of her sleeve, “but I haven’t the heart for it.” She looked at him seriously. “I’ll play cards with you, but for every time I win, I want a memory of yours that’s beautiful. Franciscus didn’t know very many tales, but I loved the ones he told me. Despite my loathing of all things elvish, of course.”
“I know many tales—”
“Memories, Ruith. Good ones.”
He took a deep breath, looked over her head at the trees behind her with their lights swaying delicately in their boughs. “Very well. And from you, I’ll have an hour more of your company for each hand I win. Here in the elven king’s garden where his spells will keep you safe.”
“I don’t belong—”
“And I do?” he asked with as much of a careless laugh as he could manage. He felt his smile fade. “Please, Sarah. I’ll help you in the morning if you still want to go. You shall choose a place and I’ll make it safe for you. But tonight, I want you to stay.”
“Why?” she asked, pained.
“Because I don’t want you to go, and I’m putting off the misery of it as long as I can,” he said, before he thought too much about it and talked himself out of being honest.
She closed her eyes for a moment or two, then looked at him. “I’m terrified.”
He didn’t need to ask her why. Of course she was terrified because she had an enormous amount of good sense and a very long list of things to be terrified by.
She swallowed. “I’ve been blustering before about it all, but I’m not sure I can ... that I can face ...”
He drew her into his arms before she could reach for blades to place delicately in his gut. When she continued to shiver, he took off his cloak, wrapped it around her, then pulled her close again.
“We’ll put it aside for the night,” he said, hoping he sounded more confident and hopeful than he felt. “You can decide what you’ll do in the morning.”
She didn’t want to give in, he could sense that, but she did. Eventually.
“Be thinking on my prizes,” she said, pulling away finally and dragging her sleeve again across her eyes. “Now, Your Highness, stop dawdling and conjure us up a deck of cards and a place to sit before I turn off your lights with my salty language.”
“Don’t call me that,” he said quietly.
Her smile faded. “I said it before to hurt you. But not now. Not here.”
“I still don’t like it.”
“What shall I call you, then?”
“I suppose darling is out,” he said, struggling to capture a light tone, “as is Your Handsomeness. I suppose you’ll just have to settle for Ruith.”
“Very well, Ruith,” she said, waving him on. “Stop talking and start thinking.”
He had, as it happened, an enormous store of lore in his poor head, most having to do with Heroes trotting off on their trusty Angesand steeds to do marvelous deeds with their swords, but he supposed if he tried hard enough, he might be able to remember a few things he’d read in his grandfather’s library. Or manage a few decent memories of his own for her.
He made them a place to sit, enjoyed the supper Soilléir had packed for them, lost badly at cards, then didn’t argue when Sarah said she thought she could perhaps lose a game or two to save his pride if she stretched out and played with her eyes closed. She was asleep long before the game was finished.
He pulled her cloak over her, but she shivered still. He considered what he might do to remedy that, but realized it could only be solved with magic. He sat up and took a very deep breath. The trees seemed to be waiting for him as well.
“Well,” he said reasonably, “I’m just thinking about her.”
The lights only sparkled pleasantly and the boughs began to sing again, a sweet song of peace. Ruith looked down at his very sensible hands, thought about what they could do, then thought about what they could do if he allowed them to.
If I had been Gair, I would have kept my family safe.
He had said those words to Sarah on their journey toward Ceangail. And he had meant it. If he’d had a family, a wife he adored, sons he wanted to show how to be honorable men, daughters he wanted to keep safe, he would have protected them to the very limits of his endurance and power. That he hadn’t done