truly, but I can’t deny that it is a pleasure to know there is somewhere I belong only because of my blood.”
He smiled and captured her hand, holding it tightly with his. “I think Keir is just as overwhelmed. Rùnach is as well, no doubt. I know it doesn’t make up for all those years of being alone, Morgan, but I hope it will add happiness to your future.”
She leaned over and kissed his hand before she thought better of it. “You were more than enough for my future,” she said quietly, “but I’ll be happy to have them as well.”
He blinked rapidly, then frowned at her. “Damned smoky fire,” he said gruffly.
She smiled and squeezed his hand. “You have a tender heart, my lord, and apparently very sensitive eyes.” She sat up and dragged her hands through her grimy hair. “I would love a bath, I think, then something to eat before I’m presented to relatives and lose my appetite.”
He crawled to his feet and pulled her up to hers. “ ’Tis just Gilraehen and Mehar. Well, and Yngerame and Màire.” He paused. “And Harold and Catrìona.”
“So many of them?” she asked uneasily.
“And those are just mine. We haven’t discussed yours.” His smile faded. “Morgan, you are a wielder of the Sword of Angesand. Mehar and Gilraehen came to offer you strength in the reforging of that sword. Yngerame and Màire came to do for you what they can—and to give us their blessing. I daresay Catrìona merely wanted to meet the woman who has me so turned about.” He paused. “I understand Harry only came because he wanted one last chance to tell you to run.”
She laughed a bit. “I can’t imagine that—” She stopped and looked at him in surprise. “You said Catrìona. That isn’t the same one who taught her sword to sing, is it?”
“Aye.”
“But you said she was dead.”
He smiled. “I never said she was dead, I said she had lived a very long time ago. You were having nightmares; I didn’t want to burden you with unnecessary details.”
She considered. “Was she one of the wielders of the Sword of Angesand?”
“You can ask her yourself, but I don’t know if she’ll tell you. Her tale is shrouded in mystery.”
“Are you again avoiding burdening me with unnecessary details?”
“I might be,” he agreed with half a laugh. “I know you don’t need the spell to make your sword sing, but I’m quite sure Catrìona will share many others with you, if you like. A very resourceful gel, that one.”
“Isn’t she your grandmother somewhere back in the mists of time?” Morgan asked, looking at him sideways. “Do you think it’s entirely proper to call her
gel
?”
“Meet her and see,” was all he said as he smiled and pulled her toward the door.
Three hours later, bathed, fed, and dressed properly in a black velvet gown with a discreet silver crown atop her head, Morgan was ready to find the nearest guard tower, climb to its height, and fling herself off in dragonshape.
It wasn’t the food, which had been wonderful, or the sight of astoundingly beautiful dwarvish women alongside particularly unattractive dwarvish men, which had been startling, or being bowed and scraped to by almost everyone she’d seen, which had been just as uncomfortable as it had been in Seanagarra. It was the fact that even though she’d managed to miss a formal lunch by hiding with Miach in the library, she now had no more excuses and she was doomed to face her future.
Or her past, rather.
Future, past, present: she wasn’t sure where she was in any of those, or what she was getting ready to walk into. All she knew was on the other side of those exquisitely carved doors were relatives she couldn’t remember, friends she could, and discussions about the task that lay in front of her that she couldn’t bear to listen to any longer.
“Your hand is cold.”
Miach brought her hand to his mouth and blew on it, though it did little to aid her. She was happy to have him standing there next to her dressed in black, as usual, though he’d forgone the circlet of silver on top of his head. His sword was propped up with hers back in the enormous chamber they seemed to be sharing with most everyone they knew, but he had Weger’s dagger tucked down the side of his boot. That, at least, was reassuring since she’d had to leave Mehar’s knife behind, not having had a decent place to stash it. She’d left her other blades in the chamber as well, for the same reason. The knives Miach had made her, however, were strapped to her forearms and her long, dripping sleeves hid them well enough, though she supposed those sleeves wouldn’t do much to hide the trembles she couldn’t seem to stop.
