roof,â he said. âI can see why Soilléir boards in Beinn òrain. Pleasant
spinning
, Aisling.â
She nodded, then rose and wrapped her arms around herself once heâd closed the door behind him. She didnât want to think about her future or her past or what sheâd seen just then lingering after Rùnachâs spell, something very darkâ
She took a deep breath and walked over to her wheel. She sat, but found herself back on her feet almost immediately. She was accustomed to very long hours at her loom, but she wasnât sure she could have managed the same at present with a score of Guild guards standing behind her, their hands on their swords. She had to have a distraction far past what spinning could provide.
She paced around the chamber, bending to touch wool occasionally, more often than not reaching out to touch the strands of sunlight that came through the windows. If she was careful, she found she could wrap those strands about her fingers.
There came a point where she realized she was no longer standing where she had been, taking threads of sunlight and separating them into colors. She was somehow wandering inside Inntrig, but she felt as if she were wandering in a dream. She saw that while she had imagined that all the non-human things within the palace were silent and only mildly interested in the doings of the inhabitants, that wasnât exactly true. They were silent, sentient guardsmen, unmarked until they were needed. The doors to the library, which she could see as clearly as if she stood in front of them, were wood, but only as long as the inhabitants of that library didnât require their services. She saw with startling clarity how they had on several occasions become an impenetrable barricade to keep safe those inside.
She wandered in the garden, knowing she wasnât really there but feeling as if she couldnât have been more present. The flowers, trees, stones of the path, benches of wood and granite, were in their own way just as vocal as what sheâd found in other places. They were simply discreet and watchful, as if they grew and flourished in their own good time, taking pleasure in watching over those who strolled through their midst, unaware and at peace.
The whole country was alive with a magic she had never expected and hadnât seen. It was as if she walked in someone elseâs dream and saw Cothromaiche through their eyes.
She could no longer tell the difference between dreaming and waking, but saw no way out of where she was. She was half tempted to see if she could spin herself back out of wherever she was, butâ
She almost tripped over the spell before she realized it was right there in the air in front of her.
She took it in her hands and examined the whole of it. It wasnât like a book, but rather a rose with petals that seemed to represent steps that had to be followed in a certain way. She peeled the petals back one by one, memorizing their structure as she did so, until she reached the center and saw how the spell could be used. She paused, for the magic was unusual. Then again, she was in Cothromaiche, where it turned out that nothing was as it had seemed at first.
She took a deep breath, then began the spell. She took strands of sunlight and bent them into a flywheel, using the spell to help her. It seemed to be perfectly happy to do her bidding and the sunlight didnât protest being turned into something else. She sculpted a bobbin from the breath of the flowers that bloomed just outside the spinnerâs chamber, marveling as it took shape beneath her hands and became something other than what it had been while yet retaining what had made it alluring before.
She realized with a start that she was standing quite suddenly back in the chamber where sheâd begun her adventure. In front of her was a spinning wheel. Well, it was the flywheel at least, and a bobbin, and a strand of something binding the two
spinning
, Aisling.â
She nodded, then rose and wrapped her arms around herself once heâd closed the door behind him. She didnât want to think about her future or her past or what sheâd seen just then lingering after Rùnachâs spell, something very darkâ
She took a deep breath and walked over to her wheel. She sat, but found herself back on her feet almost immediately. She was accustomed to very long hours at her loom, but she wasnât sure she could have managed the same at present with a score of Guild guards standing behind her, their hands on their swords. She had to have a distraction far past what spinning could provide.
She paced around the chamber, bending to touch wool occasionally, more often than not reaching out to touch the strands of sunlight that came through the windows. If she was careful, she found she could wrap those strands about her fingers.
There came a point where she realized she was no longer standing where she had been, taking threads of sunlight and separating them into colors. She was somehow wandering inside Inntrig, but she felt as if she were wandering in a dream. She saw that while she had imagined that all the non-human things within the palace were silent and only mildly interested in the doings of the inhabitants, that wasnât exactly true. They were silent, sentient guardsmen, unmarked until they were needed. The doors to the library, which she could see as clearly as if she stood in front of them, were wood, but only as long as the inhabitants of that library didnât require their services. She saw with startling clarity how they had on several occasions become an impenetrable barricade to keep safe those inside.
She wandered in the garden, knowing she wasnât really there but feeling as if she couldnât have been more present. The flowers, trees, stones of the path, benches of wood and granite, were in their own way just as vocal as what sheâd found in other places. They were simply discreet and watchful, as if they grew and flourished in their own good time, taking pleasure in watching over those who strolled through their midst, unaware and at peace.
The whole country was alive with a magic she had never expected and hadnât seen. It was as if she walked in someone elseâs dream and saw Cothromaiche through their eyes.
She could no longer tell the difference between dreaming and waking, but saw no way out of where she was. She was half tempted to see if she could spin herself back out of wherever she was, butâ
She almost tripped over the spell before she realized it was right there in the air in front of her.
She took it in her hands and examined the whole of it. It wasnât like a book, but rather a rose with petals that seemed to represent steps that had to be followed in a certain way. She peeled the petals back one by one, memorizing their structure as she did so, until she reached the center and saw how the spell could be used. She paused, for the magic was unusual. Then again, she was in Cothromaiche, where it turned out that nothing was as it had seemed at first.
She took a deep breath, then began the spell. She took strands of sunlight and bent them into a flywheel, using the spell to help her. It seemed to be perfectly happy to do her bidding and the sunlight didnât protest being turned into something else. She sculpted a bobbin from the breath of the flowers that bloomed just outside the spinnerâs chamber, marveling as it took shape beneath her hands and became something other than what it had been while yet retaining what had made it alluring before.
She realized with a start that she was standing quite suddenly back in the chamber where sheâd begun her adventure. In front of her was a spinning wheel. Well, it was the flywheel at least, and a bobbin, and a strand of something binding the two
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