Dreamer's Daughter

Praise for

the novels of the Nine Kingdoms

River of Dreams

“Elegant writing . . . An enchanting, vibrant story that captures romance, fantasy, and adventure with intriguing detail and an epic, fairy-tale sensibility.”

—
Kirkus Reviews

“Aisling and Rùnach's tender romance sweetly ratchets up as they take turns saving each other from perilous danger, and series fans will be left eager to read about their future adventures.”

—
Publishers Weekly

“Fantastic . . . As always, the world building is rich and vivid and the characters fascinating and well rounded, which is why Kurland's books are truly awesome reads!”

—
RT Book Reviews
(Top Pick)

“Time after time, book after book, Lynn Kurland crafts a tale vividly alive with imagination . . . She weaves stories with a magic that could only be conjured from dreams.”

—
The Reading Cafe

Dreamspinner

“Fascinating, well-drawn characters and vibrant descriptions of magical situations and locations reinforce a vivid, enchanting narrative.”

—
Kirkus Reviews

“The writing is classic Lynn Kurland—fluid and graceful.”

—
The Roma
n
ce Reader

“Awe-inspiring . . . The beginnings of a new quest that will be filled with ample quantities of adventure, magic and peril!”

—
RT Book Reviews

“Lyrical writing, brilliant mental imagery, richly descriptive magic, and larger than life characterization.”

—
The Reading Cafe

Gift of Magic

“The exciting story line is fast-paced from the onset . . . Lynn Kurland spins another fabulous fantasy.”

—
Genre Go Round Reviews

“A magical combination of action, fantasy, and character exploration that is truly wonderful! A journey well worth taking!”

—
RT Book Reviews

Spellweaver

“One of the strongest fantasy novels welcoming in the new year.”

—
Fresh Fiction

“Kurland weaves together intricate layers of plot threads, giving this novel a rich and lyrical style.”

—
RT Book Reviews

A Tapestry of Spells

“Kurland deftly mixes innocent romance with adventure in a tale that will leave readers eager for the next installment.”

—
Publishers Weekly

“Captured my interest from the very first page.”

—
Night Owl Reviews

Princess of the Sword

“Beautifully written, with an intricately detailed society born of Ms. Kurland's remarkable imagination.”

—
Romance Reviews Today

“An intelligent, involving tale full of love and adventure.”

—
All About Romance

The Mage's Daughter

“Lynn Kurland has become one of my favorite fantasy authors; I can hardly wait to see what happens next.”

—
Huntress Reviews

“
The Mage's Daughter,
like its predecessor,
Star of the Morning,
is the best work Lynn Kurland has ever done. I can't recommend this book highly enough.”

—
Fresh Fiction

Star of the Morning

“Kurland launches a stunning, rich, and poetic new trilogy. The quest is on!”

—
RT Book Reviews

“A superbly crafted, sweetly romantic tale of adventure and magic.”

—
Booklist

More praise for
New York Times
bestselling author Lynn Kurland

“Both powerful and sensitive . . . A wonderfully rich and rewarding book.”

—Susan Wiggs, #1
New York Time
s bestselling author

“Kurland weaves another fabulous read with just the right amounts of laughter, romance, and fantasy.”

—Affaire de Coeur

“Kurland . . . consistently delivers the kind of stories readers dream about. Don't miss this one.”

—
The Oakland (MI) Press

“[A] triumphant romance.”

—
Fresh Fiction

“Woven with magic, handsome heroes, lovely heroines, oodles of fun, and plenty of romance . . . Just plain wonderful.”

—
Romance Reviews Today

“Spellbinding and lovely, this is one story readers won't want to miss.”

—
Romance Reader at Heart

“Breathtaking in its magnificent scope.”

—
Night Owl Reviews

“Kurland infuses her polished writing with a deliciously dry wit . . . Sweetly romantic and thoroughly satisfying.”

—
Booklist

“A pure delight.”

—
Huntress Book Reviews

“A consummate storyteller.”

—
ParaNormal Romance Reviews

“A disarming blend of romance, suspense, and heartwarming humor, this book is romantic comedy at its best.”

—
Publishers Weekly

“A totally enchanting tale, sensual and breathtaking.”

