The White Spell (Nine Kingdoms #10)(68)

“I refuse to answer that,” he said promptly. “I escaped home as a nasty little crow and didn’t say a word to anyone, mostly my sire, when the man came calling to see if we had seen a short, highly skilled thief in the area.”

“He never caught you?”

“Never.”

“What did the spell do?”

Acair shook his head slowly. “Honestly, I don’t remember. It was so terribly disappointing after all the things it had been wrapped in that I believe I tossed it into the fire and it went up in smoke. I’m not sure I could begin to remember what its original purpose had been.”

“So you began to look for better spells.”

“Aye,” he agreed. “Lesson learned. No green peaches and no boring spells. Others have done much worse with lesser codes of conduct.”

She supposed they had. “So,” she asked, because she was chilled and frightened and talking about ridiculous things was rather soothing, all things considered, “what’s the difference between a witch and a mage?”

“Levels of snobbery.”

She smiled. “Is that so?”

“It is so.” He shrugged. “A witch will have a fair amount of power or not, depending on her position in life, but neither a witch nor a warlock will have the sort of power a mage can boast. Then you have your garden variety wizards, who are generally nothing but pompous blowhards, endlessly trumpeting their complicated spells which are absolute rot.”

“What does that leave?”

“Oh, a never-ending list of other practitioners of magic of various kinds including elves, dwarves, dreamspinners, and others who do things in places you wouldn’t want to go.”

She watched him in silence for a moment or two. “And did you do all those terrible things they say you did?” she asked finally.

He took a deep breath. “Aye.”

“Should I be afraid of you?”

“I’ve never done worse to a woman than insult her gown, if that eases you.”

“You called my hair red.”

“Your hair is red.”

“Did you truly try to take all the world’s magic?”

“Try is the word you should concentrate on there.”

She shook her head, then laughed because she simply couldn’t believe any of it. Elves, dwarves, dragons, magic, it was all absolute fantasy created no doubt at one point by a pair of very desperate parents with overactive imaginations who couldn’t get their children to sleep. The shadows she had seen on the ground were nothing but her imagination, Ehrne upstairs was a pompous ass, and the man sitting next to her . . . well, he looked capable of several things. She just wasn’t sure she was ready to believe any of those things.

His hand was on her arm suddenly. “Don’t move.”

“Why not?

“I hear something.”

She felt her heart stop briefly. “At the door?” she managed. “Have they come for us?”

He shook his head, then pointed at the window where there seemed to be a bit of a shimmer. He put his finger to his lips and rose, pulling her up with him. She found herself backed up against the wall with Acair standing in front of her. He might have been a black mage of the first water, but he did display a decent amount of chivalry when it was called for.

She held her breath as she listened to . . . absolutely nothing. Acair didn’t move, though, which she wondered about. She finally looked around his shoulder to see a slender shape slither into the dungeon through the window where bars had been before. The slight figure landed in a crouch on the stone under it, straightened, then hopped off the bench as if he did that sort of thing every day.

“A rescue?” Acair asked carefully.

The man pushed the hood of his cloak back and Léirsinn realized she had seriously misjudged what she’d been seeing. That wasn’t a man there, it was a silver-haired woman of advanced years. She didn’t move like an old woman, though. Perhaps magic was involved.

“I heard a rumor there were two souls lingering in a dungeon where they didn’t belong,” the granny said. “I thought a little rescue was in order. Acair, how are you, love?”

Léirsinn eased past him and looked up at him. “Do you know her?”

“I’m surprised to find I do,” he managed.

“Who is she? Witch, wizardess, mage in skirts?”

He took a deep breath. “She is Eulasaid of Camana?.”

Of course she was. Léirsinn smiled briefly at the woman, then looked up at Acair, who she had to admit was rather pale. She took hold of his arm because he looked as if he might need that sort of thing. “And you know her, how?” she ventured.

Acair took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “She is my grandmother.”

Léirsinn knew she shouldn’t have been surprised. She smiled at Acair’s grandmother when what she really wanted to do was find somewhere to sit down. When would things return to the way they had been so she could carry on with her normal, uninteresting life?

She wasn’t sure she dared ask that question seriously.





Fourteen





Acair had honestly believed he’d seen it all. He had enjoyed spectacular sunsets and the occasional lovely sunrise—he was not an early riser by nature—priceless treasures, gilded halls with thrones he’d lounged on whenever possible, and magic that was nothing short of breathtaking. He had reveled in everything the world had had to offer and then quite a bit more that he’d taken without invitation.