The White Spell (Nine Kingdoms #10)(86)

“I’m not sure it would take much convincing,” Acair said, “and I appreciate the offer more than you’ll know. She has a mind of her own, though. I’ve tried to tell her what to do and she’s told me to go to hell.”

Hearn smiled. “I like her.” He rubbed his hands together. “Clean up, my boy, and come inside for supper. Your lady will be taking her ease there.”

“She’s not—”

He didn’t bother to finish his protestation. Hearn never lingered anywhere, or so it seemed, and the present moment was no exception. He had walked off with a purpose before Acair could properly formulate a denial of anything of a romantic nature.

Acair sighed, then went to seek out water for himself. He didn’t imagine he would be allowed to use what was reserved for the horses, but he managed to find something that seemed clean. He dried his face on his shirt, dragged his hands through his hair, and wished quite desperately for a decent bath, but that was obviously out of reach at the moment. Truly, he was operating under reduced circumstances in many things.

He walked out into the twilight and looked up at the sky. He wasn’t sure what sort of magic Hearn possessed, if any, and his clandestine foray into the man’s solar all those many years ago hadn’t provided him with any answers. There was definitely something there, though, some sort of something that draped itself over the keep. ’Twas hardly noticeable but seemed to keep at least a storm brewing to the east at bay. Perhaps that was all Hearn wanted, to keep his horses dry and warm. There were worse uses for a spell, and Acair considered himself one who would know.

He shrugged his shoulders to work out a bit of stiffness, then walked across the courtyard to the great hall. At least he wouldn’t be shoveling in the rain.

Things could have been much, much worse.





Seventeen





Léirsinn thought she might never be able to catch her breath again.

It had nothing to do with the work, which was less like work and more like an endless bit of wonderment, and more to do with the fact that she had spent the morning inside Aherin itself, working horse after horse, each one more spectacular than the last. Patterns, jumps, simple canters about Lord Hearn’s arena, there had been nothing those horses wouldn’t do—couldn’t do. After a bit, she’d honestly lost track of how many hours had passed and how many horses she’d worked. It had felt as though she’d been trapped in a dream filled with beasts only a consummate storyteller could envision.

She’d woken from that dream only to realize that it was noon and she had been riding for hours. She’d been exhausted.

And then Hearn had bought her another horse.

“We call him the Grey,” he had said, “but that’s because we have no imagination here. His true name is Turasadhair. I’ll let you figure out what that means.”

Léirsinn had accepted the Grey’s reins with a hesitancy she had never once felt since she’d come into herself and known what she could do. Hearn had only smiled at her and walked with her to the front gates.

“He will eventually go white, as this breed tends to do,” he had remarked as the guards had opened the gates, “though I imagine his mane and tail will keep a touch of silver. He’s young yet, but I think you’ll manage him well enough.”

“Any suggestions?” she’d asked.

“He likes to go fast,” had been the lord of Angesand’s only comment, made in such an offhand fashion, Léirsinn had hardly known what to make of it.

Or at least she had until she had realized exactly what Turasadhair could do.

His speed across the grasslands surrounding Aherin had been breathtaking. She had understood then why Hearn had put such a light saddle on him. She had leaned low over his neck and given him his head. She had realized at one point that she’d been laughing as tears had been streaming down her cheeks.

And then she had asked him for more.

It was as if he’d become not an arrow from a longbow, but a bolt shot from a crossbow. Where he had dredged up more speed she hadn’t known; all she’d been able to do was cling to both the reins and his mane and trust he wouldn’t lose her off his back.

He had then asked her if she could bear more.

It had been as she’d realized they were twenty feet off the ground that she’d noticed he had acquired wings. They had been gossamer bits of business, though, only a hint of something there. Her mind had been so empty of anything but flight, she’d been unable to determine if those wings were only useful in keeping them aloft or perhaps had a different purpose. In truth, she hadn’t cared enough to discover the truth. His hooves had clawed at the air as if it had been solid ground, but his gait had been so smooth it felt as if they were the ones who were still and a fierce, endless wind blew the ground past them.

She had no idea, now that she was walking with him back up the way to the front gates of Hearn’s hall, just how long they had been out chasing after a terrible amount of speed. The sun was turning toward the west, so surely the better part of the day. All she knew was that she was less exhausted than simply drained.

Hearn was leaning against a gatehouse wall, waiting for her. She stopped in front of him, then smiled.

“Did you watch?” she asked.

“Of course,” he said pleasantly. “Have a good ride, missy?”