—
Rendezvous

Titles by Lynn Kurland

STARDUST OF YESTERDAY

A DANCE THROUGH TIME

THIS IS ALL I ASK

THE VERY THOUGHT OF YOU

ANOTHER CHANCE TO DREAM

THE MORE I SEE YOU

IF I HAD YOU

MY HEART STOOD STILL

FROM THIS MOMENT ON

A GARDEN IN THE RAIN

DREAMS OF STARDUST

MUCH ADO IN THE MOONLIGHT

WHEN I FALL IN LOVE

WITH EVERY BREATH

TILL THERE WAS YOU

ONE ENCHANTED EVENING

ONE MAGIC MOMENT

ALL FOR YOU

ROSES IN MOONLIGHT

DREAMS OF LILACS

The Novels of the Nine Kingdoms

STAR OF THE MORNING

THE MAGE'S DAUGHTER

PRINCESS OF THE SWORD

A TAPESTRY OF SPELLS

SPELLWEAVER

GIFT OF MAGIC

DREAMSPINNER

RIVER OF DREAMS

DREAMER'S DAUGHTER

Anthologies

THE CHRISTMAS CAT

(with Julie Beard, Barbara Bretton, and Jo Beverley)

CHRISTMAS SPIRITS

(with Casey Claybourne, Elizabeth Bevarly, and Jenny Lykins)

VEILS OF TIME

(with Maggie Shayne, Angie Ray, and Ingrid Weaver)

OPPOSITES ATTRACT

(with Elizabeth Bevarly, Emily Carmichael, and Elda Minger)

LOVE CAME JUST IN TIME

A KNIGHT'S VOW

(with Patricia Potter, Deborah Simmons, and Glynnis Campbell)

TAPESTRY

(with Madeline Hunter, Sherrilyn Kenyon, and Karen Marie Moning)

TO WEAVE A WEB OF MAGIC

(with Patricia A. McKillip, Sharon Shinn, and Claire Delacroix)

THE QUEEN IN WINTER

(with Sharon Shinn, Claire Delacroix, and Sarah Monette)

A TIME FOR LOVE

eSpecials

“TO KISS IN THE SHADOWS” FROM TAPESTRY

THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

Published by the Penguin Group

Penguin Group (USA) LLC

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

USA • Canada • UK • Ireland • Australia • New Zealand • India • South Africa • China

penguin.com

A Penguin Random House Company

This book is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.

DREAMER'S DAUGHTER

Copyright © 2015 by Kurland Book Productions, Inc.

Map illustration copyright © 2012 by Tara Larsen Chang.

Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

Berkley Sensation Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group.

BERKLEY SENSATION® is a registered trademark of Penguin Group (USA) LLC.

The “B” design is a trademark of Penguin Group (USA) LLC.

eBook ISBN: 978-1-101-59519-0

An application to register this book for cataloging has been submitted to the Library of Congress.

PUBLISHING HISTORY

Berkley Sensation trade paperback edition / January 2015

Cover design by George Long.

Cover art by Dan Craig.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

T
he palace of Inntrig, seat of power in the country of Cothromaiche, was a very quiet place.

It was difficult, perhaps, to be home to the sort of magic that flowed through the hills and dales of such a country, an unsettling magic that was rarely talked about and guarded jealously. More difficult still was providing shelter for the souls that inhabited that country, souls who understood that magic and possessed the means to use it. In the end, it was no doubt best, if you were any sort of sentient thing, to just keep your opinions to yourself and let those with the ability to split the world in half with their spells continue on their way unconversed with.

It didn't help matters any that Cothromaiche found itself so close to that most secretive of countries, Bruadair. As the residents of Cothromaiche had discovered, things tended to seep across the border, things that were perhaps not capable of being regulated by sharp-eyed customs agents and burly border guards. Dreams. Strange magic. Tales that stretched back into the mists of time so far that their authors could no longer be named. Those were the sorts of things that respectable library doors simply couldn't bring themselves to discuss in polite company.

Aisling of Bruadair stood in front of a pair of those mute doors and wished that the fixtures in the palace had been perhaps a bit less restrained. Though she wasn't sure anything at that point would have put her at ease, she might have at least had someone to converse with about her troubles. Or some
thing
. In Cothromaiche, she supposed the distinction didn't matter.

Of course, there were two souls on the other side of those doors who would have been more than happy to discuss all manner of things pertaining to her present business, but considering who those two lads were, she didn't think she wanted to hear what they might have to say.

