The White Spell (Nine Kingdoms #10)(124)

Oh, and he wasn’t lingering in some mouldy part of a decrepit old forest in the depths of Shettlestoune where he was trapped behind impenetrable spells of essence changing, admiring all his power that had, by those same spells, been tossed down a well and locked there for eternity.

He also was again flying unencumbered, as it were. No one to worry about but himself, which was just how he preferred things. No need to always be making sure a companion was safe and warm and fed. That damned spell, which had turned out to be of someone’s make besides Soilléir’s, could certainly see to itself. He was free. Full of vim and good humor over the evil he would get right to as soon as he was at liberty to do so.

He applied himself to a goodly quaff of ale. It should have cured what ailed him, as it were, but all it did was leave him just as uncomfortable as he had been before. He eyed his cup suspiciously, but there was no magic adorning it that he could see and no poison garnishing it that he could smell.

He considered.

It wasn’t possible that he was . . . well . . . missing her. Was it?

There was a commotion at the door. He sat up in surprise. Surely that wasn’t—

Well, he would be damned. It was.

He started to rise, then decided that perhaps it was best that he not become part of the carnage there. A slender figure paused, looked at the trio of lads in various states of incapacitation around herself as if she could scarce believe she had felled them with such a judicious use of her elbows, then brushed her hands off before she walked over to the innkeeper and apologized politely for the necessity of teaching them manners.

The man laughed and promised her luncheon.

Acair watched as the woman—and it was indeed a woman—walked over to his table and sat down. She was dressed in black, which he supposed might have been intimidating if it hadn’t been for that flame-red hair that had apparently escaped her cap during her, er, instruction.

Very well, so she was beautiful. He had to admit it. He admitted it a bit reluctantly, to be sure, for she wasn’t his usual sort of woman.

“What is your usual sort of woman?”

He blinked, then looked at her. “Was I muttering?”

“Oh, nay, you were quite clear.”

He would have flushed if he’d been a different sort of lad, but he didn’t flush. He didn’t cause others to flush either, as it happened, he caused them to faint or shriek or feign death to escape his notice.

“I was thinking aloud,” he said.

“So I see,” she noted. “If it eases you any, you aren’t my usual sort of lad, either.”

“Do you have a usual sort of lad?” he asked.

“I do, and you aren’t it.”

He nodded to the barmaid and indicated his companion was missing a mug of something drinkable. The girl sprang into action, prodded there no doubt by the innkeeper who had just finished directing his lads to clean up the pile of refuse Léirsinn had left just inside the door. Acair half suspected that the majority of them had simply fallen into a faint over the sight of her hair, but perhaps that was something better kept to himself.

He waited until Léirsinn had something to drink, then wrapped his hands around his own mug. “Tell me more about your usual sort of lad.”

She looked at him from clear green eyes that he realized with a start were seeing things in him he wasn’t sure he cared for. He hadn’t had a chance to talk to her about her journey into the center of that spot of shadow, but perhaps that would need to be put on his list, near the top.

“I don’t like lads with dodgy pasts,” she said firmly.

“Understandable,” he noted. “One never knows what sorts of unpleasant things might crop up from that past.”

“One certainly doesn’t,” she agreed. “And I don’t care for lads without a decent amount of chivalry.”

He nodded. “One never knows when a large helping of chivalry or a robust display of courtly manners will be what turns the tide of battle, as it were.”

“I would imagine that is indeed the case.” She propped her chin up on her fist as if she strove not to nod off. “Now, what of you?”

He couldn’t say he wasn’t highly tempted to have a nap right there near the fire with her. It had been a long night that had been but one in a succession of very long nights. What they both needed, he supposed, was a safe haven that might welcome them for more than just a single night. More was the pity that he supposed that wasn’t going to be in their future for quite some time to come.

“Oh,” he said, dragging himself back to the matter at hand, “I prefer a brittle, unpleasant sort of woman who is accustomed to snubbing royalty and putting servants in their places. I daresay she should possess an encyclopedic knowledge of ways to poison visiting mages without their having seen it coming.”

“That is quite a list.”

“Perfected over decades of associating with just such shrews,” he assured her.

She looked at him thoughtfully. “I think I might like a kind, honorable sort of lad who isn’t afraid to show his feelings.”

He felt a little queasy. “Show his feelings?”

“Daily.”

“Ye gads, woman, are you mad?”

She smiled and he thought he might like to sit down. He realized he was sitting down.

What he needed, perhaps, was indeed a nap.