The White Spell (Nine Kingdoms #10)(2)

Now, there was a piece of truth if ever there were one. Who knew what that one there dreamed up as he sat in his private chambers in the schools of wizardry, contemplating that staggering amount of power he had that was no doubt simply lying about his chambers like so many unmatched socks.

“I could,” Soilléir said, “but I never would.”

Acair suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. When Soilléir of Cothromaiche started making a fuss about his nobler instincts, the conversation was doomed to head downhill very quickly. Best to head off any potential rhapsodic waxing about the health benefits of virtuous living before the man truly hit his stride.

He studied the two on the other side of the table and considered the lay of the land, as it were. He hadn’t minimized the misery they had already put him through. It had been at least half a year that he’d been dragging himself from one tedious locale to another, forcing himself to smile politely, speak without threats, and keep his hands in his pockets instead of allowing them to linger in any visible coffers. It had been absolute hell, but he was nothing if not a man of his word and he had agreed to do the like.

That Soilléir had threatened him with life as a lawn ornament if he didn’t comply had been a decent bit of motivation, but he’d done what he’d agreed to do and now he had other plans. He hadn’t wanted to choke down a meal with the lads facing him, but the invitation had been less of a request and more of a summons. He had assumed he would be required to give some sort of recounting of all the things he had learned, promise never to behave poorly again, then be relegated to a distant if not fond memory. His life would again be his own and he would never darken either of their front stoops again.

He knew he shouldn’t have been surprised to find that extricating himself from their clutches was going to be a bit more difficult than he’d anticipated.

He pointedly ignored Soilléir and turned to Rùnach.

“Very well,” he said briskly, “tell me quickly what preposterous thing I must do in order to win my freedom from your presence and let me about it. Just realize I am only doing this to humor you. If I were a lesser man, I would simply leave you here at the table to pay for my drink yourselves.”

They didn’t look as alarmed by that possibility as they should have, but insults only went so far with men who obviously hadn’t the wits between them to know when they were being insulted.

Rùnach looked at him seriously. “We want you to apologize to Uachdaran of Léige for disturbing his sleep with the rivers of power you set to running under his kingdom.”

“I didn’t do that,” Acair spluttered.

Rùnach only looked at him in a way that was so reminiscent of Soilléir, Acair almost flinched.

“Very well, I did do that,” he said, “but if you think I’m going to go prostrate myself in front of that feisty old curmudgeon and apologize for anything, you’re mad.”

Rùnach shrugged. “If that doesn’t suit, then we’ll take a century of your doing no magic instead.”

Acair knew he was gaping but couldn’t keep from it. He revisited his three favorite activities and wondered which one would be the most effective on the two sitting across from him. He sat up a bit straighter and smoothed his hand over his tunic. “What horrible fate do you have waiting for me if I tell you to go to hell?” he asked politely. “Or shall I simply slay you both whilst your noses are buried in your cups?”

Soilléir lifted a pale eyebrow. “I could turn you into something you wouldn’t like.”

“I can’t think of anything I wouldn’t like,” Acair said promptly, ignoring any previous discussions he might or might not have had with the man sitting across from him regarding birdbaths. “Do your worst.”

“You might want to reconsider,” Soilléir advised. “Imagine the locales where I could put you, silent as stone, doomed for eternity to simply watch those around you living pleasant lives.”

“You’re bluffing,” Acair said dismissively. “Your vaunted code prevents you from doing something that evil.”

Soilléir only looked at him in that way he had. “For you, Acair, I might make an exception.”

Acair almost shivered, which alarmed him more than anything he’d been faced with so far that evening. He didn’t shiver; he made others shiver. He was accustomed to walking into a hall and having the entire company sink to the ground in a terrorized faint. It was just what he did, that terrifying the bloody hell out of everyone he met. He had to admit, with extreme reluctance, that he didn’t care for it at all when that same sort of feeling tapped him on the shoulder and demanded his attention.

Damn that Soilléir of Cothromaiche and all his ilk. He should have drained the man’s bloody homeland of all its power long before now.

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t considered the possibilities of that previously, and very seriously too. The actual execution of that sort of theft had turned out to be rather more daunting a prospect than he’d thought, which had forced him to shelve the idea for the time being. Perhaps ’twas past time he took the plan down and reexamined it. Soilléir had to sleep at least occasionally, surely. A wee rest for the man, a substantial bit of pilfering for himself, and then he would be saved from being turned into a lawn ornament for those damned faeries from Sìabhreach.