The White Spell (Nine Kingdoms #10)(37)

She froze and pulled back into the shadow of a column. She didn’t recognize any of the voices murmuring not ten paces away from her, but she supposed that didn’t matter. All she knew was that she most definitely didn’t want them to know she was within earshot. Unfortunately, there was nowhere for her to go. She would have to stay where she was until they left first.

That was, she decided after another moment or two, going to be much harder than she’d suspected it would be. If those spots on the ground made her uneasy, that trio of men there left her terrified. Whoever they were and whatever they were doing, they were evil. There was nothing else to call them.

“He will need to die, of course.”

“As you will, master. When?”

“As soon as is convenient. Before dawn, if it can be arranged.”

Léirsinn felt a chill slide down her throat and settle in her belly. She could hardly believe her ears, but they were certainly working as they should have been. The men continued to discuss the death of that unknown man as casually if they argued companionably about where they might have supper later. But she knew, in a way she couldn’t describe, that they weren’t simply chatting for the sake of listening to themselves talk.

She wasn’t afraid of anything, as a rule, and had faced down both men and beasts who should have sent her running the other way. But this was something else entirely. The first voice was so utterly devoid of emotion, so seemingly callous to a discussion of when it might be most convenient to end a man’s life—

She froze. Her grandfather. They were talking about her grandfather.

“There is the matter of his magic, master,” a third voice said.

“I have sensed no spells about him. He is unprotected.”

Léirsinn suppressed the urge to rub her ears. Magic? How absolutely ridiculous. Perhaps the trio there was drunk, not evil. That wouldn’t have surprised her—

“But if he wakes before the deed is done . . .”

“Then slay him in his sleep,” the first voice said with a hint of irritation. “Acair of Ceangail is a mischief-maker and I don’t want him nosing about. He’s already seen more than I would have wanted him to.”

Léirsinn shook her head. When that didn’t clear it, she shook it again. Acair? They were planning to murder Acair?

Ceangail. So that was where he was from. She wondered why he’d been reluctant to tell her as much, but she was more curious still as to why the men in front of her would know not only his name but have an opinion about him. That place, Ceangail, sounded familiar, though she was the first to admit she never paid attention to anything outside the barn, only listening to talk of Sàraichtian politics when she had no choice. She’d known Acair was not a local lad, but apparently she had given him too little credit for an ability to pull up stakes and land somewhere else.

“But his magic, master,” the third voice protested hesitantly. “And with his being who he is—”

There was the sound of a slap, but not one made by a hand across a face. Léirsinn had never heard anything like it before, but she heard the resulting gasping for breath at least one of the three was engaging in.

“Rein in your companion,” the first voice said coldly, “lest he find himself in the same condition as Gair’s son. Do not trouble me again until the deed is done.”

The three shadows then simply vanished into thin air as if they had never been there. She realized quite abruptly that she was no longer standing. The ground was dependable, though, and she had no complaints about it under her backside.

It was the only thing that seemed solid, however. First her eyes had deceived her, then her body had deserted her. She didn’t want to think what might be coming next.

Magic? Murder? Good hell, what next?

She clutched the gravel that had already cut into her hands. It should have been comforting but it wasn’t, most likely because it couldn’t erase the memory of the previous few minutes. She had heard voices, seen human forms, then watched three men disappear into nothing. She would have suspected that she was losing her mind, but she knew herself too well to believe that. She had seen what she’d seen—or not seen, as it were—and it frightened the bloody hell out of her.

At least they weren’t coming for her grandfather.

The moment the thought crossed her mind, she thought she should have at least felt some sense of remorse for having thought it. Her grandfather was safe, but Acair was apparently not.

She sat in the same spot for perhaps half an hour before she thought she might be able to stand with any success. She pushed herself to her feet against the stone of the hall, scraping her back but unable to care. She was numb with something. Terror, perhaps. The terrible knowledge that she had grossly underestimated what the world contained, definitely.

She waited until she was absolutely certain she was alone, then she walked quickly but soundlessly back to the barn. She nodded to lads as she passed them, ducked out of the way when she saw Slaidear, then snuck into the graining room only to find Doghail occupying her preferred spot.

“Hiding?” she asked breathlessly.

“Beat you to it, I’d say.”

She rubbed her arms. “I believe autumn has arrived.”

“It arrived last week,” he said. He looked at her. “What are you running from?”

She opened her mouth to reply, then realized she couldn’t force the words out of her mouth. She wasn’t sure she trusted even Doghail, a man she had known for the whole of her life in Sàraichte. She attempted a smile. “Just work, as usual.”