Weatherwitch: Book Three of The Crowthistle Chronicles by Cecilia Dart-Thornton Page B

foundations resembled a rabbit warren. They were meticulous in their search, but they found nothing of value, which is why they abandoned it to the weeds.”
    “The king’s servants are stupid. Besides, they don’t have the brí flowing in their blood. If secrets are hidden there, it will be weathermasters who find them, not Uabhar’s henchmen. I shall publicly claim the ruins of the Dome as my own, by the laws of inheritance.”
    The light of good humor disappeared from Avalloc’s eyes. “I do not understand your attraction to that place,” he said sternly. “It was the same with your mother. She seemed drawn to it, yet in the end, it gave her only pain and trouble.”
    “The Dome was the key to my father’s immortality,” said Asrathiel.
    “Aye, but he never asked for that. And was it boon or bane to him, my dear, hmm? ”
    A shadow flitted across the damsel’s face. Meditatively she looked down at her hands, resting in her lap. What was boon or bane for her father also applied to her. She did not like to contemplate her immortality; it set her apart. At times the natural desire to
belong
made her agonize over being thus isolated, in a state neither eldritch nor fully human, but somewhere between.
    Her unique condition was kept secret from the wider world. The Councillors of Ellenhall were privy to it, of course, and the carlin; also some members of the royal family at King’s Winterbourne, whose discretion could be depended upon. Were the public to be apprised of it they might respond with any combination of fear, jealousy, awe or resentment. Almost certainly they would not greet the revelations with liking or acceptance. The mere
mention
of her situation—no matter how obliquely, no matter that she was in the company of a trusted confidant—made Asrathiel feel uneasy. Were it to become common knowledge that she could not die, some madman might conceivably take it into his head to put her invulnerability to the test, making her the target of assassination attempts. Even though such attempts must fail, they could endanger those who surrounded her, and cause untold havoc in her life. Conversely, if she ever found herself in some extremity, deliverance might depend upon her deathlessness being unrecognized by the enemy. Keeping it secret was like concealing an ace in her sleeve while playing at the card-game of life.
    “I do not know,” Asrathiel replied to her grandfather’s question in soft tones. Looking up, she continued impulsively, “All the same, the Dome is mine and my mother’s, and I intend to make public our claim. Nobody else wants it, after all.”
    “And what shall you do with it?”
    “Explore!”
    “When will you have time to do so?”
    “Even if I am too busy with my studies and my work, I am certain some of the prentices and journeyman will be ardent to see what they can find. I shall let them make their excavations, if they so desire.”
    “Are you bent on this enterprise?”
    “I am.”
    “Then I suppose you had better do it,” the weathermage said mildly, “for I know full well I will not be able to dissuade you.”
    “What harm can come of it?”
    “Who knows?”
    “I have no fear of any lingering spells left by the dead Sorcerer of Strang,”said Asrathiel. “Throughout the whole of his infamous lifetime he managed to execute only two momentous deeds—the laying of the curse on the descendants of Tierney A’Connacht, and the benison of invulnerability on his own blood-heirs. Most of his other so-called spells were mere trickery.”
    “He had also managed to keep himself alive far beyond the normal span of years.”
    “True, yet in the end that feat brought him no reward. He was really not as powerful as he would have had people believe—even his apparently everburning flames were fueled by gas piped from underground, which eventually caused an explosion.” Before Avalloc could make reply, a movement from outside the window caught Asrathiel’s eye. “Look,