The White Spell (Nine Kingdoms #10)(111)

He turned his mind away from that unhappy thought and forced himself to concentrate on following his sister back to Tor Neroche instead of getting lost in all that glittering elven rot.

It was harder than he’d thought it would be.





Twenty-one





Léirsinn held a dagger in her hand and wondered if that might be what landed her in a dungeon for good.

Of course, the potential for that had everything to do with the fact that the man she was facing over daggers was Mansourah of Neroche. She didn’t imagine stabbing a prince of a royal house was looked upon with any sort of leniency. Then again, the whole morning of madness had been his idea, so perhaps if he walked away bloodied, he had no one to blame but himself.

It wasn’t as if she’d woken that morning with the intention of facing a prince over daggers. Her day had started out in a fairly normal fashion with a trip to the barn, a bit of exercising not only her horse but Acair’s, and a happy discussion with the stable master about the excellent accommodations enjoyed by a collection of horses she could readily see contained a handful of beasts from Hearn’s stables. Falaire’s right front leg was giving him a bit of trouble, but the king’s horse master promised him all the healing they could put into him in the time they had. She had known that wasn’t much more than she could have done herself and she’d left her horse to his care.

She’d then had a late breakfast with a pair of Miach’s older brothers, Cathar and Turah, during which she’d been told more about the state of the world than she’d wanted to hear. She’d made her escape at noon after having been assured she was at liberty to wander where she cared to. She hadn’t been sure she would ever accustom herself to scores of servants, a handful of whom had seemingly been assigned to see to her needs, but she’d supposed she would never have to.

It had been as she’d been wandering the passageways, trying not to gape at her surroundings as she was trailed by a handful of pages and maidservants, that she had encountered Mansourah of Neroche. He had wondered if she might care to learn to use the dagger he had found for her in the armory that morning.

“On Acair?” she’d asked.

“Now that you mention it,” he had replied, “aye.”

That had been at least a pair of hours ago. Since then, she had learned how to use a knife for more than cutting the string that held bales of hay together. Whether or not she could use a blade on another person was something else entirely.

She looked at the knife in her hand, then looked at Miach’s older brother. He was as handsome as the rest of the litter, though she sensed a restlessness in him that made her wonder what he was still doing at the palace instead of wandering the Nine Kingdoms. If he’d been a horse, she would have sold him to an adventurer in need of a fearless pony not prone to shying at the unexpected.

“Mistress Léirsinn?”

“Just Léirsinn,” she said, “and as such, I must be honest with you. I’m just not sure I could ever stab someone.”

“Not even if they were trying to kill you?” he asked.

“Who would want to kill me?”

Mansourah only looked at her pointedly.

She returned his look. “Acair wouldn’t, no matter what you think of him. And anyone else would likely have magic, which would be far more deadly than any knife I could use.”

He sighed, then nodded reluctantly. “I must admit that is likely true,” he agreed. “Why don’t we then try something less sharp? You never know when a well-placed elbow or a judicious use of a curled fist will be what saves the day.”

She smiled. “You have brothers, obviously.”

“Each more irritating than the last,” he agreed. “Save Miach, unfortunately. He’s a lovely wee fellow.”

“I’m sure he appreciates the compliment,” she said dryly, handing him her knife.

“What he appreciates more, I imagine, is my ability to guard his back when the need arises. Let me show you what might be useful for you in such a situation.”

She looked at him and shook her head. “I appreciate it, truly I do, but I’m just not sure I can do this.”

He looked at her thoughtfully for a moment or two, then tossed her knife and his onto a chair near the fire. He returned to stand before her.

“I vex Acair of Ceangail because I can,” he said slowly, “and because he deserves it. He has a terrible reputation, one he’s earned, and he uses magic that most shy away from out of simple good taste if nothing else. But whatever else his failings, he is a gentleman and if he were able, he would protect you, I daresay, with his life.”

“But?” she asked.

He looked at her seriously. “But there may come a time when he is not there to keep you safe and you must protect yourself by yourself. If you can at least give yourself time to flee, you should learn how to do so. And for all you know, you might be able to aid him, ruthless bastard that he is. For your sake, of course, not his.”

She didn’t have to give it any more thought. “Very well. Thank you.”

“You might feel differently in an hour.”

“So might you.”

He only smiled. “Let’s begin, then.”

? ? ?

It wasn’t an hour later, but several hours later that she had left Mansourah of Neroche limping off to dress for supper and found herself standing in her chamber, a chamber that was far larger than even her uncle’s study, looking at herself in a polished glass and wondering how she had come to be where she was. She had wished for a change.