The White Spell (Nine Kingdoms #10)(112)

She thought she might want to be more careful what she wished for in the future.

It was odd to be in the midst of a flock of maidservants who were attending to things she didn’t normally think about, such as her fingernails and whether or not her hair curled to the right or the left, never mind all the rest of the fussing and arranging of her person that was going on.

Her hair. She looked at it and wondered if it could possibly be called anything but red.

“Nay, you silly gel, not yellow. Let’s hold up the red again.”

Léirsinn identified the woman speaking with such authority as the Mistress of the Wardrobe. She would rather have been facing a dozen stallions with tempers than that one, but that was obviously not going to be her lot that night.

“What do you think, Your Majesty? This one, or shall it be the emerald green that I have already suggested?”

“I do believe, Mistress Wardrobe,” Morgan said, nodding slowly, “that you have yet again made the right choice. The green is spectacular.”

Léirsinn looked at the queen and had a sly wink as her reward. It might have cheered her, but she was still standing there in underclothing she was fairly certain had been fashioned by some black mage for a former lover he intended to torment. She allowed herself to be dressed in the aforementioned emerald gown, opened her eyes when her head had emerged from the neckline, then looked at herself in the mirror.

“Oh,” she said weakly.

Mistress Wardrobe directed her assistants to put on the finishing touches, as it were, then clapped her hands and beamed. “Perfect. We’re finished here.” She made Morgan a crisp bow. “My duty is accomplished and quite successfully, as always.” She shot Léirsinn a look. “Don’t spill anything on your gown and leave your hair alone.”

Léirsinn nodded and suspected she wouldn’t dare do anything else. She watched the Mistress of the Wardrobe herd her flock of helpers out the door, then found herself vastly relieved to be left with just the queen of Neroche. She looked at Morgan.

“Well.”

“She terrifies most,” Morgan agreed with a half laugh. “The boys scamper when they see her coming. She and I, however, have come to an understanding: She leaves off with commenting on my training clothes and I wear whatever she tells me to for state events. An uneasy truce, but hard won. You look lovely, by the way.”

“But my hair—”

“Is absolutely stunning,” Morgan said seriously. “Don’t change it.”

“How would I change it?”

Morgan looked at her and sighed. “That is a sorry comment on the state of my life, isn’t it? I’ve become all too used to having magic. Life is simpler without it, I think.”

“Is it?” Léirsinn asked. She shrugged at the look Morgan sent her way. “I’m just curious. Acair seems to miss it. I’ve never had it, so I have nothing to miss. I just wonder what it feels like to have it.”

Morgan paused, then nodded at the little table that had been placed a distance from the fire that Léirsinn supposed was the right distance to keep her from becoming too hot. “Let’s rest for a moment or two and I’ll tell you.”

Léirsinn followed the queen over to a chair, sat, and happily accepted a glass of wine. Whatever else went on at the keep, they certainly had a decent lad manning the cellars.

“When I first realized I had it, I would have cut it from my very veins if I’d been able,” Morgan said with a sigh. “Miach was the one who showed me that it could be a beautiful thing, but he does that.” She shrugged. “I have what Acair has from my father and I have elven magic from my mother. Sometimes I feel as though it wars within me, though I suppose Gair’s magic comes from elven sources as well doesn’t it?”

“From his father, I gather,” Léirsinn agreed. She had given up trying to deny what she had seen or found difficult to believe. She still felt a little as if she were in a play where she was just repeating lines about magic and elves and other unbelievable things, but she wasn’t sure what else to do. No sense in wasting energy trying to deny what she couldn’t any longer. “Very lovely, Prince Sgath and the lady Eulasaid.”

“They are,” Morgan said. “And so are you. Acair will be gobsmacked, I’ll tell you that.”

“He won’t notice me.”

Morgan looked at her, laughed, then shook her head with a final smile. “If you don’t want him to notice you, then that’s one thing. But I think the choice will be yours. He won’t have a bloody thing to say about it.”

Léirsinn sipped her wine, then set it aside. “And what do you think of him?”

“He is not our father,” Morgan said. “Anything else? I think he’s handsome, charming, and has too much time on his hands. He should spend more time mucking out stalls and less time at the gaming table.”

“But evil?”

“I’ve seen evil,” Morgan said quietly, “and he is not it. Whether or not he believes that is something I wouldn’t presume to guess. What do you think?”

“He makes me laugh.”

“Many marriages were begun with less.”

“Marriage,” Léirsinn echoed, choking. “To me? Surely not.”

“Miach fell in love with me when he thought I was a soldier of fortune,” Morgan said with a smile, then she laughed again. “Listen to me. Motherhood has turned my mind in directions it doesn’t usually go.” She set her own glass aside and rose. “Enjoy the evening, Léirsinn, and leave the rest for the morning. For all we know, Sourah and Acair will fight a duel over you and we’ll be rid of them both.”