Rianaire watched as Práta comforted Socair who smiled politely and made her stop. It was a moment before the story left and Socair remembered where she was.
“I think… perhaps I have told an inappropriate story.”
“No, of course not. A true and honest one, if sad. You have bared yourself to me, at least a little, and so I will for you, that we might understand one another. Tell me, do the rivers freeze in Abhainnbaile when the cold comes?”
Síocháin shifted at her side.
“Some years.”
“And you understand the way of Abhainn’s Gift?”
“Práta is well-versed. More than I could ever hope to be.”
“Then she, at least, will understand. In the years before my mother died, I spent much of my time avoiding her reach knowing that she would lock me in rooms with teachers and books and lessons on what she thought I ought to understand. Síocháin was my only joy in the world, then, and so I dragged her along whenever I fled. The cold had come early one year, not even Bais and a nearby lake had gone frozen. Ice is a thing that I cannot seem to draw myself away from. Perhaps it is the transformation of one thing to another so easily with just a changing of the wind. Rigid and sharp and unforgiving, but simply another face to something that sustains us.” Rianaire chuckled and drank from her mug. “Perhaps I think of it too much. I should not get so distracted. Or so I’m reminded. The lake had frozen quickly and I saw something I had never witnessed before. Fish trapped among the ice. They still moved and I could not pull my eyes away from them. Síocháin came to call me for lunch and I insisted she come and see. She hesitated and I mocked her as I did often. It worked so well, it always did then. She had come onto the ice from a different place than me. A weaker place. The ice cracked only twice before it gave way. I ran to her as best I could but the water had shifted her away and she panicked. She was under the ice as the fish were. I forgot I had ever learned the first word of knowledge of the Gift of water and I beat the ice until my hands were bloody and useless. Finally, whatever place in my brain held the thought told me to move the ice. I could not. I had learned the Divine Waters but they were not meant to move ice. For twenty minutes I tried and failed until finally I felt the water below move to my whim. She had not moved for so long, I knew it in my mind but I ignored it all. I dragged her from the waters and put her on the land. She was blue and still. I screamed and wept and no one came. I made my resolve then. I would pull her back or die in the attempt. We would be together, at least. I ripped myself apart from the inside out, plying every piece of the Gifts I could think. I warmed her, pushed air into her and out again, and set the Divine Waters coursing through her. It hurt more than any pain I have ever known. An acid pool built itself some place deep in my skull, one which has never left me to this day. But she took a breath. A single breath and the pain became something beautiful. Now so long as she is with me, I find I can bear the pain.” Rianaire smiled and looked at Síocháin. “How was that? Did I tell it to your liking this time?”
Síocháin looked across to Socair. “A story where I am often blamed for not having known the ice was thin where I was goaded into walking.”
“Oh, come now. I saved you, didn’t I? It’s only fair that I seem the hero.” Rianaire turned to the pair across the table. “She is so fussy about these things, I swear it. Sisters know I can’t have a single moment of glory with her around.” She had eaten half of the meat pie without noticing and it was growing cold so she pushed it away. “Nothing worse than cold pie. Would you like another?”
“No, and while I appreciate the meaning in our exchange I would—”
Rianaire turned away from the table, ignoring the conversation’s move back to business. “Tavernkeep!” She turned to Inney. “Or… Sisters damn it all, is it tavernkeep at an alehouse? Alekeep?” She swiveled again in her
