The White Spell (Nine Kingdoms #10)(59)

He took a deep breath—and his life in his hands, no doubt—and walked over to her slowly. She didn’t move; she simply watched him with those bright green eyes that were seemingly dry except for the tears they continued to produce. He stopped in front of her, then considered. She didn’t have a dagger, so he thought he could safely assume his gut would remain unpierced. Her hands were down by her side and clenched, which he supposed boded well for her not having a rock to bean him with. That didn’t address all the other things she might try, which gave him pause.

“You look like I might bite you.”

He smiled. “The thought had crossed my mind.”

“I don’t need comfort,” she whispered. “I need a sharp something so I can be rid of you and your schemes. I don’t like either of you.”

He could only hope she wasn’t entirely serious. He took a deep breath, then reached out and put his arms around her.

It was badly done, he would be the first to admit it. His experience with women, which included the aforementioned terrifying creatures, was limited to courtly activities, dancing, and battles with spells. He wasn’t sure that he had ever, in his long and illustrious career as black mage extraordinaire, offered one of those women comfort. Wine, a coveted seat at table, and perhaps an elegantly wrapped spell, but comfort?

Never.

He patted Léirsinn’s back. He patted her hair, once, then ceased immediately when she growled. Or at least he thought she had growled. The truth was, he had no idea what she was doing until she let out a shuddering breath, then leaned her forehead against his shoulder.

Well, he was going to catch his death from the damp, obviously, but perhaps it would count as his good deed for the day.

He patted a bit more, avoiding commenting on the color of her hair, then waited until she had stopped weeping, if that’s what it could have been called. And once she was simply standing there, breathing raggedly, he thought he might attempt a bit of speech.

“Here is the most of the truth I can give you,” he said finally. “Would you prefer to sit as you listen?”

“I’d rather stand,” she said, her words muffled against his cloak. “Easier to run that way.”

“Very well,” he said. He looked around briefly to make certain they were still alone, then considered what he could say without causing that spell of death that had seemingly come along with them, no doubt clinging to Falaire’s tail, to fall upon him and slay him. “The truth is,” he said gingerly, “I fear that somehow my stepping in that spot of darkness alerted someone to my presence.”

“You being an important mage and all.”

He didn’t miss the mockery in her tone and wondered that she managed it whilst still sniffling into his shoulder. “Aye, that. You saw the results, which left me feeling less than comfortable in Sàraichte. Hence our journey to Beinn òrain.”

“And since you didn’t find your friend, you want to continue on looking for him.” She pulled away and looked at him. “Is that it?”

“I must,” Acair said. “I can’t believe these words are leaving my lips, but he is the only one who can save me.”

“In Tor Neroche.”

“Aye, in Tor Neroche. ’Tis a bit of a slog on the best of days, which is why I need your horse.”

“I don’t want to go with you.”

He understood that. He didn’t particularly want to go with himself either. The last time he had been in that corner of the Nine Kingdoms, he’d been the guest of one Lothar of Wychweald—an unwilling guest, it had to be said—and he’d barely escaped with his life. He had most definitely left his dignity behind in the haste and unpleasant nature of his leave-taking. But that was a tale better left for a different day and then only after a substantial amount of very strong drink. At the moment, necessity left him little choice in his selection of places to visit and his current straits dictated how quickly he needed to travel there.

He put his hands on Léirsinn’s shoulders, which she didn’t seem to care for, so he fussed instead with her cloak that was completely inadequate to the chill that he could already feel settling into the air. If he’d had magic to hand, he would have conjured up something very luxurious and wrapped it around her. As it was, all he could do was hope to eventually beg a cloak from someone else.

He paused, then an idea struck him. “I could leave you somewhere safe, with people who have sterling reputations. That way, you could remain in comfort whilst I see to my business.”

“If I loan you my horse so you can go off to find this Master Soilléir.”

“Aye.”

She walked a few paces away from him, then turned to look at him. “I don’t think I believe in magic.”

“You just rode a pegasus partway across the Nine Kingdoms.”

She shivered. “I’m not sure I didn’t dream that.”

“Well, you were in a bit of a faint for most of the journey.”

“I’m tempted to indulge again.”

“The rest of the journey might pass more comfortably that way,” he offered, “though I think you would miss a delightful view. One way or another, the sooner we’re gone, the better.”

She wrapped her arms around herself and looked thoroughly miserable. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t think I can go back to Sàraichte.”