Once or twice his gaze drifted out to the sky beyond the window panes. There, the sea waited, empty, and a crawling dread turned his belly. He forced his mind back inside the room.
This time, he was given a better fitting gown with gathered sleeves of silk and a fine brocade pattern. It cinched uncomfortably at the waist, further agitated by the girdle of gold and beryl she fixed snugly around him.
Halla paused, regarding his figure with a disapproving head shake, before forcing the sweet roll back into his mouth. “Eat! ’N be quick about it!”
He ate in silence as his hair was brushed, braided, and laced with twine. Once finished, she held out the stockings and slippers with a knowing frown. “Now, dinnae make more trouble, íridh.”
He put them on without tussle.
When the old maid was pleased, he stood, but wobbled on his feet. A splitting pain cut through his head and he doubled over onto the ground.
“By the spirits!” Halla cried, attempting to scoop him up. Her voice sounded like screams through water. Those white sails haunted him, like the whispers in the Fáoth. He gasped for air, his shoulders shaking as the pain ebbed through him, and as quickly as it had come, it was gone.
“What is it, íridh?” asked Halla. “Should I call for the healer?”
“No,” he said quickly. “No… please, tell none what you have seen.”
The chambermaid took his chin in hand and leaned close. Her twilight gaze searching his. “Yer a dreamer, aren’t ye?”
It was as if icy claws had gripped him tight and threatened to rip him to pieces.
“Aye,” she whispered. “I see it in ye when ye wake. Now, I see it when ye wander. Like the witches of Moon—yer one of ’em.”
Like the witches of Moon.
“It isn’t—” What had denial served him? Was it simply coincidence that the Nytherí dreamed when others could not? And he… he along with them?
He closed his eyes and nodded. “I have dreamt since I was a child. Though, I hardly remember what I dreamt, then. For years, when I sleep, I see only the storm.” He glanced again towards the window. “I know it is certain to be that one.”
“The Kell?” said Halla with fascination. “What a strange thing to dream. A prophecy, I expect, of yer venture here!”
To Halla, he supposed it was simple. And maybe before, he would have agreed. But now his visions were shifting. He spoke not of the sails or the pale ships, afraid of worrying the old woman. Though of what they should be worried… he wasn’t sure.
“Please,” he repeated, “tell no one. If the An’Atherin and Nytherim know what I can do…”
Halla paled and nodded. “Aye, íridh. It be yers to tell.”
She steadied him on his feet, then urged him to the door. “The Vaich will still be wanting to see ye.”
He nodded. “Then, I shall go.”
The druid was herded down the tower, through the belly of the fortress to the Vaich’s apartments. These were not the grandiose spaces of the feast halls, but no less unwelcoming. They were large, made only somewhat more inviting by their decor. A stag trophy hung sentinel over the mantle, and warm tapestries carpeted the walls. The druid was not allowed much time there as he was maneuvered towards an adjoining room.
Fire roared in the hearth, warming the air. The sea-facing windows filtered a steady drip of grey light, and beneath them waited a dining table and several chairs. In one of which sat the Vaich. Medhin, to his left, locked upon the druid like a bird of prey.
“As you requested, my Vaich,” said the chamberlain with a dutiful bow, leaving the smaller man at the mercy of the beast.
“Sit,” said the king, gesturing briefly.
The druid preferred to stand, but did not refuse. He looked between the sun priestess and the Vaich, whose concentration seemed elsewhere.
The druid could guess as to why he’d been brought there. This world of politics was a ridiculous affair that insisted upon itself. He could see his captors caught in the same tangled web they had spent their entire lives spinning. And the druid was naught but a turbulent gust of wind.
“We should… must address the matter of our upcoming nuptials,” said the Vaich.
In another life, the druid might have found it amusing to hear him speak as if there was any measure of impending discussion. They both knew there was nothing to be talkedover, but that the druid was brought to bespokenat, and he greatly disliked to be oblique about it. He especially took issue with the presumption that there was anything “theirs” about said nuptials. But he waited for some explanation, and when the Vaich could not provide it, seemed, himself, to grow more agitated.
Thus, the Sun Matron spoke for him. “There are customs to be observed by the wives of Vaichs.”
