The White Spell (Nine Kingdoms #10)(90)

“If you have so much power,” she said slowly, “why don’t you just destroy that spell you say is following you?”

He lifted his eyebrows briefly. “An excellent question.” He opened his mouth, then stopped. “I was going to pontificate, but I fear I might bore even myself.”

“Be brief, then.”

“Briefly, then,” he agreed. “The magic I fear that spell is fashioned from is of a different and, frankly, unsettling sort.”

“Worse than the spots?”

“Worse is relative,” he said. “Most magic is a bit like a suit of clothes. You put it on, you put it on others, but underneath, you are still yourself and your victims—er, I mean those favored enough to enjoy your attentions—still remain who they were. But that thing there?” He shook his head. “I haven’t had the stomach to have a look at it over tea, but given who fashioned it, I assume ’tis Cothromaichian rot. Even with as many things as I’ve seen and, I must admit, used myself, that magic gives me pause. It doesn’t simply lay a spell over something whilst leaving the essence of the thing the same, it changes that thing into something else entirely.”

She snorted before she could stop herself. “Ridiculous.”

“The next time you see a birdbath that looks suspiciously as if it might have been a mage not a fortnight earlier, ask it for its opinion on the matter.”

“And have everyone around me think me utterly daft? Never.” She glanced at the spell that seemed to be never more than ten paces away from Acair. She had no way of judging what its purpose was and she hardly wanted to dignify its existence with a bit of a look, so she ignored it and looked at Acair. “Is this Soilléir person evil?”

He pursed his lips. “Unfortunately he isn’t—and this is not a subject you want to bring up with my mother if ever you meet her. She will talk about his code of honor and what a stellar soul he is until you’ll be tempted to look for anything to stuff in your ears to have relief from the torment.” He shook his head. “Unless things have changed drastically, he would never use his spells for ill.”

“Then why would he create something to slay you?”

He considered, then looked at her seriously. “Because I deserve it.”

“For someone with your reputation, you’re terribly contrite.”

“It has been a very long few months,” he said grimly. “I’m worn down by the sheer force of all the opportunities to do evil that I’ve missed. I’m sure I’ll be right back to my old self when I’m finished with all this business of do-gooding.”

“Do you know any of Soilléir’s spells?” she asked, then she laughed a little at herself. “Spells. Can you believe I’m even using that word with any seriousness at all?”

“I might not be the right man to ask about that.”

“I suppose not. So, do you?”

“Know any of those spells?” he asked. He shook his head. “Not a damned one of them.”

“Something you would no doubt like to change.”

He looked at her. “I would give a king’s ransom for a single one.”

“Have you offered a king’s ransom for a single one?”

“Why do that when there is the challenge of trying to nick one whilst Soilléir is dozing off after supper?”

She couldn’t help but smile. “You are a very bad man.”

“As I said,” he said cheerfully. He opened the door, then made her a slight bow. “After you, mistress.”

“Bad man, good manners,” she noted.

“Easier to invade kings’ solars when you have decent manners and can make polite conversation at supper.”

She imagined it was.

? ? ?

A pair of hours later, she was trying and failing to find any ease in a hayloft over the Grey’s stall. Hearn had told Acair very sternly that he was welcome to join her there but he was to maintain a circumspect distance. Léirsinn had rolled her eyes. The very last thing she would ever expect from Acair of Ceangail was that he would look at her twice. Her hair, perhaps, but it seemed to unnerve him more than attract him, so she supposed she was safe enough.

That said, she found him rather more distracting than perhaps she should have. She finally sighed and turned on her side to look at him as he lay a few feet away from her. He was awake, staring up at the ceiling.

“You think too loudly,” she said.

He smiled. She winced involuntarily. Admittedly, she had heard what she had to believe was a fairly limited list of his bad deeds, but she had a hard time reconciling all that nastiness with the man there. And when he smiled . . . well, she suspected that was all he needed to gain entrance to any solar he cared to frequent.

“You’re watching me,” he said, still not looking at her.

“I’m trying to decide how best to plunge you into senselessness so I can sleep.”

His smile deepened, then he looked at her. “You are a very fierce wench.”

“I’m accustomed to managing stallions,” she said.

“Trust me, I’ve seen you at it.” He turned back to his contemplation of the ceiling. “What did you think of that grey horse down below?”

“I might be tempted to steal a spell or two for him.”