The White Spell (Nine Kingdoms #10)(29)

He caught her up, then stopped a pace or two away and inclined his head. “Mistress Léirsinn.”

“What are you doing?” she asked shortly.

“I understand I’ve been released from the delights of shoveling horse leavings for the day.”

“And you thought to follow me?”

He shrugged. “I was going your way.”

“Which is why you were waiting for me earlier?”

She had a point there, but he wasn’t sure how to admit to that without admitting to more than he wanted to. The truth was, he’d had a fairly pointed conversation with Doghail the night before during which they’d discussed a few things about the lady in question, namely her propensity to simply trot off into the fray without thinking about her safety. He suspected that was why he’d been set free for the day.

The other problem, though, was that he was terrible at small talk. He usually conducted his business with a rakish smile and a quick and dirty spell. Also, he wasn’t sure how one went about talking to a horse miss. Stable lass. He hardly knew what to call her and he suspected that referring to her as Fuadain’s niece wasn’t going to get him anywhere—not that he wanted to get anywhere with her. The woman needed a keeper and that keeper was not going to be him.

He supposed that begged the question of why he was following her, but that wasn’t a question he wanted to answer at the moment.

“I was resting,” he said, nodding back toward the barn. “Very comfortable wall there.”

She snorted. “Resting is generally best done in a bed and, without being too blunt, let me say that I don’t require company at present.”

“But I’m such good company,” he said. “Plus, I’ll buy you luncheon.”

“Do you have coin left over from the other night?”

“Enough for one meal. We’ll share.”

She frowned at him, then walked away. He caught up to her easily and walked with her. He couldn’t deny that there were strange things afoot in Sàraichte, but given that the place found itself in the most tedious country he’d ever seen save Shettlestoune, perhaps the inhabitants were desperate enough for something to do that they had to invent trouble.

Léirsinn stopped suddenly and put out her hand. He would have protested, but he had also caught sight of that thing lying there so innocently on the ground. He started to lean over to study it a bit more closely, but was interrupted by an angry shout.

“Oy, out of the way!”

Acair would have told the man to go to hell, but he supposed Léirsinn would pay for that in some way. He instead simply moved with her off the path as a groom came toward them, leading a horse that Acair could see was not terribly fine. The man stepped on the spot, paused, then shook himself and moved on.

The horse, however, looked down at the spot, hesitated, then stepped over it without touching it. Acair watched the groom and the horse continue on their way, then glanced at his companion.

“That was interesting,” he said carefully.

She looked at him. “You see them too.”

“Aye.”

“What are they, I wonder?” she asked, looking profoundly uncomfortable. “They seem . . . evil.”

He studied the pool of nothing that lay there in front of them but found it surprisingly difficult to identify anything about it that might have pointed to its creator.

That was odd in itself.

“Not that you would know anything about evil,” she added.

He made a non-committal noise. If there was one thing he knew very well, it was evil.

“And it isn’t as if it could be something, you know, magical.” She laughed, but she didn’t sound at all amused. She sounded completely unnerved.

Acair smiled brightly. “Why would it be?” Indeed, for all he knew, the local wizardling had more time than good taste and had decided that he would have a bit of sport at the local populace’s expense.

It was odd, though, how when a man stepped in that little patch of nothing, he seemed unable to move, even for the briefest of moments.

“I have to go,” Léirsinn said suddenly, walking away. “Important things to do.”

Acair caught up and continued on with her, watching her whilst trying to look as if he weren’t staring at her to determine just how unnerved she truly was. “What sorts of things?”

“I need to talk to someone in town.”

“Your local wizard?” he asked politely. “A little witch keeping a shop down a side street in a tattier part of town? A less visible purveyor of charms and potions?”

She shot him a look. “I don’t believe in any of that sort of rot. I will allow that the woman I’m off to see looks a bit more, ah, supernatural than most in the market, but I think she’s been selling fish for quite some time. I’m sure the two are connected somehow.”

He wasn’t going to argue with her. In his vast experience with things of a nasty bent, he had learned it was better not to poke a hornet’s nest unless one was prepared to have it vomit out its contents all over the lad with the stick. Besides, if he had any sort of virtue besides honesty, it was the ability to be patient. He would do a bit of snooping about untoward things, keep his eyes and ears open, and with any luck at all he might have a mystery to keep himself awake for a fortnight or two.