The White Spell (Nine Kingdoms #10)(98)

The king studied him for a moment or two in silence. “Kidnapping lassies now, my lord Acair? In truth?”

“With all due respect,” Léirsinn said, which she honestly had trouble mustering up much of given that the man standing to her right had mud on his boots and looked as if he’d just spent the morning mucking out stalls, “he is telling only part of the truth, no doubt to protect me.”

“Well, that’s new.”

“I don’t harm women,” Acair said huffily.

“You make up for it with the men.”

“And you don’t?” Acair said sharply. “And whilst we’re on the subject, what the bloody hell did I ever do to you? Well,” he amended, “to you personally, rather. I may have done several nasty things to your father.”

The king of Neroche shrugged. “Call it sympathy for the rest of the world.”

“The rest of the world is faring well enough without your concern. Besides, I’ve turned over a new leaf. All those lesser mages and weak-kneed monarchs who have nightmares about my appearing at their hearthfires can now sleep in peace.”

“When you present yourself at Uachdaran of Léige’s front gates and apologize to him,” the king said with a faint smile, “then I’ll believe you’ve changed.”

“That will be when hell freezes over,” Acair said crisply.

“I wouldn’t wait that long if I were you. Uachdaran grows more impossible by the year.” He looked at Acair again, smiled, then came to sit down next to Léirsinn. “That was a very lovely introduction my lord Acair managed, but let’s do this differently.” He held out his hand. “I’m Miach.”

She shook his hand, finding it was callused in a reassuring way. “Léirsinn.”

“Your friend there said you were from Sàraichte.”

“Unfortunately.”

Miach smiled. “I’ve been there, so I’m afraid I have to agree. The visits were mercifully short, which I’m guessing wasn’t the case for you.”

“Nay, I tended my uncle’s stables for almost a score of years.”

“My sympathies, truly,” he said. “I’ll see if I can’t provide you with a bit more comfort and better food than is to be found there. If you don’t mind, though, I would like to pepper that one over there with a few questions before I decide if I dare let him in my gates to enjoy those comforts with us.”

Léirsinn couldn’t do anything more than shrug helplessly. The king of Neroche had saved their lives, but perhaps he had some sort of axe to grind with the man standing across the fire from them. She wasn’t opposed to jumping in to rescue Acair if necessary, but she supposed he could take care of himself.

“I cannot use my magic,” Acair said grimly, “which ought to be a comfort to you.”

“I know,” Miach said, looking up at him with clear eyes, “but that doesn’t satisfy my curiosity. And you know what a valuable trait that is in a mage.”

Acair rolled his eyes and sighed gustily. “Very well. Satisfy away, but please do it quickly. Léirsinn is exhausted and I’m starving. I’ll grovel however it pleases His Majesty if he will just let me inside the guardhouse where I might gamble my boots for something edible.”

“Oh, I will at least feed you,” Miach said, “but I do wonder about a thing or two. Any thoughts on who those lads were who were following you, or why? Something foul you stirred up?”

“A few black magelings,” Acair said dismissively. “Troublesome, but not powerful enough for concern.”

Miach leaned back on his hands and stretched his legs out in front of him. “Which is why you were flinging yourself along as something slightly more substantial than a petrified thought.”

“Haste can be considered a virtue,” Acair said, “especially when viewed in a particular light.”

“Aye, when that light illuminates the possibility of a painful, lingering death.”

“Exactly.”

Léirsinn watched them as they discussed the difficulties of traveling without magic and the generally unpleasant nature of black mages, and wondered how she had gotten herself caught up in such madness. Miach of Neroche, king though he might have been, looked like an average, though extremely handsome, sort of bloke who might have frequented the local pub after a hard day’s work in the field. Acair, while equally handsome, looked as if he’d just stepped from a fancy lord’s hall and was waiting outside the front door for his carriage to arrive and take him home to his equally luxurious abode. They were actually quite different, if one were to look at them in that light.

But even so, she could sense something in the both of them that said quite clearly that they had seen things she might want to avoid having to look at. Miach, while looking terribly at his ease, was obviously not relaxed, and Acair, while looking less at his ease, was obviously trying very hard to not make an ass of himself.

“How long have you been forced to endure him?”

She realized Miach was asking her that question and dragged her attention away from Acair, who was standing on the other side of the fire with his arms folded over his chest. “Ah, a fortnight,” she said, “but perhaps more. It seems much longer.”

“And how has he been? Rude? Dismissive?”