The White Spell (Nine Kingdoms #10)(34)

All he knew was that the last place he wanted to be was in the middle of mayhem without any way to protect himself—er, protect Léirsinn, rather. His good deed for the day, surely. It had better count for something, because he suspected he was the only one attempting the like.

He didn’t want to think about what the mage who had created those shadows was attempting.

He wanted even less to be forced to wonder just what in the blazes he was going to do about it without a single spell to hand.

Damn it anyway.





Seven





Léirsinn stood at the door to the kitchens and took several deep, even breaths before she lifted her hand to rap smartly on the door. That knocking was, of course, absolutely pointless. She knew she’d been marked long before she’d managed to force herself up the trio of steps to the kitchen’s meanest entrance. Those inside made her knock because it made them feel important and relegated her to something less than a servant.

She could have told anyone who would listen that she already knew her place very well, but that last thing she wanted was to find herself barred from the house. She had to see how her grandfather fared, then get through her interview with her uncle without killing him. Truly, she had a full night of delights yet in front of her.

Those were delights, though, that she was anxious to be seeing to without delay. It had been a se’nnight since she’d heard the tidings of her grandfather’s condition from that housemaid. She had no idea if he lived still or not, though she supposed Fuadain would have trotted out his best black suit of clothing if there had been a death in the family. Anything to focus attention to himself.

She put her hand on the door to try to draw some sense of calm from the wood. Mistress Cailleach had sent her word that morning about the state of her funds. She had more than she’d thought thanks to the fishwife’s shrewd investing in various things, but it was far less than she knew she would need to have to escape. If she’d had the strength, she would have taken on employment as a barmaid. It was the only thing she could think of to do after evening stables that seemed reasonable.

But not even the addition of a barmaid’s wages would give her what she needed.

What she needed was a miracle.

Trust.

That was the last thing Cailleach’s note had said. It had been underlined and circled a pair of times, as if the woman had been afraid Léirsinn either wouldn’t see it or wouldn’t understand it.

Trust. Trust what? Trust that she would wake up and find a pile of gold at her feet? Trust that someone would come to help her when she was the only one who cared what happened to her or her grandfather?

Trust she could do the impossible when every single thing pointed to her not being able to accomplish the same?

What she needed wasn’t trust, it was something far beyond the usual business she engaged in, say . . . magic. She could hardly believe she was entertaining a thought so ridiculous, but after her last journey into town, she was prepared to think quite a few things. Most of them, she had to admit, had to do with those spots she was starting to see with alarming regularity in more places than she was comfortable with. It made her wonder if perhaps they had been there for far longer than she had realized. For all she knew, she’d been stepping in them for months without knowing it—

Nay, she couldn’t bring herself to believe that. Not after what had happened to Acair. She could still see the agony on his face as he’d pulled himself away from that shadow and almost collapsed at her feet. If she hadn’t spent so many years hauling bales of hay and endless buckets of grain, she likely wouldn’t have been able to get him across the road, never mind to a pub where she thought they might hide.

She shook her head at that thought. Hiding. When in her life had she ever considered that to be necessary?

Acair had recovered, seemingly, and been busily shoveling manure ever since, but she’d found him more often than not shadowing her, especially after dark. She would have—and likely should have—told him that it wasn’t necessary, but she’d never been able to get the words out. Whether or not those spots were evil, she couldn’t say. She just knew she wanted to be very far away from them as soon as possible.

She glanced around herself, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Acair wasn’t leaning negligently against some topiary in the garden, watching over her. Then again, she’d left him listening to a very long list of things Doghail wanted him to do, so perhaps she would have her interview with her uncle and be back to the barn before he finished. Not that she cared what he did, of course.

She closed her eyes briefly and got hold of herself. Truly, she needed a change of scenery. The sooner she was able to manage it, the better.

All of which would start by finding out exactly how dire her grandfather’s straits were and managing to endure her uncle’s company without losing more than just her entire month’s pay because she couldn’t keep her mouth shut. The man didn’t like to be argued with, to be sure.

She put her shoulders back, took a deep breath, then reached out and rapped smartly on the door. It wasn’t opened right away, which gave her ample time to look at the fa?ade of the damned place and wonder why she spent so much time looking at the outside of it instead of sitting comfortably on the inside of it.

The manor in which her uncle lived was so grand she never dared enter it without spending at least an hour cleaning up her boots. She had no clothes except what she wore for barn chores, but she at least attempted to make certain those were clean. In truth, it wouldn’t have mattered what she did, her uncle would have still found her lacking. If there were one thing that could be counted on to remain steady, it was that Fuadain of Sàraichte would never be satisfied with anything that went on around him. ’Twas little wonder he had buried three wives and was well on his way to sending a fourth off into the ether.