“Such as why it was he was at Ceangail when we needed him the most,” Ruith began, “or why he was waiting with his wagon in Bruaih on the same road we were taking, or why he found himself as the alemaster of Doìre—pretending to be what he was not—when he obviously could have been loitering anywhere else in the world.” He took a deep breath. “Or why he befriended a perfect stranger masquerading as a mage on a mountain when the stranger was a boy, yet kept his secret as he became a man.”
“Happenstance,” she said, but she doubted the truth of it the moment the word left her mouth.
“Happenstance, or contrivance?” Ruith asked grimly.
“To what end?” she managed.
He looked at her steadily. “Because that stupid boy on the hill was the youngest son of the black mage of Ceangail.”
“Ruith,” she breathed, “you can’t be serious. Franciscus couldn’t possibly have known—well, if he’s a mage, I suppose he could have known. But you can’t believe he would want any of Gair’s spells.”
“Someone took them from me,” he said in a low voice. “Someone who knew I had them. Someone with a power that sliced through Olc as if it had been naught but flimsy spiderwebs.”
She put her hand over her mouth. “Impossible.”
“Sarah, that spell of protection was the most aggressive thing I’ve ever seen. It captured a spell Amitán threw at me, changed it into something quite different, then flung not only Amitán’s spell but something of its own make back at him. If he’s not dead by now, he likely wishes he were. Yet the mage who braved that same spell to steal the spells from me obviously suffered no ill effects. He would have been left writhing on the ground otherwise.”
“But you can’t think he took the spells,” she managed. “Not Franciscus.”
“As I said, I’m not sure what to think.”
“I’ve known him for the whole of my life. There is no guile in him.”
“Nor any magic?” he asked carefully.
She felt her face grow uncomfortably warm. “Very well, perhaps I am not a good judge of mages, but I’m not so poor a judge of men.”
He sighed and reached out to pull her closer to him. He kept his arm around her shoulders and sighed. “Nay, love, you aren’t. I’m speculating where I shouldn’t.” He rubbed his free hand over his face. “I have spent too many years looking for shadows in every corner, expecting them to be full of more than they should be.” He shrugged. “I’m just curious about who has the spells your brother so thoughtfully collected for us and what it is we found shredded last night near that poor fool out there on the plain. And I’m frankly terrified that that someone will find the half of my sire’s spell of Diminishing we know is out there in the world.”
“Is that all?” she asked.
“Well, I’m a little unnerved at the thought of someone finding the other half,” he said wryly. “Or the possessors of both halves finding each other.”
“Perhaps they’ll do each other in fighting over the privilege of putting it all together.”
“We could hope,” he said with a humorless smile. He shook his head. “I’ve never regretted more not having been out in the world. I have no idea who is alive or dead.”
“I thought Rùnach gave you a list.”
“I looked at it whilst you napped. It is lengthy, but somehow I just have the feeling the lad we’re looking for isn’t on it.”
“Is there someone who might know of other wretches out to destroy the world?” she asked reluctantly.
“The witchwoman of Fàs,” Ruith said with an uneasy laugh. “She is renowned—or infamous, depending on your point of view—for keeping meticulous notes on the happenings in the Nine Kingdoms. I would imagine she knows every mage with any magic at all in their veins. Unfortunately, I don’t think I’d be welcome to tea.”
“Trample her garden during your youth, did you?”
He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Let’s just say that I wasn’t particularly kind with my observations about the wartiness of her nose.”
Sarah smiled. “You were a child. Surely she would forgive that.”
“She might, but there is the matter of my mother earning a proper wedding where she merited nothing more than the honor of my father’s company from time to time, long enough to conceive a few sons.”
“Ah,” Sarah managed. “That complicates things a bit, doesn’t it?”
“A bit,” Ruith agreed. He looked at her. “Are there any of my father’s