The White Spell (Nine Kingdoms #10)(120)

He imagined she hadn’t forgotten anything. “Thank you, Morgan.”

“My pleasure. Any messages for your lady?”

“You could tell her that I think her hair is glorious,” he said, “and that I left to keep her safe. She’ll understand.”

“She won’t like it.”

“But she’ll understand.”

Mhorghain nodded and handed him Sianach’s reins. “Off you go, then.”

He took the reins, then paused. “There’s something you should know.”

She looked at him sharply. “If you tell me you are my father instead of Gair, I will stab you.”

He attempted a smile, but he feared it hadn’t come out very well. “Nothing so dire.” He blew out his breath because he had never told a soul what he was about to vomit all over his sister. He shook his head. Bloody hell, if anything else untoward happened to him that day, he would simply . . . well, he would stomp about a great deal and rage, because that was what he did. He took a deep breath and looked at his sister. “About the well.”

“The well?” she asked uneasily.

“Ruamharaiche’s well,” he clarified.

“I didn’t realize it had a name.”

“It does.”

She looked a little pale. “Did you know what he planned?”

He nodded.

“And you didn’t try to stop it?”

“My sire, the soulless bastard, has the spell of Diminishing,” Acair said grimly. “There is no fighting that. Or at least there wasn’t for me at the time. And if you must know, I was off at the time, making mischief.”

“I see.” She looked at him from clear eyes that were Sarait’s eyes. “And?”

“We all knew what he planned,” he said carefully. “My mother, if you can believe this, tried to convince your mother to not go forward, but I’m guessing she saw no other path.”

“I think that is true,” Mhorghain said very quietly.

“I felt him loose the well’s power,” Acair said. He looked about him, then looked at her. “This won’t mean anything to you, I suppose, but I came as quickly as I could.”

She didn’t move. “You?”

“My life has been full of black mages and their ilk,” he said, “but that doesn’t mean I don’t have the occasional impulse for good sneak up on me like bad eggs once or twice a century.”

She didn’t smile. “Am I going to want to be seated for the rest of this?”

“I’d prefer that you be relieved of your weapons and don’t think I haven’t heard about how many you tend to wear,” he said, looking at her pointedly, “but you can look for a bench, if you like.”

“Perhaps I should stand.”

“Easier to stab me that way?”

“Something like that.”

He looked for the right words. “I won’t tell you too much, for I can’t fathom what you—” He had to take a deep breath. “I just wanted you to know that I did what I could.”

“And what was that, Acair?”

“I told the mercenaries where to find you and paid them to watch over you.”

She blinked. “I thought Nicholas of Diarmailt did so.”

“I thought it might go badly if anyone knew the truth. King Nicholas agreed.”

“You know Nicholas?” she asked in surprise.

“Well, we don’t have tea often,” he said stiffly, “but aye, of course I know him. I’ve nicked several of his books over the years.”

“He can’t be pleased with you over that.”

“I always bring them back,” Acair admitted, “but don’t noise that about.” He shrugged. “’Tis just for the sport of it and a bit of pleasant conversation.”

“I don’t think you’re nearly as awful as you want people to believe.”

“Definitely please don’t noise that about.”

She looked at him for so long, he flirted with the idea of turning and bolting.

“I’ve lost several of my brothers,” she said finally.

“Well, you surely don’t want any of mine.”

She conceded that with a nod. “Nay, but I think I’ll take you.”

It was his turn to blink rapidly. Damned dusty roads. “You should have your men see to these byways more often. Hard to keep one’s eyes clear, as you can plainly tell with me at the moment.”

She smiled faintly. “Of course. And I won’t tell a soul anything but that you are the worst black mage in history.”

“Stop,” he pleaded, “lest you drive me to tears.”

“We wouldn’t want that,” she said. She looked at him seriously. “You can count on at least one safe haven with us. Well, Rigaud will kill you if he can, but you likely expect that most everywhere you go, don’t you?”

“I do.” He paused. “Thank you, Morgan.”

“You’re welcome. And the number is seventeen.”

“Seventeen?”

“The number of blades I could have stabbed you with before you’d seen me draw them.” She smiled. “State secret. Don’t noise it about.” She leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. “Send word if you need aid.”