Talron came and went. The lower storerooms bulged with what he left. Dancer had a wonderful time assisting, being shut into every room in turn and bawling to be released, only to be shut in the next and the next. He kept Aisling distracted for several days.
But once the, supplies were in, the horses handed over, Talron and his men left. Now she had time to brood again. Dancer did his best, but Aisling was too unhappy to be distracted.
The truth was that she feared her gift now. She had killed with it. She’d been terrified when she was seized, but she might still have kept the fire under control. Then one of the men had twisted her arm, the pain had sickened her. With the pain she lost control. Her skin had flared with silver light, both men had fallen screaming, one was dead in seconds. The one who had hurt her. The other died before the morning. She intended none of it.
If it came without her willing it there, what of her grandparents? What of Keelan, old Hanion—any of them might touch her. Hanion always liked to throw her up onto her mount if he was by. It was his privilege. He was almost too old to lift her now, but he’d taught her to ride. How could she tell him to stand away from her? Keelan, Grandmother Ciara, Grandfather Tro, Great-Aunt Elanor, they all hugged her often. Was she to thrust them back? Demand they never come too close to her?
Worse yet, she’d begun to dream. She guessed where the place was the third time. Mountains like that weren’t natural. They had to be the border where the witches had turned all the land between Karsten and Estcarp. What were the dreams saying? That she should go to Estcarp? She probably had far kin there, distant cousins or something. Ciara’s grandmother had been of pure blood. There were sure to be kin of some degree there. Was she to go to them? But she didn’t want to leave Aiskeep.
It was midsummer when the duke arrived. He sent polite messages. He would be pleased to meet with Trovagh and his lady when it was convenient. There was a hint of steel in that: it had better be convenient quite soon. They went the following morning.
Shandro was still polite but firm. There was no good reason why their granddaughter should not wed the duke’s most loyal and trusted Ruart.
They mentioned the scandal of the witch-hunts some years ago. Shandro scowled. Ruart had been much younger. Rumor had greatly exaggerated events.
Ciara leaned forward. “We do not believe it did. Aisling is unwilling to wed Ruart. To be blunt, my Lord Duke, she says she would prefer death as a bridegroom. We do believe that. We are prepared neither to drag a drugged girl before the priestess, nor to attend her funeral. Apart from which,” she added tartly, “you are talking of a large and respectable wedding. Not some affair in the dead of night with a priestess and the couple alone. What priestess would consent to officiate in such pomp where a bride is clearly drugged until she cannot stand?”
Shandro shrugged. “You will persuade the girl it is in her best interests to wed. In the best interests of all of you. I will hear her reply in two days. If it is a refusal still, then all Aiskeep shall regret it.”
They left wordlessly. Once they were back in their rooms Trovagh stared down at the wineglass he turned in his fingers.
“A winter siege and Shandro will change his mind. Geavon’s last letter dealt with this. Once full winter closes in, the duke and his lords will be back in Kars in the warm. Geavon has a girl in mind then. He’ll aim her at Ruart. If all goes well by spring, it will be her Ruart wishes to wed.
“That’ll call off Shandro. But not Kirion. Geavon’s sure this latest business had Kirion behind it.”
Ciara snorted, “Almost certainly.”
“So what do we do?”
“What Aiskeep has always done. Play for time. If we can get Ruart and the duke off our backs, then we can turn all our resources to Kirion.”
Trovagh sighed. “Meanwhile we’re under siege—again. I must find something important for Keelan to do. He’s fuming so much I fear he may start taking risks.”
The siege began two days later when a message was sent to the duke. It was a polite but very final refusal of Ruart’s offer.
Over the next few months, summer faded into fall, and fall toward winter. With them Elanor also faded. Aisling said nothing, but privately she feared it was the worry of being under siege. If so, then it was all her fault. Elanor died as the first snow of the winter fell. They buried her in the Aiskeep graveyard. All of them wept. None had ever known an Aiskeep without her; she would be greatly missed.
But it made up Aisling’s mind finally. If she stayed here, she would only bring more trouble or death to her family. It would be best if she went away. Not to Ruart, she couldn’t. Nor to Geavon and risk yet another Keep.
Her gift ached at her. It made the decision easier. She’d go over the mountains to where she could learn to use it properly. To where they could train her to control it.
Her decision firmed. She’d go in secret, leave a note for her family. She’d go alone from the upper valley through the hills; on foot with a pack no one would know her.
She’d have to leave Dancer behind. That would hurt. In the year and a half since his birth, she’d grown to love him as much as Keelan loved Shosho. To leave Dancer behind, to turn her back on Aiskeep would tear her heart. She would never forget them, never be as happy anywhere else. But she must go.
She began to gather the things she would need. A pack she could carry, a spark striker to light fires, cooking gear, bedding, heavy clothing, and her weapons. She would need a sword, bow, and dagger. It was a long journey, and she would have to hunt some of her food as she went. Aisling hoped she would be able to carry everything she’d need. Winter was closing in. She must act soon or it would be too late. No one must know what she planned until she had gone. She reckoned without Ciara.
15
Aisling had her pack prepared. She could lift it—just. That was no good. The pack was emptied and Aisling stared in despair at the contents. Dancer sat on the bed glaring at her. Now and again he gave a small growl. There was a light tap at the door, Aisling turned to toss a blanket over the pack but it was too late. Ciara was already looking at both pack and her granddaughter, knowledge and gentle amusement in her face.
She walked to the bed, pushed Dancer up gently, then sat. “I guessed you had this in mind. Where do you plan to go?”
“To Estcarp, I keep dreaming of the mountains where they turned.” She looked at Ciara. “Are you going to stop me?”
Her grandmother shook her head slowly. “No, dearling. But I have a tale to tell you. You know how I came to live at Aiskeep?”
Aisling nodded. She’d grown up knowing the story of that time when all was death and destruction for the Old Race in Karsten.
“I saw my mother Lanlia die. At the time, I saw only that she fell in silence from our watchtower, no cry of fear or horror. Some years later, I dreamed of it. A true dreaming. My father’s mother lived with us until she died two years before our blood was named outlaw. She loved us all deeply. She was of the old pure blood and held Power in her time. I dreamed that my mother stood waiting at the tower’s edge. Then Grandmother spoke to her.”
Aisling was engrossed. “What did she say?”
“She said ‘The blood shall come full circle. It shall rise to flower again.’ Then she called. I was in my mother’s mind as she fell. Her spirit was taken before she reached the ground.”
“What does that mean, about the blood coming full circle?”
“Wait. I dreamed again, many years after that. I saw the mountains turn. I heard the same voice repeating those words. But when I assumed it meant the blood should go over mountains to Estcarp, it said no. It added then ‘Not to Estcarp but to the East shall the blood seek. There it shall flower in freedom. When the time comes, give what you treasure that one you love may fly free.’ ”