Read Princess of the Sword Online
Authors: Lynn Kurland
Princess of the Sword (31 page)
And then Miach took her hand.
“Ready for the others?”
She supposed there was no point in being honest, so she merely nodded as if she were indeed ready, then allowed Miach to lead her over to meet others she might want to know. She was happier than she likely should have been to have his hand to clutch as she found herself introduced to the relatives that seemed to have come not only for his benefit.
She had no trouble identifying Gilraehen of Neroche, mostly because he and Miach did look indeed very much alike and they definitely shared the same pale, spooky eyes, as Weger had once said. Unfortunately, meeting Gilraehen meant meeting his wife.
Morgan faced Mehar of Angesand and wondered if she was more uncomfortable meeting a woman who had long outlived many others of her vintage, or if she were uncomfortable because she’d taken the woman’s sword and smashed it to bits.
Morgan made Mehar a curtsey, happy that she’d taken the trouble to learn how, then straightened and wondered how best to begin her confession.
Mehar took her hands and saved her the trouble. “So, you’re Mhorghain,” she said, smiling. “I’m happy to finally meet you. I understand you’ve had quite a few adventures during the past few months.”
Morgan swallowed, hard. “I’m sorry about your sword, Your Majesty.”
“Call me Mehar and don’t fret about the sword,” Mehar said dismissively. “It had seen more than its share of battle and likely needed a bit of refurbishment. We’ll reforge it tomorrow and add to it things that will serve you for your turn as its keeper. I understand from your companions, particularly young Fletcher, who admires you greatly, that the sword sang for you.”
“It did,” Morgan agreed. “As did the knife. And the ring.” She paused. “Do you want those back?”
“No, indeed,” Mehar said. “I left them with Nicholas for you long before you were born, which I suppose you know by now. The ring won’t serve you as a weapon, but it might offer you comfort. The song it sings is a love song.” She smiled. “I imagine Miach knew that, didn’t you, love?”
Morgan felt Miach’s arm go around her shoulders. “Of course, Grandmother.”
Gilraehen clapped a hand on Miach’s shoulder. “Mhorghain, you can do what you like with the ring, but I suggest you keep that dagger close. You can use it on your lord here when he gets too cheeky, which he has a tendency to do.”
Morgan agreed and tried to concentrate on listening to Mehar and Gilraehen both tease Miach about various things, but she was soon distracted by the other conversations going around her. She hadn’t anticipated that it would be simply a reunion of relatives who hadn’t seen each other in a bit, but she was surprised by how casually those relatives were discussing the conditions of the Nine Kingdoms and what had to be done at Gair’s well.
She wished heartily that she and Miach were still hiding in the library.
She found herself introduced to others in time, most notably Catrìona of Croxteth, lately of Neroche, who ran into the chamber with a man who was apparently her husband, Harold. She was breathless and laughing and her husband was blushing. Morgan watched them after they’d both greeted her with hearty kisses on the cheek before hastening off to talk to others. She slipped her arm through Miach’s and leaned up to whisper in his ear.
“I think there’s a hayloft here.”
He lifted one eyebrow. “Think you?”
“Aye. And I daresay King Harold and his bride have recently been in it.”
Miach glanced at them, then laughed. “I told you that you would like her. A perfectly cheeky gel, that one. I think she missed more court functions during her time at Tor Neroche than she attended.”
“I hesitate to ask what she was doing.”
He winked at her. “Grinding her guardsmen into the dust, among other things. I’m sure she’ll have a few suggestions for you about it all.”
Morgan imagined she would as well.
Miach was soon pulled away by Keir to discuss spells with Gilraehen, leaving her wandering from group to group, looking for the least uncomfortable conversation to be a part of. It wasn’t that she wasn’t interested in what the others had to say about Gair and his well; she just wasn’t particularly interested in talking about it herself.
Besides, it didn’t matter how much anyone talked about it, the facts were the same: Lothar was actively trying to open the well, Cruadal was actively seeking to use her as a bargaining chip for what he really wanted, and she needed the time to get to the well, find the word she needed, and close the bloody thing before either of them could manage it. As far as she was concerned, there was only one thing to do and that was get to that business as quickly as possible and have it over with.
