The White Spell (Nine Kingdoms #10)(91)

“Ah,” he said in satisfaction, “now you see how it begins. First a little spell here, then a larger spell there, then you’re beginning to look further afield to the odd, priceless treasure. Before we know it, you’ll be sneaking back into Ehrne of Ainneamh’s palace to pinch his crown and sell it to Sìle of Tòrr Dòrainn for an eye-watering price.”

“Is that how it begins?” she asked.

“Either that or one starts out to impress one’s father, realizes there is no hope, then one continues on because one is an ignorant ass.”

She smiled. “Is that how it is?”

He sighed deeply. “Today, I don’t know.” He looked at her. “I think there might be an abundance of anger in me.”

“You need a horse.”

“The last thing I need is a horse.”

“They’re good for a man’s soul.”

“But very bad for his arse, which is where on me most of them seem to think their next meal is located.”

She turned toward him and propped herself up on her elbow. “What do you think those shadows are?”

“Something very bad,” he said seriously, “and I would know.”

“Who do you think could have put them there?”

“The list is long,” he said, “and not one I particularly care to make, though I suppose I should. I don’t know that doing so would serve either of us given that I couldn’t do a damned thing about it even if I knew who was behind that mischief.”

“Which is why we’re off to see Soilléir?”

“I,” he corrected. “I am off to see Soilléir.” He looked at her then. “In all seriousness, Léirsinn, I think you should stay here.”

“And you think I’m going to argue?”

He looked at her in surprise, then scowled. “I am only surprised that you can spew out those words with any conviction at all. Surely you’re planning on coming. The fairness of my face and the truly appalling nature of my reputation are simply too much to resist.”

“Show pony.”

“Red-haired harridan.”

“Careful,” she warned. “Too much more flattery such as that and I will become as insufferable as you are.”

“I’m not sure you could,” he said seriously, “and your hair is beautiful. As are you. Now, go to sleep so I can think. You’re distracting me with all this feminine chatter. And I will leave you behind, just so you know.”

“Nay, you won’t.”

He blew out his breath and turned back to his study of the roof, but he said nothing.

She watched him watch the ceiling for a bit longer, trying to ignore the appalling fairness of his face and the inescapable realization that he was who he apparently was.

“Acair?”

“Aye, Léirsinn.”

“Are you afraid?”

“Me?” he scoffed. “Never.”

“Never?”

He looked at her. “Do you think I would admit it if I were?”

She shook her head. He held out his hand and she put hers in it before she could think better of it.

“Go to sleep,” he said quietly. “I’ll have a bit of a think, then leave you to your peaceful dreams. And don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe.”

“Harsh language?”

“Very harsh language and the dagger stuck down my boot.”

She supposed others had done more with less. She nodded, then closed her eyes. She didn’t want to believe what she had seen and done over the past several days, but it was impossible to deny what it meant.

Magic existed.

She felt as if she were being torn in two. She felt Acair’s fingers laced with hers, his hand warm and quite ordinary save for the calluses he had no doubt earned by shoveling so much manure over the past fortnight. Yet if she were to believe what she’d heard, that hand was also capable of wielding mythical, unseen forces to do his bidding whenever he chose, and apparently he had done quite a bit of that sort of choosing over the course of his impossibly long life. She had ridden a horse with gossamer wings that day, a horse who had been nothing more than a horse when his grain had been brought and he’d plunged his soft nose into the bucket to inhale it in typical horse fashion.

Spots of shadow, flying horses, and a man who had seen things that she could see lurking in the back of his eyes. It was so thoroughly not what she’d expected to find filling her life. She wasn’t sure she would trade what she had at the moment, though, for what she’d left behind, and that was perhaps the most alarming thing of all.

Sleep was long in coming.





Eighteen





Acair stood inside the gates of Aherin at a far earlier hour than that which he usually preferred to count as the start of his day, looked at the lord of the keep, and wondered if how he could politely point out that they were, as shouldn’t have surprised him at all, back where they’d started.

“My lord,” Acair ventured, “about a horse—”

Hearn shot him an impatient look. “You don’t give up, do you?”

“It isn’t in my nature,” Acair said. “’Tis what makes me a good mage.”