Miach couldn't laugh, but he did smile. "Perhaps I will see humor in that someday, but not today. I have sat with her while she dreamed of him." He sighed. "It was not easy to watch."
Cathar set both cups down on the floor. "Miach, perhaps she heard fireside tales as a wee thing and she's dreaming a tale she once heard. It could be that being close to your magic has wrought a foul work upon her delicate senses. Perhaps she ate something vile and paid for it during the night. There are a dozen things it could be. "
"They did not find the bones of the young girl in those woods," Miach countered. "The eldest boy died later from his wounds, after he finished telling the tale, but they never found the girl."
"But?"
"She knows Camanaë spells that I didn't teach her."
"Gair was not of Camanaë. "
"Oh, but he was," Miach said quietly. "He was the youngest son of Sgath of Ainneamh and Eulasaid of Camanaë. It was the only reason he convinced Sarait to wed with him, for she never would have wed one without magic to equal her own. "
"But Camanaë is a matriarchal magic," Cathar protested.
"Tell that to King Harold," Miach said promptly. "Tell it to Gair of Ceangail."
"I can't. They're dead."
"Tell it to me, then, for I have it from Mother in abundance. Matriarchal it may be, but not always. I tell you, Cathar, Morganisthe young girl she dreams of. They aren't dreams; they're memories."
"Very well," Cathar conceded, "let us suppose that is true. What does that mean for the sword?"
"It means she will not only have the power to wield it, but the right as well. It means she will never rest until she has fulfilled her place in the sword's history. It means that when she realizes what I've done, how I've brought her here without admitting who I was or what I wanted from her, she will never look at me again without wanting me dead."
"Perhaps she'll stab you with the blade right off and you won't have to see any of those looks."
"Thank you," Miach said shortly. "I knew there was a reason I trusted you with all my secrets."
Cathar only laughed gently. "Ah, Miach, all will be well. You'll see."
"Are you peeping into the future now as well?"
Cathar shook his head with a smile. "I am not. I'll leave the bloodshot eyes and sore head to you. I'm just thinking that you're a braw enough lad and if your Morgan has sense, she'll forgive you."
"I daresay her sense of vengeance is what she'll rely on."
"I doubt it," Cathar said easily, "else you wouldn't love her as you do."
"Why does everyone think I love her?" Miach asked crossly.
"You said so," Cathar pointed out.
Miach scowled. "Perhaps I'm confused. The woman is fiendishly proficient with everything sharp and she hates magic in general and mages in particular."
"And so a blissful union is begun," Cathar said with a wide smile. "May I live to see it bloom and flourish."
"Aye, I hope you do," Miach agreed with half a laugh. He smiled for a moment then felt it fade. "Aye, and I wish the same for myself."
Cathar collected the cups, rose, and walked toward the door. "I'll leave you to it, then. I'll go see what Adhémar's combining. I'm sure it can't be good. "
"Likely not," Miach said. "I'll come find you later. "
Cathar nodded and left the chamber. Miach rose, stretched, and wondered if he dared take the time for a bath. He looked toward the window and saw that it was still dark. He had time to see to his spells, have a bath, and return downstairs before Morgan was awake.
He went about his work with a single-minded determination that might have impressed even Weger.
Then he found something that brought him up short.
