The White Spell (Nine Kingdoms #10)(101)

“When?” that same man spat. “After he makes you too dead to watch him slay the rest of us?”

Léirsinn leaned up and looked over Acair’s shoulder. He put his hand behind him and held her where she was.

“I wouldn’t,” he whispered.

She patted him, then stepped around his hand before he could stop her. She went to stand shoulder to shoulder with Miach so she could better see what was going on in the pasture, as it were. Her first thought was that, again, she would someday have to learn not to gape at her surroundings with what she was certain was an expression of utter astonishment.

She leaned closer to the king. “If this is the dining chamber,” she whispered in awe, “I would hate to see the rest of this place.”

He smiled at her briefly, then turned back to face several men who were past furious. Léirsinn paused, then changed her mind about that. There were five men facing her and of the five only one seemed to be past reason. The remaining four were simply watching one of their number as he thoroughly lost his temper. Some of them were smiling, others were obviously attempting not to smile.

They were the king’s brothers, or so she’d been warned as they had made their way through the palace. Acair had also made a point to warn her that his welcome, as usual, wouldn’t be a warm one. She had watched him be proven wrong both at his grandparents’ house and Aherin, so she hadn’t been particularly worried.

Now, she was beginning to think she had let her guard down too soon. Miach’s brother Rigaud was absolutely beside himself with fury and not shy about sharing his opinions. She suspected Acair wouldn’t even manage an apology before that one slew him if given the chance. Then again, it wasn’t as if she could have done anything to save the man standing behind her, continuing to offer the occasional kind word.

“He’s turned over a new leaf,” Miach shouted at one point.

“Aye, to find all the bodies of those he’s slain when they wouldn’t give him their magic!”

Acair cleared his throat and leaned over Léirsinn’s shoulder. “I believe, Prince Rigaud, that you’re confusing me with my illustrious but admittedly morally impoverished sire—”

“Shut up!” Rigaud thundered.

“Well,” Acair said, “there’s no need to be unpleasant.”

Miach laughed. Léirsinn watched Rigaud, definitely the best dressed of the lot, offer a final warning in less-than-dulcet tones before he stomped off, snarling curses at no one in particular. The rest of the men there didn’t seem to be reaching for swords or spells, which she thought boded well. Miach looked at her.

“Introductions,” he said. “These are my brothers: Cathar, Nemed, Mansourah, and Turah. Rigaud is the one who recently made such a graceful exit, hastening off to no doubt make plans to slay Acair in his sleep.”

“No doubt,” Acair muttered. “I’ll sleep with one eye open, I daresay.”

Miach winked at Léirsinn, then nodded in the direction of his brothers. “And that rabble there has now been joined by my lady wife, the princess Mhorghain of Tòrr Dòrainn, now queen of Neroche.”

Léirsinn wondered how she hadn’t noticed the queen before. She was so painfully beautiful that Léirsinn half wondered if she might be—well, of course she was. She couldn’t say she was good with very many things, but she’d discovered in Sgath’s library that she had no trouble memorizing maps. Tòrr Dòrainn was the elven land to the east of Ainneamh, which meant that if the queen of Neroche hailed from there, she was obviously of that elven bent.

She didn’t look as arrogant as King Ehrne and his lads had been, though. She rolled her eyes at her husband and walked across the chamber to hold out her hand.

“I’m Morgan,” she said with a smile.

“Ah,” Léirsinn said, at something of a loss. Queen though the woman might have been, she somehow seemed a great deal like the comfortable sort of person her husband was. “I’m—”

“Léirsinn of Sàraichte,” Morgan finished. “So I hear. I’ve never been to Sàraichte, but I hear it isn’t a place to linger.”

Léirsinn suspected she might be looking at a friend. “It’s worse than you can imagine.”

“Oh, I can imagine quite a few things,” Morgan said. She looked over Léirsinn’s shoulder. “And who do we have here?”

Léirsinn stepped aside, mostly because she couldn’t imagine that the queen would damage the man behind her. She looked at Acair to find him looking a bit winded, actually. He took a deep breath, then made the queen a low, sweeping bow.

“Your Majesty,” he said. “A pleasure, truly.”

Morgan pursed her lips at him. “Flattery, my lord Acair?”

He shrugged and smiled faintly. “I thought I would give it a try.”

Morgan considered him for a moment or two, then looked at Léirsinn. “We share a father, you know, who I fortunately don’t remember very well. They tell me that one there is nothing like him save for perhaps the fairness of his face. All I know of him is what I’ve heard thanks to an endless number of tales about his bad behavior. What do you know?”

Léirsinn wasn’t sure she’d heard the queen correctly. “You share a father?” she asked blankly, feeling quite thoroughly as if she had indeed been raised in a barn. The twistings and turnings of the family trees she was encountering were truly something to behold. “Sgath is your grandfather, then?”