The White Spell (Nine Kingdoms #10)(108)

“With a collection of spells that would make you wince,” Acair said, “which perhaps you didn’t know.”

“Oh, I know,” Soilléir said. “We’ve discussed them more than once over tea. And speaking of things discussed over tea, you should know that she’s enormously proud of you.”

“She has reason, I suppose.”

Mhorghain laughed. Acair wasn’t sure he shouldn’t have been offended, but he was finding that he quite liked a grown-up Mhorghain of Tòrr Dòrainn, her choice of husbands aside. He watched her lean closer to Soilléir.

“He’s not exactly what he likes people to think, is he?”

“He is a mystery,” Soilléir said. “Conflicted, I daresay, but absolutely fearless, if one must begin a list of his finer points.”

“I am,” Acair agreed, “which is why your grandfather had best send a diligent maidservant in to dust his library, that he might know when I’ve come to pay a call to investigate his most treasured and hidden of spellbooks. Now, before I find myself dazzled beyond measure by that thought, let’s get back to the matter at hand.”

“Those spots,” Soilléir agreed slowly. “Any ideas on what they are?”

Acair almost threw up his hands in frustration. “I don’t give a bloody damn about those spots. I’m talking about that spell over there in the corner! I want to be free of it so I can find out why I’m not seeing the usual suspects trailing after me with my murder at the top of their hastily scrawled lists of things to do before supper. Is that clear enough for you?”

Soilléir frowned. Acair didn’t care for the look at all mostly because it contained an alarming amount of something that might have been termed I haven’t a bloody clue if the look had been worn by someone else.

“Don’t tell me you don’t know what that spell is,” Acair said, because he couldn’t not say it.

“I haven’t a bloody clue.”

Acair realized he was halfway across the table only because his sister’s hand was suddenly there against the middle of his chest, holding him still in mid-lunge. She was, he had to admit, rather strong for a wench. She looked him in the eye.

“Don’t.”

“But I want to so badly.”

“You cannot fight him in your present state,” she reminded him.

“In any state,” Soilléir offered, then smiled. “Just thought you ought to remember that.”

Acair sat back down with a curse, then glared at Soilléir. “You know, for someone who paints himself as always above the fray, you can be a great whacking bastard from time to time.”

Soilléir sighed. “I know. I think I need a change.”

“Fine, let me help you with that,” Acair said. “I’ll give you my spells and you give me yours. We’ll meet back up in a year and see where we are.”

Soilléir laughed reluctantly. “Heaven forbid.” He considered, then sighed. “I must tell you, Acair, that this whole thing is odd.”

“Then take off that bloody spell and let me see to it in the normal way!”

“I’ll go have a look at it.” Soilléir rose and looked at Mhorghain. “If Her Majesty will excuse me?”

She only smiled and waved him on. Acair watched him go, then looked back at his sister.

“I don’t know how you endure him so often.”

“You like him,” she remarked.

“I can’t bloody stand him. Now, if he were to break into his grandfather’s solar library with me, then step aside as I helped myself to the most potent of those Cothromaichian spells, well, then we might have something.”

“He never would.”

“See? Doomed from the start.” He paused and looked at her. “Don’t suppose you know any of those spells of his.”

“Don’t suppose I would share if I did.”

“You, my wee sisterling, have spent far too much time in Weger’s company.” He shook his head. “Hard-hearted wench.”

She only smiled, so he supposed she knew he wasn’t completely in earnest. He waited, considered a quick game of cards to refill his purse, contemplated with even more seriousness lifting the purse of a fat lord in the corner, then watched as Soilléir came back into the gathering hall. He looked perplexed, which Acair just couldn’t believe was a good thing.

Soilléir sat, drank, then simply stared at him.

“Well?” Acair demanded finally.

“That’s not my spell.”

Acair retrieved his jaw from where it had fallen to his chest. “But . . . well, then ’tis something of Rùnach’s that he made using your spells. You can remove his spell just as easily.”

“It doesn’t belong to either of us,” Soilléir said. “Honestly, I have absolutely no idea how it came to be.”

Acair felt his mouth working. He would have attempted to force a few choice insults out whilst he was flapping his lips, as it were, but he was simply too astonished for words. He shook his head, then realized he was sitting there, shaking his head as if he couldn’t latch onto anything else useful to say.

“But that can’t be,” he managed finally.