shut it in her face.
One of Uachdaran’s granddaughters, Dreachail, had seemingly been waiting for just such an occurrence. She had introduced herself, then offered the comfort of her private chamber for the afternoon. Sarah had accepted the offer and the distraction gladly. Ruith had appeared for supper, looking very much worse for the wear, but apparently having had the energy to arrange for a pair of gowns to be fashioned for her. She’d worn the flaming red one in spite of what she thought it might do for—or to—her hair, because she’d learned he had chosen the color himself. She hadn’t protested the crown, nor had she argued with him when he’d announced, after two dances with Dreachail, that he was down to seven.
Never mind that he’d already danced with Dreachail the night before when she had been number nine.
She pushed herself to her feet and began to pace, because if she sat too long, she began to think about what Ruith might be doing below, and she didn’t want to see any vision of the depths to which he’d no doubt been forced to descend. She wandered about the solar with her hands clasped behind her back until she found herself standing in front of the king’s map table.
She wondered, as she studied it, if it was there for his own amusement or if he ever found it necessary to use it to plan battles. It was of the entire Nine Kingdoms, though the eastern part of the world seemed to have been given short shrift. She started in Doìre and retraced her steps to where she now found herself. It was surprising to realize how far she’d come and how much longer it took to ride a horse than to fly on a dragon.
Ruith would have agreed.
She noticed a collection of markers in two bowls, little carved stones for which she couldn’t see any especial significance save they were small enough to use for all sorts of representations. She held a pair of them in her hand for a moment or two, their chill rather soothing all things considered, then put the first one in Doìre, where she had first seen one of Gair’s spells.
The world shuddered.
She didn’t enjoy the feeling, but she had to admit she reacted to the otherworldly sensation better than she had in times past. She took her courage in hand, then considered the next place they’d seen a spell—or, rather, the imprint of one, in Lord Connail’s solar. It was with hardly any flinching at all that she marked the spot where they’d found a spell in that farmer’s barn. Marking the spot on the plains of Ailean was easily done as well.
But it was then that things began to take a turn she hadn’t expected.
She placed markers on other places where she’d seen spells in her dreams; that didn’t trouble her. What bothered her was realizing that she was seeing fires on the map in front of her without the buffer of a dream.
She covered those fires with the little stones, because she couldn’t bear to look at them and the stones seemed to extinguish the flames. That, and she was obsessed with apparently marking every damned place in the Nine Kingdoms where Gair’s spells resided.
Once she was finished, she set the rest of the carved stones down on the table and walked away.
And almost into someone poking his nose through the crack she’d left in the doorway where she hadn’t managed to shut the door.
It was Eachdraidh, that bard masquerading as a historian. He’d been watching her for three days now, both when she hadn’t been looking for him and when she had been. He seemed to be everywhere she was, peeping at her. She’d had enough.
She started toward him.
He squeaked and fled.
Thrilled beyond measure for something useful to do, she ran after him. He was speedy, she would give him that, but she had been either walking, running, or riding for the past two months and she was hardened to the labor. She caught him just as he was attempting to slip inside his door.
“Why do you keep following me?”
He tried to shut the door on her, but along with her newfound stamina, she had apparently gained a bit of strength as well. She shoved the door open, sending him stumbling back into his chamber. He scuttled behind a table piled with scrolls and pots of ink and piles of quills.
“Ah, nothing,” he said nervously.
She looked at him narrowly. “I