The White Spell (Nine Kingdoms #10)(94)

Hearn glanced his way. “You also have the ability to conjure up staggering riches at any time. For all I know, you have an enormous pile of things you’ve pinched from various places hiding in some hillside bolthole.”

“That would be my father, and his collection collapsed in on itself,” Acair corrected.

Hearn snorted. “And you’re telling me you didn’t liberate all the originals and puts forgeries in their places?”

Acair knew his mouth had fallen open, but he was powerless to do anything about it. He retrieved his jaw with difficulty. “You horse people frighten me.”

“We should.” Hearn tapped his forehead. “We have sight the lads from Cothromaiche dream about.” He smirked. “You would think a princess of breeding would be tempted by your largesse, ill-gotten or not, and in spite of her father’s wishes.”

“You would think.”

Hearn studied the horse in the arena who was still trying on the shapes of various mythical creatures apparently in an effort to see if any of them suited him. “He might have you for supper if you’re not careful.”

Acair looked at Hearn. “And yet you’ll allow me to buy him?”

“Lad, I’m begging you to take him off my hands.”

That perhaps should have been some sort of warning that all was not as it seemed, but Acair ignored it. “I must pay you something, truly.”

Hearn studied him. “That’s an interesting notion, coming from you.”

“I’m not completely without honor, such as it is.” He looked at the lord of Aherin seriously. “What will you take for him?”

Hearn blew out his breath. “I will tell you something, but it is strictly in confidence. Spread this about and I will kill you.”

“I believe you.”

Hearn looked about himself casually, then nodded for Acair to move closer. “Find out who creates those shadows.”

Acair looked at him in surprise. “That’s all? I was intending to do that just the same, for Léirsinn’s sake.”

“Do for mine as well.” Hearn paused, then swore quite inventively for a bit before he seemingly ran out of vile things to say. “That lad I told you about?” he asked grimly. “The one who went mad?”

“Aye, I remember him,” Acair said slowly. “And?”

“He’s my son.”

Acair had to shake his head a time or two, but that didn’t aid him in ridding himself of his surprise. He settled finally for looking at Hearn in astonishment. “You’re wed? I should say, I knew you had sons, rather, but, ah, I’ve never seen—”

“We don’t live together any longer,” Hearn said shortly. “We see each other now and again and I see that she lives a life of luxury, but the truth is, I drive her to drink. My youngest son is with her and has been for the past month. She fears he will simply sit still for so long that he’ll stop breathing.” He looked at Acair. “Find who creates those, stop him, then tell me how to heal my lad. That is my price.”

Acair held out his hand. “Done.”

“Say nothing—and if you give me your word as an honorable black mage, I will flatten you.”

Acair smiled briefly. “My word as Sgath’s grandson, then.”

Hearn shook his hand, then nodded briskly. “I’ll go speak to your mount.”

“Thank you.”

“You may regret that,” Hearn said airily, as if they’d been discussing nothing of import but a moment or two before. “That one is a demon.”

Acair watched Hearn walk off and supposed if he’d been paying less attention, he might have suspected he’d imagined the whole thing. He wasn’t sure if he were more surprised that Hearn was wed or that one of his sons was the one who had gone mad.

There were foul things afoot in the Nine Kingdoms.

He was beginning to wonder why he seemed to be encountering them so often.

? ? ?

Their leave-taking was accomplished with absolutely no fanfare whatsoever. Hearn shook Acair’s hand, patted Léirsinn fondly on the shoulder, then turned and walked back inside his gates as if he didn’t know either of them. Off to do other things, perhaps.

“What now?” Léirsinn asked, holding Falaire’s reins.

“Tor Neroche, if we can manage it,” Acair said. “’Tis a fair distance, even in the air, but at least we’re getting an early start.”

“Acair, it’s halfway to noon.”

“As I said,” he said. “Early.”

She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. He had to ruthlessly suppress the urge to smile back at her. He took the reins of his . . . well, the beast was a horse at the moment, but he supposed that wouldn’t last. He fussed with reins, made a production of looking at stirrups and a saddle whilst having absolutely no idea if they were settled properly or not, then gave himself up for lost. The seventh bastard son of the worst black mage in history and his lover the witchwoman of Fàs finding himself smitten with a flame-haired stable lass?

He was in trouble.

But, hopeless romantic that he was, he couldn’t help but think about it a bit more as they flew. Sianach was apparently on his best behavior, though Acair was sure that had nothing to do with him. Léirsinn had talked to him before they’d taken flight and she was obviously the sort of horsewoman a pony wanted to make a good impression on. He had to admit he understood.