The White Spell (Nine Kingdoms #10)(74)

“As your grandmother said, you should have come earlier.”

“If I’d known this was what you were brewing, I would have.”

Sgath laughed easily, then continued to smile. “You would be most welcome. Your brothers? Perhaps not so much.”

“They are a sorry lot,” Acair agreed, “and I the worst of them, I’m afraid.”

“The youngest,” Sgath said, “but not the worst.”

“I should be offended,” Acair said, enjoying another pull. “I’ve worked very hard to earn all my accolades and the terror they inspire.”

Sgath smiled briefly, then he sobered. Acair was tempted to shift, or suggest that perhaps a visit to the woodshed would be less painful than what he suspected was coming his way, but he found that all he could do was sit there and brace himself for what he was certain would be a terrible dressing down.

“I have watched you over the years.”

Acair nodded grimly. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“I will tell you this, not because you asked but because I’m well-seasoned and my opinion is always of great interest to those around me.” His expression was very serious. “I don’t think you have it in you.”

Acair frowned. “Have what in me?”

“That which my son has in him, that hard edge that makes him what he is.”

“But of course I do,” Acair protested. “Murder, mayhem, mischief. I live for that sort of rot.”

Sgath shook his head. “I am not young, Acair, and I have seen the comings and goings of all sorts of elves and wizards and mage kings. I will tell you this, not to flatter you, but because you need to hear it. Gair was my son and I loved him. I still do, because he is my son. But there is a cruelty to him that has not found home in you. Your brothers, aye, and Doílain is the worst of that lot, but not you. Oh, you might try to wallow in foul deeds and I will concede that you richly deserve everything Rùnach and Soilléir have put you through, but I think you give yourself too much credit for wanting evil.”

“I don’t want evil,” Acair protested, “I want the world at my feet.”

“Try charm,” Sgath said dryly. “You have enough of that and to spare.”

“You mean as in be polite, flatter, ingratiate myself with those I intend to rob of their magic?”

“Aye, something like that.” He chuckled a bit, then shook his head. “Why you want power from anyone else, I don’t know. You have a vast amount of it all on your own.”

“Is it ever enough?”

“I think so, but perhaps I have a different perspective,” Sgath said. “I’m not one for glittering salons.”

Acair wouldn’t have admitted it under pain of death, but he wasn’t sure he cared for it all that much any longer himself.

“By the way, I think you won’t have much anonymity going forward,” Sgath remarked. “Ehrne wasn’t shy about letting anyone who would listen know that he had you in his dungeon. He’ll invent some rot about having been magnanimous enough to have let you go, of course.”

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” Acair said. He took a deep breath. “Thank you for the rescue. I’m not too proud to say I couldn’t have managed it on my own.”

Sgath smiled. “You’re welcome, grandson.”

“I’ve never thought of you that way,” Acair said slowly. “As a relative.”

“You were too busy wreaking havoc to have time for social niceties.”

“Probably,” Acair agreed. “Black magery is time consuming.”

Sgath laughed. “I imagine it is, my boy.” He gestured to Acair’s mug. “Drink up. There’s more where that came from and we have a pleasant stretch of peaceful evening ahead of us. You can worry about the rest on the morrow.”

Acair wished all his troubles could be dismissed so easily, but perhaps he could think on them later. Sgath brewed a very fine ale and, as he said, there was a pleasant stretch of peaceful evening there in front of him.

He suspected it might be one of the last he would enjoy for quite some time to come.





Fifteen





Léirsinn wondered how anyone at Lake Cladach accomplished anything with so much beauty to look at every day.

She walked along the shore and looked out over the sparkling water. She could hardly believe that less than a se’nnight ago, she had been doing her usual chores in her uncle’s barn, never imagining that another sort of life might ever exist for her.

The other thing she hadn’t expected was to have Falaire walking along behind her, nibbling greenery, and looking completely at his ease. While she understood the usefulness of a barn, she couldn’t deny that horses looked happiest when wandering about on grass.

It was cool out, but she’d been provided that morning with a bath, clean clothes, and a cloak that was softer than anything she’d ever felt save Falaire’s nose. She’d enjoyed a delicious breakfast, then accepted the invitation to make herself at home and perhaps take her pony for a bit of a walk. She had turned him loose on the greensward, then taken herself for a wander near the water.

She had finally sat down on the edge of a dock that stretched out into the lake. It was the stuff of dreams, truly. The sound of the water lapping against the shore, the warmth of the sun on her back, the sight of her horse . . . ah . . .