She came back to herself to find Miach watching her gravely from across the room. She looked at him, then tilted her head ever so slightly toward the door they’d come in earlier. He nodded, just as slightly. She looked about her casually, then backed up, preparing to flee.
“And just where do you think you’re off to?”
Morgan whirled around to find Catrìona of Croxteth standing behind her. She took a deep breath. “I need air.”
“Is that all?”
Morgan reached up and plucked a piece of straw from Catrìona’s hair and handed it to her. “You missed that.”
Catrìona blinked, then laughed softly. “Thank you, Mhorghain.” She studied her for a moment, then smiled. “I like you. Come and stay with us for a bit after you and Miach wed. Do you ride?”
“Barely.”
“But you bear Weger’s mark, which means you’re my sort of gel.” She looked over Morgan’s shoulder, then moved past her. “I’ll distract your grandfather Sìle for you now, if you’d like to bolt. I think he’s moving this way with the express intention of talking to you.”
Morgan thanked her most kindly, ducked behind some former king of Neroche or another, then hurried toward the door. She hastened out into the passageway, then leaned back against the wall and sighed, grateful for the simple pleasure of quiet. She closed her eyes and enjoyed it for only a handful of moments before Miach came hurrying through that same door.
“Run,” he said.
She did. She ran with him through passageways, past elaborately carved wooden doors, and out into the open. Miach pulled her back to a walk and laughed a bit as he caught his breath.
“Thank you,” he said, with feeling. “I was ready not to talk any longer. You, too?”
“Very,” she said, pulling her crown off her head and slipping it over her arm like a bracelet. “Where to now?”
“The hayloft is likely off-limits, but I would settle for a walk in Uachdaran’s gardens. Interested?”
“Please. Anything to be out of that chamber.”
It wasn’t but a quarter hour later that she was walking with him under trees that were like none other she’d seen. They were gnarled and tangled, full of intricate twistings and turnings, looking a great deal like the ceiling she’d woken underneath that morning. Perhaps that had been intentional on the carver’s part. The trees that made a canopy over her head now didn’t leave her feeling stifled, though, they left her feeling embraced. The breath of air that found its way through the still-leafless branches carried with it a song, the same sort of song she’d heard in the stone that morning.
There were, she decided, many things she’d seen over the past half year that she never would have dreamed might exist.
“Well?” Miach asked finally. “What do you think?”
She sighed and looked up at him. “In truth? I think you and I should slip out during supper and be about this task. We could be back before they finished their wine.”
He put his arm around her shoulders and continued on along the path they were taking. “I am tempted to agree,” he said, “but we cannot. We need the power of the Sword of Angesand.”
“Do we?” she asked, looking up at him in surprise. “Why?”
He looked at her thoughtfully. “Were you truly asleep whilst Keir and I talked in your father’s solar, or were you eavesdropping?”
She sighed. “The latter, which I’m sure you already knew.”
“Aye, I suspected as much.” He took a deep breath. “Then you heard what he said about how your father took both his and Rùnach’s power?”
She nodded.
“Unfortunately thanks to that additional power, your father’s strength was far greater than it should have been when he wrenched open that well. That leads me to believe that it will take more than the usual measure of strength to close that well.”
“But how will I have any of the sword’s power?”
He smiled. “You’ll put your hand on the hilt, it will blaze with magelight, and you’ll feel as if a horse has just trampled you.”
She pursed her lips. “I know that feeling. It was what I felt when you helped me heal Rùnach’s hand.”
“Only this time, you won’t faint,” he said. “I promise. The sword will know you, just as it did in the great hall of Tor Neroche. The power may startle you, but it won’t crush you. It will give you strength when you’ve exhausted your own. We’ll make certain of that tomorrow.”
“If you say so.”
He laced his fingers with hers and smiled at her. “Just walk with me now, Morgan, and leave the rest. We’ll face it soon enough.”
She nodded, then walked with him until they reached the outer wall and the path ended. It seemed a fitting reflection of their situation.
She looked up at Miach. “What now?”