She closed her eyes and wondered how it was that a simple weaver from an obscure village in a country shrouded in secrecy and menace could possibly find herself garnering the notice of any but a well-dressed gentleman who might want cloth woven especially for him. Yet there she was, standing in a Cothromiachian king's palace, terrified to face her future and wondering if it might be possible to run away before anyone noticed. She wasn't quite sure how she'd gotten from where she'd been to where she was at present, but she couldn't deny that a book had been the start of all her troubles.

She shivered. She'd owned but one book, and somehow purchasing it had led to being befriended by the peddler who had sold it to her, then subsequently being sent on a quest by that same peddler to look for a mercenary to save her country. What had happened to her along that journey was unbelievable enough that it likely should have found itself only between the covers of that book. Then again, her lone book had been a faithful listing of the military strictures of Scrymgeour Weger. Where her tale belonged was between the covers of a book on fables and myths.

She looked at the massive doors in front of her. She would have put her hand on the wood to see what it might be willing to reveal about what sorts of books on fables and myths the library contained, but she knew there was no point. The finely carved doors were resolutely silent. If there happened to be a hint of a
sshh
offered as a suggestion, she could understand. She also supposed she could have been imagining that.

That was a thought she found herself clinging to more often than not of late.

She shifted a bit and decided that perhaps the wall near those doors wouldn't mind if she leaned a shoulder against its sturdy self and caught her breath. She'd been struggling with that sort of thing for the past three days, since she had been rescued from an underground river that wended its way under Inntrig and no doubt served the palace gardener very well in his hothouse labors. The rescue had been timely given that she'd been on the verge of drowning.

A day or two of simply eating and sleeping had done wonders for her body, but not as much for her mind. If she'd thought she would find peace and respite from the unrelenting realities of her life in Inntrig's rather silent halls, she'd been thoroughly mistaken. Having the time to think had left her with more questions than answers, and the few answers she'd gotten were ones she hadn't wanted. She didn't want the rest of those necessary answers, but she supposed she would have to have them just the same. No sense in putting off the inevitable any longer.

She reached out and reluctantly put her hand on the wood. It didn't even shush her. It simply stood there, apparently too polite to mention that on its other side lay hundreds of books with potentially alarming contents. Unfortunately, books weren't the only unsettling things inside that library. It also contained a gracious host with details about countries she didn't particularly want to visit and the grandson of an elven king with plots and schemes on his mind.

The door shifted under her hand as only a solid wooden door could, startling her out of her unproductive thoughts. She moved away, expecting to find someone coming out of the library, but realized it had just been the door acting on its own. Perhaps it knew something she didn't. She frowned at it, but its only response was to open soundlessly. Caught, and so easily too.

She sighed, then walked forward only to pause in spite of herself. She had seen her share of libraries over the past several fortnights which she supposed made her a decent judge of their quality. She'd seen collections of books gathered in a university, in a trio of palaces, and in a building so large she'd been almost frightened by its height. But in none of those places had she had the overwhelming urge to pull a random book off the shelf and curl up in a chair to simply spend the afternoon reading for pleasure.

The walls in front of her were covered with shelves that stretched from floor to ceiling; the floors were covered with lovely and obviously expensive carpets. The furniture was heavy and dark, upholstered with leather for the most part. There were either long tables ready to accept large numbers of books or smaller tables set next to chairs, obviously set there to support goblets of wine and plates of strengthening edibles.

The surprising part of the room was the light. There were windows along one wall, true, but they couldn't possibly bring relief to all the nooks and crannies she could see. She supposed the lamps were lit by otherworldly means, though she could see no spells there. Obviously there was magic in Cothromaiche that she simply couldn't recognize.

She did recognize the two men sitting at a table near the windows, though, poring over books. Or, rather, arguing companionably about what they were reading. She leaned against a doorframe that didn't immediately tell her to shove off and supposed the time for avoiding the two of them had come to an end. She had managed it fairly well over the past couple of days, abandoning them in the library while she spent her time spinning, walking in the garden, or simply pacing through the passageways and attempting to convince herself not to up and bolt for points unknown.

Not that she ever would have managed the last, she supposed. Too much had happened to her for her to simply vanish into some obscure village and allow the world to continue on its course unchallenged, though perhaps it had been a single realization that had changed everything for her.

She had magic.

Worse still, those two men sitting there knew it.

