The White Spell (Nine Kingdoms #10)(3)

“The choice is yours, of course,” Soilléir continued with a shrug. “No magic, or a visit to the king of the dwarves.”

Acair rubbed his hands over his face. Damnation, would the torment never end? He had a drink of ale to purchase a bit of time for thinking, then decided there was no point. He should have been paying more heed to the chess game he’d become an unwilling part of the all those many months ago. As it was, he now found himself pinned into a corner of the board where the only way out was forward. He looked at his half-brother and wondered if a last-ditch bit of honesty might save him.

“I can’t go to Léige,” he said.

“Can’t,” Rùnach asked, “or won’t?”

“Does it matter?” Acair returned shortly. “I’ve paid especial attention to that old whoreson over the years, vexing him at every opportunity, carrying on the long and glorious tradition of my fathers. He doesn’t like me.”

“King Uachdaran has a fair number of companions in that activity,” Soilléir noted.

“I also may have spirited away one of his daughters for a fortnight of ale-quaffing,” Acair admitted. “Several years ago.”

Soilléir blinked several times—a sure sign of surprise. “Ale-quaffing?”

Acair shrugged. “She was beautiful and I have a weakness for handsome wenches. Decent ale too.”

Rùnach looked at him, then laughed. Acair cursed them both but that didn’t seem to leave much of an impression.

“He doesn’t like me,” Acair said stiffly, “and that is all you need to know. I will not set foot in Durial.”

Rùnach was apparently having difficulty breathing. “Please tell me your dealings with that poor gel were limited to pub crawls.”

“Hardly even that,” Acair said grimly. “She called me a very unkind name at the first establishment, clunked me over the head with a chair, then scampered off with an elf from your mother’s homeland, an opportunistic lad who will remain unnamed for his own protection.”

“Though you would spew out his name in a heartbeat if you thought it would save you,” Rùnach said, still grinning like the idiot he was.

“Well, of course I would,” Acair said. “You would too—you can’t deny it.”

“Depends on the elf,” Rùnach said, then he looked at Soilléir. “I had wondered what had happened to her.”

“Middle child,” Soilléir said wisely. “Trouble in the making.”

“Apple of her father’s eye,” Acair corrected, “which is why Léige is the last place I will go. Perhaps your memory fails you, Rùnach my lad, but I didn’t go with you half a year ago when you wanted company. Now you know why.”

“Ah, but the king has since made a special request that you come for a visit,” Rùnach said. “Who am I to deny him his whims? Either go, or be without magic for a century.”

Acair could scarce believe he was having his current conversation. “Have you lost all your wits?” he said incredulously. “I’m not going to give up magic for a fortnight, much less . . . well, I’m not even going to dignify that suggestion by repeating it.” He looked at Soilléir narrowly. “I suppose that leaves you with only one choice, which is to take it from me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Acair grunted, not believing that for a moment, then considered the pair thoughtfully. There was something else afoot, something he didn’t care for. Those two there had dragged him with them all over the Nine Kingdoms for months, showing him off like a prized monkey, humiliating him at every turn. Surely they’d had enough of that sort of entertainment to suit even their unwholesome need for the same.

Nay, there was something else going on.

But simply asking certainly wouldn’t provide him with answers. He would have to play the fool for a bit longer. Unpleasant, but he obviously had no choice. The things he had been forced to do . . .

He made a production of nodding knowingly. “I see where this is headed. You do indeed fear my mighty power and despite your fine words you want it for yourselves.”

Rùnach only lifted his eyebrows briefly. “An interesting thought, but nay. I have enough magic of my own, thank you just the same. I would suspect my lord Soilléir feels the same way.”

Acair couldn’t believe Rùnach would be satisfied with anything that wasn’t more, but what did he know? Soilléir likely had too much of it, but what decent mage wasn’t interested in adding to his cache of spells?

Nay, mischief was being made right there in front of him and he didn’t care for it when he wasn’t the one at the helm, as it were. But if he’d learned anything over the past several months, it was that his companions were tight-lipped about their plans. He was going to have to pretend to go along with their plans until they made a misstep and he could see what they were truly about. Patience wasn’t anything that came easily to him, but if having it at present would win him freedom from the meddling ways of the two alewives sitting across from him, he would use any last bits of it he might still possess.

He would pay the price, but not gladly and he would certainly take note of every pesky moment of it for use later. He didn’t like to admit any sort of defeat, but he knew when to pause and retrench. The inability to do that was his sire’s fatal flaw, a flaw he had no intention of allowing to take root in himself.