He turned her to him and took her hands. “We’ll reforge the sword in the morning, send out scouts to see what’s afoot, then set off ourselves to do what we must. Then, after the well is closed, I think we just might go back to Seanagarra and sleep for a se’nnight.”
She smiled and put her arms around his waist. “You could use it.”
“So, my love, could you. But for now, let us see if we might find a quiet place to rest a bit whilst I see to my spells, then we’ll hope for supper and a bit of dancing. King Uachdaran does set a remarkably fine table and he employs only the finest musicians.”
She nodded, but she didn’t release him, nor did he release her. He merely ran his hand over her hair again and again, breathing lightly, not speaking. Finally, she pulled back far enough to look at him.
“Do you think Lothar will be there?” she asked. “Not that I’m afraid of him. I’ve faced him before.” She paused. “Admittedly, I went right along with what he wanted me to do and fainted from the poison he gave me to drink, but I would be better prepared this time. He couldn’t be any worse than Droch, surely.”
Miach started to speak, then shook his head helplessly. “That’s a bit like saying ’tis better to be slain by a blade in the heart than be staked out in the hot eastern sun and baked to death. Droch is direct and brutal. Lothar may drag things out a bit more out of polite-ness, but I daresay the end result is the same.” He put his arm around her shoulders and led her back up the path. “In truth, I think it would be best if we planned to get into the glade and out as quickly as possible and leave Lothar out of it.”
“And if he comes?”
He sighed deeply. “I think all we can do is prepare as best we can. The most important thing is what we already have, and that is your courage. The rest is all plotting and scheming and spells. It is the stomach to use them that will win the day.”
She nodded because she knew he had it aright. Hadn’t she thought the same thing in Ceangail? Perhaps they could take the evening, have a decent meal, then turn their minds to less serious matters.
“You’re thinking about dancing.”
She smiled without looking at him. “I’ve become soft, haven’t I?”
“Nay, you haven’t. You’ve just seen why I enjoy it so.”
“Have you always been a dancer, Miach?”
“Nay, Morgan,” he said quietly. “Just with you.”
She nodded and continued on with him, saying nothing. There was no more to say. Their path was set out before them, and there was neither turning back nor altering what lay ahead.
She was past wishing there might be.
Sixteen
M
iach walked through twisting passageways with Morgan, following the dwarf who’d been sent to escort them to the smithy. He was carrying the shards of the Sword of Angesand in a drawstring bag whilst Morgan carried the hilt. He’d had a surprisingly good night’s sleep, but he suspected he was the only one. Morgan had been out in the lists when he’d woken and gone to look for her. She’d been fighting Paien and Glines at the same time and looking as if she hadn’t slept at all. Her expression had given nothing away, but he knew her well enough to realize that she was extremely ill at ease. Matters weren’t improving any as they continued on their way.
iach walked through twisting passageways with Morgan, following the dwarf who’d been sent to escort them to the smithy. He was carrying the shards of the Sword of Angesand in a drawstring bag whilst Morgan carried the hilt. He’d had a surprisingly good night’s sleep, but he suspected he was the only one. Morgan had been out in the lists when he’d woken and gone to look for her. She’d been fighting Paien and Glines at the same time and looking as if she hadn’t slept at all. Her expression had given nothing away, but he knew her well enough to realize that she was extremely ill at ease. Matters weren’t improving any as they continued on their way.
“Who will be here?” she asked, finally.
“You and I and the master smith,” he answered. “He is the grandson’s grandson’s grandson of the man who helped Mehar forge the sword in the first place. He is quite honored to be of service to us.”
She nodded, then looked up at him. “Are we enough to give it the power it needs? Won’t doing so put us both in bed for a se’nnight?”
Other books
Canary by Rachele Alpine
Demon Lord 6: Garnet Tongue Goddess by Morgan Blayde
Imminent Danger (Adrenaline Highs) by Unknown
String Bridge by Jessica Bell
Flyy Girl by Omar Tyree
Bayou Corruption by Robin Caroll
The Righteous and The Wicked by April Emerson
The Confessions of Henry Hooter the Third by Gabriel Rosenstock
A More Perfect Heaven by Dava Sobel
The Governess Club: Louisa by Ellie Macdonald
