Princess of the Sword by Lynn Kurland Page B

untoward.

    Droch shoved Miach aside roughly, then strode inside his chamber. Miach said nothing. He simply came out into the passageway and pulled the door shut behind him. He leaned back against the wall, his face ashen.

    Soilléir walked over to speak to the servant, who had picked up the hourglass. “I’ll be the archmage’s escort from here, my friend. Thank you for your service to him.”

    The lad nodded, shot Miach an uneasy look, then hurried away. Soilléir turned to Sosar. “I’ll take him to my solar for a bit of peace. You’re welcome to come as well, if it pleases you.”

    Sosar smiled. “I imagine I should go make certain my father isn’t trying to discover ways to undermine the foundations of the keep.”

    Morgan might have laughed, but she supposed such a thing wasn’t beneath her grandfather. Soilléir seemed to find it humorous enough, though, for he laughed and clapped a companionable hand on Sosar’s shoulder.

    “I’m sure Master Ceannard would appreciate that. Perhaps your father will have finished with his explorations by supper. I’ll have it prepared in my chambers and send for you then, shall I?”

    “That would be lovely,” Sosar agreed. He looked at Miach. “Be well, Miach. And you, Buck, be a good lad and do just as your master tells you.”

    Morgan cursed her uncle under her breath, then resheathed her knives and jumped forward just in time to catch Miach as he swayed. She drew his arm over her shoulders and put her arm around his waist.

    “Let me aid you.”

    “Nay,” Miach protested, “I am well.”

    “You’re a fool. Lean on me.”

    Master Soilléir sighed, then put himself on Miach’s other side, taking much of Miach’s weight on him. Miach didn’t protest, though Morgan supposed she should hold off on congratulating him on his show of sense given that he was having difficulty even standing. If they hadn’t been holding him up, he likely would have fallen on his face.

    “Let’s be off then, shall we?” Soilléir said easily, as if they were merely heading out for tea in the garden. “Down the passageway, Buck, and up the stairs. Miach, lad, one foot in front of the other.”

    Morgan was more grateful for the aid than she wanted to admit. Miach was much taller than she was and while he was lean, he was also quite heavy when not sailing fully under his own power, as it were. She took what of his weight Soilléir would accord her and was happy to listen to Soilléir speak of naught but meaningless gossip and useless political tidings as they made their way slowly down the passageway. The longer Miach walked, the less he trembled. Perhaps just being away from Droch’s lair was enough to restore him to himself.

    They wound their way through hallways and up flights of stairs until Soilléir stopped before a heavy wooden door. He opened it, then stood back to allow them to go inside first. Morgan only made it a handful of paces before she had to stop and stare.

    She was struck first by the sight of floor-to-ceiling windows along one side of the room. There was so much glorious light pouring into the chamber, it was difficult to take in.

    “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Miach whispered.

    She nodded, because she couldn’t speak. She turned in all directions, looking at the windows, then walls covered with bookshelves, then at an enormous hearth set into the wall at the far end of the chamber. The chamber reminded her greatly of the gathering hall in Weger’s tower, but here there were the true luxuries of carpets on the floor and tapestries lining what walls weren’t already lined with books.

    And there was the light.

    It was exactly the sort of place she knew Miach would be comfortable in, somewhere where he could put his feet up on the furniture and talk about his turnip crop whilst being bathed in glorious daylight. She imagined, based on his surroundings, that Soilléir was that sort of man as well.

    A pair of very large dogs scrambled to their feet