The White Spell (Nine Kingdoms #10)(80)

“Change is, I’m finding, difficult,” he said. “Allowing someone else to change even more so. Not,” he added, “that I want to change. When I have my magic back at my fingertips, the world had best tremble in fear.”

“Well, you’re certainly dressed for it.”

He tucked her hand more securely under his arm. “I don’t think you have anything approaching the least amount of respect you should have for my truly appalling ability to make mischief. Ehrne didn’t begin to plumb the depths of my foul deeds. I suspect I frighten the hell out of him.”

“I hear he’s an ass.”

“He is, which is why he’s never invited to supper here. We, on the other hand, are apparently still in the good graces of the lord and lady of the house, which is fortunate. Better to face death on a full stomach, I always say.”

She walked with him out of the barn. “Do you always say that?”

“Always. I find ’tis embarrassing to have an entire keep of mages on their faces in front of me, quivering in fear, and then have my belly betray me by a discreet growl. One must maintain one’s reputation, you know.”

She looked up at him. “In truth?”

“In truth, I am everything they say I am,” he said seriously. “And what I’m finding is no one wants me to be anything else than that.”

“I might.”

“Ah, a red-haired wench with a shapechanging horse,” he said with a faint smile. “’Tis a start, isn’t it?”

“I think it might be.”

He took a deep breath. “I think we’ll make for Angesand. I’ll hide behind you as we approach Aherin and you can talk our way inside the gates.”

“Aherin?” she echoed. She found herself feeling a little breathless. “Do you think so?”

“I would like Hearn to look at your horse,” he said with a shrug, “and ’tis on our road north. If you fold a map in a crumply sort of way and twist it around.”

“You’re going there for yourself, aren’t you?” she said, because she couldn’t believe anything else.

“Of course. Why would I go for you?”

Because the man had absolutely no affinity for horses and she couldn’t imagine that the thought of frequenting a keep full of them was anything but unpleasant. She looked at him knowingly. “You’re taking me along as your shield, obviously.”

“As I said.”

She walked with him through the garden. “How crumpled?” she asked finally.

“More crumpled than I’m willing to admit—oh, look you here. Someone come to direct us to table.”

She had to admit she was rather grateful for the distraction. It had been a difficult few days full of things she hadn’t expected and wasn’t entirely sure she’d enjoyed. The thought of an unremarkable supper in a beautiful spot was very welcome indeed.

She would face other things later.

? ? ?

A pair of hours later, she sat across from Acair at a worn, farmhouse table and watched him with his grandparents. He was a perfect guest. He seemed genuinely interested in his grandmother’s gardening projects, more particularly things that flowered at night and under unusual lunar conditions, and he discussed at length the making of tasty brews with his grandfather as if he truly cared about the man’s experiments with various grains and fruits of the vine.

She watched him mostly because he was hard to look away from. She supposed he was capable of all those things he’d been accused of only because she’d seen a look in his eye once or twice that she had been happy had been turned elsewhere. Then again, she’d enjoyed that sort of look from more than one horse, so it didn’t trouble her overmuch.

“You’re going to see Hearn?” Sgath asked in surprise.

“Thought we would,” Acair said, sipping his wine. “Just to put our feet up for a moment or two.”

Léirsinn looked at Sgath. “He says it’s on the way, if you crumple up a map properly and give it a bit of a twist.”

“The twists and turns of my grandson’s life are truly something to behold,” Sgath said. “I believe he’s accustomed to that kind of thing.”

He was smiling, though, which she supposed should have left her feeling a bit more at ease. Unfortunately, she hadn’t missed the look Sgath had sent Acair or the look Acair had sent back his grandfather’s way. There was something else afoot, though she couldn’t have said what. If Sgath wanted to have a serious conversation with his grandson, she was absolutely going to get out of his way sooner rather than later.

She pled weariness after a bit and excused herself, and she honestly wasn’t surprised to listen to Sgath invite Acair for a stroll in the garden. She was simply happy she didn’t have to listen to what they might discuss.

She would go along, because she could see the darkness and because of Falaire. She could only hope that taking care of those two things would be the extent of what she would be called on to do.

But Angesand . . .

The world was truly a magical place.





Sixteen





Acair had always expected that death would catch him up at some point. He had spent the past several decades dodging it, eluding it, ducking under it as it shot its poisoned darts over his head. He had honestly expected it would find him as he was hiding in the shadows of some powerful black mage’s personal solar, having poached that mage’s favorite spell and perhaps a glass of port to enjoy along with it.