musicians after supper so she and Ruith would have something familiar to dance to. Sarah felt absolutely ridiculous walking into a great hall full of royalty and important guests, but Ruith had promised her he would chase her if she bolted, so she concentrated on the very necessary task of making sure her crown stayed on her head.
She found herself sitting on Uachdaran’s right hand in a place of honor, with Ruith on her right. She was very grateful for the king’s single-minded concentration on his supper, which gave her the chance to attempt to do the same. She gave up the effort after a bit, not because the food wasn’t superb but because she was too distracted by what she was seeing in the hall.
Soilléir had much to answer for.
Whilst the hall itself could be properly described as stately, it wasn’t the heavy beams in the ceiling or the marvelously designed and fashioned tapestries draping over the walls from floor to ceiling that she couldn’t look away from.
It was the tales being told by the flames flickering in the massive hearths set on either side of the hall.
She felt as if heroic epics were being reenacted for her benefit alone, mighty deeds wrought by dwarves throughout the ages, battles fought against darkness and evil when men and elves were otherwise occupied with less weighty matters of their realms. Sarah could only watch, speechless, at what she saw, things she had never once considered might be occurring under her nose—or under mountains she had never laid eyes on in her life—things that had quietly, relentlessly, absolutely kept the inhabitants of the Nine Kingdoms sleeping safely.
She looked at the king to find him watching her with a small smile as if he knew exactly what she was seeing.
“Do you see too?” she asked, because she couldn’t help herself.
“Oh, aye, lass,” he said with another knowing smile. “Not many others do, though. I daresay your lad there isn’t seeing anything in my hearths but a flame to warm his backside on a chilly night.”
“See what?” Ruith asked politely, leaning forward. “Your strings warming up, Your Majesty? My lady owes me a dance or two.”
Uachdaran winked at her, then looked at Ruith. “While I understand your enthusiasm, lad, first I think we must humor my bard. He keeps our genealogy, as you may or may not know, and while that is a worthy task, he never misses the chance to have a peep in someone else’s family tree. Your grandfather, I’m afraid, didn’t have the time to attend him at all, to his great distress. I hope you children don’t mind if he at least comes to greet you. I imagine neither of you will escape without divulging a few details he’ll want to record in his books.”
“I don’t think my heritage will come as much of a surprise to him,” Ruith said dryly, “but I’ll gladly humor him. I might have an unsavoury connection or two to delight him with, if he has the stomach for it.”
“He does,” Uachdaran said mildly. He nodded to one of his pages, who ran off without hesitation.
Sarah would have liked to have distracted herself with the fire a bit longer, but the tales had ceased. That might have been because they felt they were competing with what the musicians were creating, music she could see hanging in the air, forming itself into proper patterns of dance. She blinked, but the notes remained long enough to make their appearance, take their place in the song, then slip offstage, as it were.
She looked at Uachdaran in surprise.
He was still simply watching her with that half smile, as if he knew exactly what she was seeing—which she suspected he did—and was pleased to enjoy it with her.
“Didn’t expect this, did you, lass?” he asked gently.
“I’m finding, Your Majesty, that that has become my lot in life.”
He smiled, a smile full of good humor. “I hope, my gel, that you will one day be able to leave that saying behind, but I fear that day is not near. Ah, here is Master Eachdraidh.”
Sarah looked at the man hurrying across the hall, his arms full of papers and the voluminous sleeves of his robe flapping with his haste. He was tall, for an inhabitant of Léige, and very thin, looking as if he spent the majority of his time holed up in some chamber or other, looking through books. She supposed she could have been accused of hiding herself in a