The White Spell (Nine Kingdoms #10)(31)
“I’m afraid ’tis true,” he managed, wishing he’d sent Léirsinn off with enough coin for something for him that wouldn’t feel as if it had just peeled a layer of flesh from off the inside of his throat. “And whilst I’m accustoming myself to this delicious brew, might I ask why you find yourself here?”
“Because it was the most interesting place available.”
Acair didn’t like to argue with age—very well, he relished arguing with anyone older than he so he might put his mighty wit and magic on display. At least he had until he’d acquired a damned shadow in the person of that spell that seemed to be ever watching him for the slightest misstep. It was a novel sensation, that not wanting to draw attention to himself. He could only hope that was an aberration that would eventually pass.
“I don’t know, Auntie,” he said, dredging up what he hoped would pass for a respectful tone. “It seems a bit on the dull side to me.”
“I despair for the future of the race,” she said, shaking her head. She reached out and cuffed him on the ear. “Everything flows through here, whelp. Tales, magic, mages. Everything. And don’t think a decent amount of all three doesn’t come through this market.”
“But,” he said gingerly, “why do you care?”
“I like to be in the know.” She patted her hair carefully. “Keeps me attractive, you see, to the lads. Don’t know that I won’t find one I fancy one of these days and have myself a bit of an amorous adventure.”
The thought made him want to go have a little lie-down. The woman was twelve hundred years old if she was a day.
“And don’t think I haven’t had several very important and handsome lads pursuing me of late,” Cailleach added.
“Of course,” he said quickly, fearing she might cuff him again if he didn’t express his agreement with the proper amount of enthusiasm. She had reached for her walking stick and was fingering it purposefully. “I wouldn’t think anything else. I also wouldn’t presume to ask for their identities lest it ruin the surprise when one comes calling very soon and you choose to announce the name of that fortunate lad.”
“I’m surprised at your discretion, but perhaps you’re growing up. You didn’t answer my question, though. Why are you trailing after Léirsinn like a lovesick pup?”
He didn’t bother to take issue with her term. The woman was nothing if not a hopeless romantic. He also supposed he wouldn’t be rubbishing any terms of his sentence if he told her as much truth as he could stomach. He sighed heavily. “The tale begins with the fact that I am on a penance tour.”
Cailleach blinked, then a corner of her mouth twitched. “Trying to make up for a bit of that magic-stealing you did last year, eh?”
“Among other things,” he said grimly. “’Tis a ridiculously useless exercise given that I didn’t achieve my nefarious designs thanks to that damned elf-spawn I must unfortunately admit is a brother.”
“Rùnach paid a heavy price for your sire’s evil,” Cailleach said seriously. “He deserves every happiness. You, though? I’m not sure what you deserve.”
“A hot fire, cold ale, and a handsome wench or two,” Acair said distinctly, “and in that order.” He looked at his aunt. “That my needs are so few makes me feel old.”
“And that spell following you will age you further very rapidly if you tangle with it. But I’ve interrupted you. You were on a penance tour, and . . .” She looked at him expectantly.
He suppressed the urge to swear. “To finish off my miserable year of do-gooding, I was given two choices: apologize to Uachdaran of Léige for I haven’t a clue what or be without magic for a century.” He wasn’t about to tell her just what he’d been up to in that accursed country of Durial on the off chance that he managed to return and finish that glorious piece of business. Better to leave that undisturbed. “I bargained it down to a year,” he continued. “I was sent here, if you can believe it, for my own safety, and that bloody thing there watches me to make certain I don’t stray off the path.”
“And if you do, its task is to slay you?”
He pursed his lips. “As I said. I suppose that’s preferable to Soilléir’s alternative which was to turn me into a birdbath and set me in some garden full of elves or faeries.” He shuddered. “I don’t like to think about it, actually.”
“I’m surprised he didn’t promise to send you to live with your sire in that magic sink he occupies.”
“I would prefer death.”
“I imagine Soilléir knows that.” She tilted her head and studied him for a moment or two. “And so you wound up at Fuadain’s stables at Briàghde, took one look at that red-haired angel, and lost your heart.”
“My mind, rather,” Acair said. “My heart, black as it is, remains untouched.”
Cailleach laughed. “Ah, Acair my lad, you are a sorry thing, aren’t you? You should be so fortunate to have someone like that gel look at you twice.” She took the flask from him, had a healthy swig, then looked at him knowingly. “I can’t imagine you aren’t about some piece of mischief or other, never mind what Prince Soilléir might have intended for you.”