One of the men who sat there with a tranquil expression on his face and the sun glinting off his pale blond hair would have only listened to her make excuses as to why she needed to flee and said nothing in response. Then again, that was apparently what Soilléir of Cothromaiche did, that keeping of his own counsel. For all she knew, he'd learned it from the bloody library doors.

She looked at the other man sitting there, dark-haired and rather less disinterested in what she was doing than he perhaps would have admitted. That was Rùnach of Ceangail, son of a black mage and elven princess. If she had told him she was about to run, he would have reminded her that she had agreed not only to allow him to save her country for her but wed him as well and that both would have been rather difficult if she disappeared into the night. He wasn't at all happy with the thought of her coming along on what was in truth her own quest, but he had given up arguing with her. There was no question of his going into Bruadair without her. She knew the country; he did not.

It would have been cowardly to say how desperately she wished she knew nothing at all.

Looking for details about her country was what Rùnach and Soilléir had ostensibly been doing, though she knew they hadn't limited themselves to that. On those fairly rare occasions when she had succumbed to the lure of library chairs, she had listened to them discuss politics, the shifting of country borders, and the antics of the members of the Council of Kings.

Well, those things and magic.

Not only had they discussed magic and all the incarnations of it that interested them, they had occasionally trotted out their formidable skills and indulged in the practice of it. Rùnach, who had been without his magic for a score of years, had smiled a little with each spell tossed out into the midst of the chamber for examination.

She had avoided thinking on how he'd had his magic restored to him. Of course, that had been made substantially more difficult by his affectionate gratitude plied on her whenever possible and the ensuing discussions between Rùnach and Soilléir about her part in the affair.

That discomfort had been added to quite substantially by the distress she'd felt over discussions of things pertaining to Bruadair. It wasn't simply that her country had been taken over by a usurper who strutted about the city as if he were sure no one could oust him from his stolen palace. It wasn't that she had seen for herself paintings of her country when it had been drenched in magic and beautiful because of it. It wasn't even that Bruadair's magic had been drained almost completely from the land, as if it had been a very fine wine siphoned out of the bottom of a cask.

It was that she knew she and Rùnach would have to not only rid Bruadair of its unwanted ruler, but uncover the mystery of where the country's magic had gone.

She couldn't bring herself to think about attempting to get it back.

She had never once considered, all those se'nnights ago when she'd been tasked with finding someone to remove Sglaimir of places unknown from the throne and restore the exiled king and queen to their rightful places, that such might be her true quest. She had thought only to travel to Gobhann and seek out Scrymgeour Weger's aid in selecting a mercenary to see to the business of overthrowing a government. It had never occurred to her that she would fail in that only to find herself taking on the role of savior for a country she had thought she didn't love.

It was odd how one's life could change so suddenly and in ways that were so unexpected.

She had never imagined she would encounter someone like Rùnach of Ceangail or that he would offer to take her quest on himself. As tempting as that had been, she'd known that her soul wouldn't have survived such a display of cowardice. She had agreed to his coming with her in part because he had his own quest that seemed to lie conveniently alongside hers, but mostly because she couldn't imagine her life without him.

She jumped a little when she realized Rùnach was watching her from his spot at the table. It was no doubt foolish to be so overcome by the sight of a handsome man, but perhaps she could be forgiven. The first time she'd seen Rùnach, she'd been rendered speechless by the sheer beauty of his face. Well, half his face, rather. The other half had been covered by scars he'd earned from an encounter with a well of evil, though those scars had done little to temper his elven beauty. Unfortunately for her ability to do anything useful when he was around, those scars had been taken almost completely away when she'd spun his power out of him, woven it into a shawl that she had laid over his shoulders, then watched as the king of Durial had spelled it into him.

Rùnach rose with a welcoming smile. She pushed away from the doorframe and started across the library to meet him—

Only to find herself sprawled on the floor. She caught her breath and lifted her head in time to be whipped in the face by a flurry of what she had to admit on closer inspection proved to be the skirts of an extremely lovely silk gown.

She watched in surprise as that excessive amount of red silk and the woman it encased continued their rush across the floor only to throw themselves collectively at Rùnach with a cry of gladness that soon turned into very expressive weeping.

Aisling sat back and considered this new turn of events. She commiserated with the carpet's disapproval of the newcomer's very sharp heels and considered adding her own opinion about too much silk in the face, but she was distracted from that by the conversation going on in front of her, if conversation it could be called.

“I thought you were dead!” the woman wailed.