The White Spell (Nine Kingdoms #10)(53)

“Tor Neroche,” the guard captain said with a bit of a smirk.

“Of course,” Acair said bitterly, “where else?”

“Seanagarra?”

Acair shot the man a look that should have had him backing up a pace or two. Léirsinn was very impressed that he didn’t so much as twitch. There was a fellow who obviously dealt with his share of feisty stallions. She had no idea why Acair found that name so offensive, but what did she know of anywhere outside her barn? She was moving in a world she wasn’t accustomed to.

She wasn’t sure she liked it, truth be told.

“Your humor is misplaced,” Acair said coldly.

“And I’m safely tucked inside the gates, which offers me the safety to exercise my tongue even at the expense of someone like you.”

Léirsinn wanted to hold up her hand and ask exactly what the man meant by that but before she could, Acair was distracting her with some extremely vile language.

“That coward,” he said finally, apparently having exhausted a rather long list of slurs. “What gives him leave to take a bloody holiday?”

“Are you going to be the one to tell him he cannot?” the guard captain asked politely.

“Aye, the first chance I have!”

“Feel free to do so, my—”

“Buck,” Acair interrupted. “Just Buck.”

“Buck,” the man repeated slowly. He shook his head. “Not very original, but I don’t suppose you care about my opinion. Since you’ve made the trip here, would you care to see anyone else, Master Buck?”

“Thank you, but nay.”

Léirsinn wasn’t sure what she expected, but to have the conversation end without any further niceties was definitely not it. Acair nodded briskly to the guard, nodded at her, then walked away. She didn’t bother with the guard. She ran after Acair because she wasn’t about to be left behind in a strange city where she knew absolutely no one, had absolutely no money, and didn’t have a bloody clue how to get herself back to where she’d come from.

Acair paused, waited for her to catch up to him, then cursed and strode furiously down the street.

“Who is Soilléir?” she managed, running to keep up with him.

“No one of import,” Acair snarled. “Just a bloody—ah, damn it all, what next?”

Kitchen refuse, apparently. Léirsinn couldn’t say she was growing accustomed to hiding behind heaps of things with him, but she could say it was becoming something of a bad habit. She was, however, growing unfortunately quite adept at leaping over things to use them as shields. She forced herself to breathe evenly until she caught that breath, then she looked at Acair.

“The things we’re using as barriers seem to be growing increasingly fragrant,” she noted.

“I’m happy to see your sense of humor is returning.”

“I’m numb.”

“That works as well.”

She hazarded a glance between piles of rotting vegetation. “Who is that we’re hiding from?”

“Droch of Saothair,” he murmured. “Not a nice man.”

She couldn’t even nod. She wasn’t one to exaggerate or fall into needless faints, but if she had been that sort of woman, that man standing there a dozen paces from them would have inspired both. The evil simply poured off him, as if it were a foul sort of perfume. It was all she could do to breathe without screaming.

She distracted herself by trying to decide which feeling was most loudly clamoring for her attention. Revulsion was near the top of her list, but fear was there as well, but perhaps that fear was quickly morphing into terror. Acair reached for her hand and held it, hard. She nodded and clapped her other hand over her mouth. It seemed prudent.

Acair didn’t seem to need to watch the man they were hiding from. He simply bowed his head and breathed lightly—

His fingers were suddenly wrapped around her wrist. She understood why only after she realized she was halfway to her feet. She crouched back down next to him, but he didn’t release her. He looked as if he fully expected that man to leap over the rotting vegetables and half-broken crates and strangle them both. Given how unpleasant Droch seemed, she thought she might understand. She caught sight of him thanks to a hole in a pile of molding greens and studied him with as much objectivity as she could manage.

The truth was, he was very handsome in a distinguished, aloof sort of way. He reminded her a bit of some of the men who came to look at her uncle’s horses, only there was something about his aura that made him seem so far above any of those other men, she was a little surprised Fuadain sold any of his ponies to anyone else.

Droch frowned, then walked on. Acair waited a few more endless moments, then let out his breath slowly and looked at her.

“He is the master of Olc, if you’re curious.”

“I wasn’t,” she managed, “but what is Olc?”

“Magic,” he said.

“Rubbish.”

“Do you think so?” he asked. “Even now?”

She shivered. “He could just be the sort of man to beat his horses and his servants. That’s evil enough for me.”

“I imagine he does that too,” Acair said, “but along with that, he is the keeper of a very dark magic. Useful, of course, but not all that welcome in polite salons.”