Dreamer's Daughter Read Free Page A

first time she’d seen Rùnach, she’d been rendered speechless by the sheer beauty of his face. Well, half his face, rather. The other half had been covered by scars he’d earned from an encounter with a well of evil, though those scars had done little to temper his elven beauty. Unfortunately for her ability to do anything useful when he was around, those scars had been taken almost completely away when she’d spun his power out of him, woven it into a shawl that she had laid over his shoulders, then watched as the king of Durial had spelled it into him.
    Rùnach rose with a welcoming smile. She pushed away from the doorframe and started across the library to meet him—
    Only to find herself sprawled on the floor. She caught her breath and lifted her head in time to be whipped in the face by a flurry of what she had to admit on closer inspection proved to be the skirts of an extremely lovely silk gown.
    She watched in surprise as that excessive amount of red silk and the woman it encased continued their rush across the floor only to throw themselves collectively at Rùnach with a cry of gladness that soon turned into very expressive weeping.
    Aisling sat back and considered this new turn of events. She commiserated with the carpet’s disapproval of the newcomer’s very sharp heels and considered adding her own opinion about too much silk in the face, but she was distracted from that by the conversation going on in front of her, if conversation it could be called.
    â€œI thought you were dead!” the woman wailed.
    Rùnach’s mouth worked, but no sound came out. He looked around him for aid, but Aisling didn’t suppose she dared offer any. Soilléir had risen from the table as well and was sauntering around the end of it as if he hadn’t a care in the world. He didn’t seem inclined to offer anything past an amused smile.
    â€œUm,” Rùnach managed.
    The woman wailed a bit more in a terribly artistic way, then sank back down onto her very dangerous heels.
    â€œYou’re not covering my face with kisses,” she said in surprise, obviously quite unhappy about that realization.
    Aisling wasn’t altogether thrilled with the idea herself. She looked at Rùnach, but he was still wearing the sort of look a body wears when it’s just been walloped across the face with a cricket bat. She knew exactly how that expression looked because she’d occasionally taken the time on her day of liberty to watch lads play that pleasing-looking sport in an open field near the Guild. She’d had little to do with lads and nothing to do with bats and balls, but watching something besides her shuttle endlessly going from side to side on her loom had been at least marginally entertaining.
    â€œAh,” Rùnach offered.
    The woman pulled away and put her hands on her silk-covered hips. “Have you lost your tongue or your wits? Or both?”
    â€œI’m surprised—”
    â€œTo see me here?” the woman demanded. “I should think you would be overjoyed. Obviously you’ve lost your wits.”
    She seemed to realize quite suddenly that she was not alone with her rediscovered . . . well, whatever Rùnach was to her. She pulled away from him, then glared at Soilléir.
    â€œI see you’re in the thick of things, Léir,” she said, sounding greatly displeased. “As usual.”
    Soilléir inclined his head. “To my continued surprise, cousin,” he said, “I find that I am.”
    The woman shot him an unfriendly look, then continued her inspection of the chamber. Aisling knew she shouldn’t have been surprised to be singled out next given that she was the only other soul in the library, but she was. In her defense, it had been that sort of year so far.
    She scrambled to her feet and suppressed the urge to curtsey. Perhaps she should have because it was obvious she was looking at royalty. The