The White Spell (Nine Kingdoms #10)(25)

She nodded briskly, then continued on with him toward The Preening Pelican, congratulating him silently on his good sense. That task accomplished—and far too quickly—she turned to wondering just who he was and why it was he found himself in Sàraichte. It was truly the last place she would have chosen to live if she’d had a choice.

Perhaps she did have a choice. If there were any way to increase her funds, surely Mistress Cailleach would know. If all else failed, perhaps Acair, if he proved adept with cards, could teach her how to make a decent living at it. She could imagine worse occupations. Well, perhaps not very many, but a few—

She pulled up short, putting her hand out to stop Acair before he walked into a patch of shadow. He stopped, then looked at her.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Nothing,” she said quickly. “Let’s, ah, go over there. Better to admire the signage from a different angle, wouldn’t you agree?”

She didn’t dare look at him. It was enough to think herself daft. Seeing irrefutable proof that someone else thought the same might be more than she could take at the moment. She stood well away from the spot she had seen and looked at it without trying to appear as if she were looking at it. Unfortunately, she couldn’t deny that she was seeing what she couldn’t be seeing because there was simply no possible way that shadows that weren’t shadows could be lingering on the ground in odd, random places—

A lad came around the corner of the pub and walked right over the patch of ground before Léirsinn could stop him. He froze, as if something were holding him there. She felt a cold chill settle over herself that had nothing to do with the twilight. What in the hell were those things?

The lad suddenly came back to himself from wherever he’d been. He shook himself like a dog, then continued on his way as if nothing untoward had just befallen him.

Léirsinn couldn’t look at Acair. If he looked at her as if she were mad—

“Let us be about seeing to our supper,” Acair said, taking her by the arm and tugging her toward the door to the pub. “I’m starved.”

“Again, what is it you expect me to do about that?” she asked, her mouth utterly dry. She looked up at him to find that he was watching her far more closely than she was comfortable with. “Shall I whistle a cheerful tune or dance a jig?”

“You’re throwing my words back at me, which means you were paying enough attention to me to remember them.” He nodded knowingly. “Promising, that. As for your task, it is to merely sit quietly whilst I see to the necessary funds.”

“I’m not accustomed to sitting quietly,” she managed.

“Consider this a challenge, then,” he said. “You can intimidate stallions again on the morrow, hopefully much better fed than by the slop your man Doghail prepares.”

“He’s not the cook,” she said, trying not to shudder. “You wouldn’t want to meet the man who prepares our meals.”

Acair made a noise of disgust, which she had to admit was entirely justified. If he steered them both past that shadow that shouldn’t have been there, he made no note of it and neither did she. She simply walked with him and was happy to reach somewhere at least marginally safe, even if she only had enough coin for a small mug of ale.

Unfortunately, now that the moment was upon her, she found it was coin she couldn’t bring herself to spend. She stood at the threshold of the pub, frozen as surely as a pony might have been when faced with a locale he simply couldn’t enter.

“I promised you supper,” Acair said easily. “Allow me to see to it.”

“But—”

“’Tis as simple as that, if that concerns you.”

She couldn’t begin to describe what concerned her, so she took a deep breath and settled for a nod before she walked on. He found a darkened corner near the fire, saw her seated, then went to the bar to order. She had no idea how he paid for their ale, but he seemed to have funds enough for that at least. He set a mug down in front of her, sat down next to her, then looked around the gathering room.

“This will do nicely,” he said pleasantly.

“Are you a gambler by profession?” she asked, realizing how prim she sounded only after she’d said the words.

He raised his eyebrows briefly. “Not in the sense you intend it, certainly. I’m not above attempting the impossible, but I generally don’t do so unless I know I’ll win.” He looked at her. “Do you play cards?”

“Only children’s games.”

“Collecting animals of a certain color?”

“Something like that.” She sipped her ale and tried not to sigh in pleasure. “You?”

“I don’t think anyone here is going to ask for purple dragons anytime soon, so to answer your question, nay. Not in years.” He had a large drink of his ale, then draped his cloak over the back of his chair. “Wait here. I’ll be back soon enough.”

She didn’t suppose waiting was going to be much of a hardship given that she was sitting next to the enormous hearth, the fire was crackling nicely, and she had a very drinkable mug of ale in her hands. As long as Acair didn’t behave badly and get them thrown out, she thought she might be able to allow herself the pleasure of simply being warm and doing nothing for a bit.

She watched Acair introduce himself to a group of men sitting at a table, already hard at their evening’s labors. She had to admit that for as brutal as he’d been to those men who had wished her ill, he was utterly charming to those gamblers he was soon sitting down to join. If she’d been at that table and he’d asked her to hand over all her green ducks, she would have done so just to have him flash that smile of his at her—