“I’m nervous,” she said, adding a curse that didn’t do anything to aid her. She took off her crown and looked at him. “ ’Tis ridiculous.”
He turned and put his arms around her. “It isn’t.”
“You’re not nervous.”
“Oh, I am,” he said with a half laugh. “You would be too if you knew how furious Sgath is going to be that I took you to Tòrr Dòrainn instead of Lake Cladach. I imagine my ears will be ringing for quite some time to come.”
“No wonder you wanted to skip lunch,” she managed. “You’re more devious than I give you credit for being.”
“Guilty,” he agreed, then he pulled back far enough to smile at her. “A distraction?”
“Only if it’s the kind where we dash for the nearest open space and change shape to fly off into the sunset.”
“I’ve corrupted you.”
“Thoroughly. And since you have, ’tis your duty to now distract me.”
He smiled briefly, then bent his head and kissed her. Morgan put her arms around his neck and held on partly because her knees tended to buckle when he kissed her and partly because she was indeed very nervous and it seemed the best way to stay on her feet. Now, if she’d been facing a keep guarded by scores of well-armed and highly trained guardsmen, she wouldn’t have given it another thought. Dozens of lads with her death on their minds and their swords gleaming dully in the moonlight? Not worth a yawn. But a chamber full of relatives and potential relatives-by-future-marriage she didn’t know?
Terrifying.
“Morgan?”
She had left off kissing Miach and instead buried her face against his neck where he might not notice her trembling. “Aye?”
“They’ve opened the door. I think they’ve seen you.”
Damnation. Too late to escape. She pulled away reluctantly. “Don’t leave me.”
“I won’t.” He took her crown from her and plopped it onto her head. “Let’s go.”
She took a deep breath, then turned to face the gaggle of souls she was sure she wouldn’t recognize.
Only that wasn’t the case. She knew Eulasaid and Sgath immediately. She had thought that perhaps Keir resembled Sìle, but now she could see he resembled their other grandfather to a greater degree. Eulasaid was simply stunning; not elvish, but so full of power and beauty of an entirely different sort that Morgan caught her breath in spite of herself.
But most startling of all was that she knew them. She remembered sitting on her grandfather’s lap and listening to him tell of the wonders of Ainneamh where he had grown to manhood. She could now bring to mind several walks along the shores of a beautiful lake with her grandmother, listening to her memories that stretched back into the far reaches of time. They had loved her and protected her and kept her close whilst they could.
She walked over to them, feeling as if she were floating. She released Miach’s hand to embrace her grandmother, felt her eyes burn at Eulasaid’s tears, then turned to be embraced and wept over by her grandfather.
Sgath took her face in his hands, kissed her on both cheeks, then pulled her close again. He cleared his throat roughly. “Miach, lad, I have a few things to discuss with you.”
Miach sighed lightly. “I thought you might, my lord.”
“I can’t scrape those runes of Sìle’s off your wrist, you miserable little wretch, but I could cover them with many unpleasant things. Well, not Mhorghain’s, of course, but yours? Aye, I could do that without much effort at all.”
“I imagine you could, my lord.”
Morgan looked up at her grandfather. “It isn’t his fault,” she said, attempting a smile. “I honestly didn’t know who I was. I wasn’t convinced until we reached Seanagarra, and not even then, at first. Once I knew, we had no choice but to keep pressing forward.”
Sgath put his hands on her shoulders. “I know, love. Sosar told us all about your adventures. I’m just trying to instill the proper level of respect and terror in your betrothed. He thinks I’m nigh on to doddering about like an old fool, so I take every opportunity to remind him that that isn’t the case.”
He smiled at Miach as he said it, so Morgan supposed he wasn’t all that serious about any of his words. Eulasaid was embracing Miach warmly, and smiling up at him, so obviously she wasn’t overly opposed to him either.
Keir soon joined them, followed in time by Sìle and Sosar. Morgan listened to them talk about things that had happened long before she was born and was happy to stand beside Miach and discuss things that had nothing to do with her.