"Of course," she returned. "How could I refuse?"
"You couldn't," he murmured. "He was very much like a father to you, I imagine. I daresay he wouldn't have asked you to do the like without a good reason."
"I suppose he considered me a fit carrier," she said. "I was not pleased, as you might imagine, for I felt the magic immediately. I instructed him to put it in my pack or I would not take it otherwise." She frowned. "You know, it was then that I began to dream. The second night I slept in that damned goose-feather bed."
"A goose-feather bed?" Miach echoed, his ears perking up. "Did you?"
"It was blissful."
"I envy you."
"Aye, well, you shouldn't. I'll likely spend the rest of my life dreaming about it without hope of ever using it again, for there is no way I will force myself on another boat to visit it again."
Miach smiled. "Poor girl. Well, it will live on as a pleasant memory, at least." He looked up at her. "What did you dream of that second night?" He raised the bottle of wine to his lips. "Of soft clouds and pleasant sunshine?"
She shook her head. "Nay. I dreamed of a sword that looked just like the knife."
Miach spewed out the wine?fortunately not all over her. It was a near thing, though. She took the bottle away from him, for all the good it did her being empty.
"Good heavens, Miach, you are excitable. Perhaps you should eschew conversation while you are about eating and drinking."
"I should," he agreed fervently, dragging his sleeve across his mouth. "A sword that looked like the knife? How interesting."
She shrugged. "I only dreamed of it once." She paused. "I daresay it resembled the ring as well, though the work on that is much finer."
"Aye, it is a beautiful ring." He rose unsteadily to his feet. "I think we should break our fast and go."
"But I haven't found what I sought," she said. "I want to see if there might be a drawing of that blade. Surely there is a book here with that sort of thing."
"This is a small library," Miach said. "If I were you, I would search in the vaults at Tor Neroche."
"Would you?"
He nodded. "I've heard tell of their splendor."
"You hear tell of much," she said, looking up at him with a frown.
"My kin are always angling for a look inside the palace," he said, reaching for her pack and handing it to her. "Word gets round, you know."
Morgan had to agree that it likely did, but she wasn't ready to give in so easily. "I think I should have another look here."
He looked at her silently for a moment or two, then nodded. "As you will. I'll go fetch breakfast."
"Be careful," she said absently as he made for the door. "I don't want to have to liberate you from any dungeon."
"You're too kind."
"Too lazy," she said, finding that the lighthearted words came easily to her. It was almost as surprising as hearing herself blurt out words of magic. She looked at him in surprise. "I fear I am unwell."
"Too many dreams of goose feathers," he said with a smile, then disappeared out the door.
She would have put her hand to her head, but she knew she had no fever. She also, apparently, had no wits either. First she was trusting a complete stranger, next she was coming close to jesting with him. What next? Would she be offering to aid ruffians who sought to harm her instead of braining them as she should?
She shook her head in disgust and set to looking through the manuscripts and scrolls. In truth, she had little idea where to start and nothing she selected seemed to be of any aid. By the time Miach returned, she was cross and beginning to feel caged.
"Food?" he asked politely.
She sighed as she sat down next to him at the table. "Quickly, then I must be away."
