The White Spell (Nine Kingdoms #10)(102)

Morgan nodded. “So he is.” She glanced at Acair, then looked at Léirsinn. “What do you think of my half-brother there?”

“He tucks my hand under his arm constantly,” Léirsinn said, because it was the first thing she could think of. “He has also fed me when I couldn’t afford to do so myself.”

“Interesting,” Morgan said. “I understand he’s spent a goodly part of the past year groveling before various offended dignitaries. Sounds unpleasant, doesn’t it?”

“Very,” Léirsinn agreed.

Morgan looked at Acair for a moment or two longer, then seemed to come to some sort of decision about him. She smiled at Léirsinn. “Let’s leave him to fend for himself. If he manages to survive the gauntlet that will form on his way to the table, I might just see him fed.”

Léirsinn followed the queen across the chamber, noting that she had predicted things aright. The king’s brothers seemed determined to perhaps have a bit of sport at Acair’s expense. Well, save for one of those who deserted the rest without hesitation and hurried around the table to hold out a chair for her. She looked at the queen, but Morgan only smiled and shrugged.

Léirsinn was uncomfortable accepting aid from someone besides Acair, a rather alarming realization to be sure, but she sat where invited to just the same. She then looked at the man who plopped himself down next to her. He was terribly handsome, so much so that she had to admit she felt a little light-headed.

“Drink,” Morgan said dryly, handing her a delicate glass of something. “Sourah, leave her alone.”

“She’s exquisite,” the man said. “She obviously needs my protection.”

“You realize that means you’ll be fighting Acair of Ceangail for her, don’t you?” Morgan asked seriously. “I don’t imagine you’ll win.”

“I intend to give it my best effort. The prize would be worth it.”

“Léirsinn, this is my brother-in-law, Mansourah,” Morgan said. “Mansourah, leave her be before you ruin her appetite.”

Mansourah of Neroche was polite and gallant, Léirsinn would give him that. She knew she had made some bit of conversation that was probably not as lofty as it should have been given her surroundings, but she was profoundly uncomfortable with the attention Morgan’s brother-in-law was paying her and she wasn’t sure quite how to avoid it.

“Move.”

Léirsinn looked over her shoulder to find Acair standing behind her, his hand on her chair. Mansourah only looked at him coolly.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You may find that necessary at some point,” Acair said in that posh accent he tended to use with royalty and other rich men. “As that might be unpleasant for you, I suggest you save yourself that pain and get up. Now.”

“So we can brawl before supper?”

“I wouldn’t make a nuisance of myself in such a manner,” Acair said. “I assume you have the same level of decency.”

Mansourah pursed his lips, then looked at Léirsinn. “I forget who he is far too often.” He rose and inclined his head politely. “I concede the chair, but not the battle. Mistress Léirsinn, if you’ll excuse me?”

Léirsinn kept her mouth shut and nodded, which she supposed was the best she could do under the circumstances. Acair exchanged places with the king’s brother with a minimum of curses muttered, settled himself in the chair next to her, then looked at her.

“One skirmish won.”

She hoped that would be the worst of it, but she hardly dared hope for it. She smiled weakly, then turned and watched the rest of Miach’s family seat themselves around the table. They might have been sitting in a grand chamber, but when it came to supper, they were very much as she remembered her family having been before they’d had to leave their home. If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought herself in a place no more grand than some minor landholder’s kitchen with a table built for his robust collection of children to gather around each night. Morgan and Miach of Neroche were very fortunate indeed.

She had no idea what she ate, though she supposed it had been tasty enough. She wanted to believe she had no reason to be nervous, but she couldn’t help but wonder if they would manage to finish dessert without someone flinging his pudding at Acair, accompanied no doubt by a barbed spell or two.

Supper ended unremarkably, though, and she soon found herself sitting with the company in front of a fire in a private gathering chamber that was no less lovely than the dining hall but definitely smaller. She was exhausted, but she couldn’t not struggle to keep her eyes open lest she miss something important.

There was a great deal of abuse heaped on Acair’s head, which he took with more grace than she would have managed herself. Prince Rigaud even unbent far enough to sit with them, though he made up for that with the looks he was sending Acair. Acair glanced at him occasionally with a look of such utter boredom that Léirsinn had to smile. That one there. She thought that he might deserve a few of the souls who didn’t care for him.

“I think there is something going on.”

Léirsinn looked at the queen. “I beg your pardon, Your Majesty?”

“Morgan,” she said with a smile. “Call me Morgan. This whole business of crowns and such is a recent development. Most of my life, I’ve just been a soldier of fortune.”