The White Spell (Nine Kingdoms #10)(50)

“Well,” Acair conceded, “he is a very fine horse, as I said and as far as I know. Indeed, I’m sure there are many who might call those fine qualities magical.” He saw no point in telling her that Droch never would have purchased a horse that couldn’t—

He felt himself go very still. Well, save his stomach, which was rumbling, but that couldn’t be helped.

Droch had sent his most valuable man all the way to Sàraichte to purchase a horse when he likely had scores of horses being brought to Beinn òrain by all sorts of noblemen and mages, horses that most assuredly would have had a few extra talents perhaps not visible to the ordinary eye.

Why would Droch have looked in Sàraichte for something to add to his collection?

There was something foul afoot. He could smell it from a hundred paces.

“Acair?”

He pulled back on his rampaging speculations with a skill perhaps even Doghail might have commented on, then looked at Léirsinn.

“Was I muttering?”

“Looking horrified, actually.”

“I’m hungry,” he said, “and I made the mistake of revisiting the memory of that rubbish we ate on the boat.” He shuddered. “Awful.”

“Hard to ruin apples and cheese,” she offered, “but possible, apparently.”

“Don’t remind me,” he said. “You know, I think supper might be what we need at the moment. Then, whilst we’re lingering in this lovely city by the river, I thought I might pay a polite social call to someone I know.”

“You know someone here? Is this where you’re from—nay, one of those men—” She had to take a deep breath. “They said you were from Ceangail.”

“A little nondescript, nasty place in the mountains,” Acair said dismissively. “I wouldn’t suggest a visit. I do have acquaintances here, though. The man I need to see is a friend of one of my half-brothers.”

“What does he do?”

She was obviously trying to distract herself. Acair watched her smooth her hands over her leggings and rest them on her knees as if it were something she had to think very carefully about in order to manage.

“Ah, what does he do?” he said, wondering just what he was going to have to do not to be distracted by her. “He meddles, for the most part. He’s also a master at the schools of wizardry.”

She blinked. “A master? A master of what?”

“Do-gooding,” Acair said distinctly. There was no point in attempting to describe whatever other rot Soilléir dabbled in. He highly doubted Soilléir could describe it himself with any success. “I think we could pay him a small visit in the morning, nip over to the stables afterward and make certain your horse is being well cared for, then we’ll do what you want to.”

“In truth?”

Why did she have to look so damned grateful? He supposed she was very near to the end of whatever tether she held on to, which was something he couldn’t blame her for. He had been at that place once or twice in his life as well, though he had at least had magic to help him cling to his sanity. She had only her will.

“In truth,” he said. “We’ll see to it all on the morrow.”

Her fingers that had been clutching her knees relaxed a bit. “So, how do you know all these people?”

The spell in the corner cleared its throat pointedly. Acair didn’t bother to offer a rude gesture in return. More alarming than that piece of unconcern was the fact that he hardly noticed that vile spell any longer unless it announced itself. In truth, he hardly recognized himself any longer.

He shrugged and dragged himself back to sifting through what he could and couldn’t say. “My father travelled a great deal and I carried his bags for him.”

“Is that the truth?” she asked.

“Almost.”

She sat back in her chair, which he thought might be a good sign.

“So, I suppose we find this friend of your brother’s—”

“Half-brother’s,” he interrupted.

“Half-brother’s,” she said. “Then we find my horse, then I go back home.”

There was no point in arguing with her over that at the moment. Perhaps later, after she’d had something to eat, a decent night’s sleep, and a gentle reminder about why they’d fled Sàraichte in the first place.

“I need to learn how to play cards,” she said thoughtfully.

He realized he’d missed something. “Cards?”

“So I can earn enough gold to rescue my grandfather.”

He could think of worse ways to earn the odd coin. “I think you might be very good at it,” he conceded. “You have an honest face, which would serve you well.”

“Will I need to learn how to cheat?”

He started to tell her nay, then realized what she was implying. He scowled. “I don’t need to cheat.”

“You’re that skilled?”

“Six brothers,” he reminded her, “and an indeterminate number of half-brothers. I learned early on to read faces. And count what had been played, if you must know the truth of it.”

“No sleight of hand?”

“As tempting it might have been, nay,” he said. His brothers would have abused him mightily for that sort of thing and he had wound up on the bottom of the pile often enough without that provocation. That had only lasted until he had taken them one by one and helped them realize that he had become the sort of man who didn’t put up with abuse.