The White Spell (21 page)

“How long is quite some time?”

“Several centuries, at least. What he was combining before that, I couldn't say.” He looked at their surroundings for a moment or two to make sure they were still safe, then continued on. “After my father and my mother had parted ways, I understand he managed an invitation to Toirmisgeach of Dùinte's salon and there he saw Sarait, the youngest of the five daughters of the king of the elves.”

“Isn't his dungeon where we just were?” she asked.

“Nay, Sarait is the daughter of Sìle, king of the elves of Tòrr Dòrainn. Much more exclusive, that lot. Their land is to the east of Ehrne's. The elves of Tòrr Dòrainn do not wed with any who aren't their sort of people, if you know what I mean. But my father fell madly in love with Sarait and would not be gainsaid, or so I understand. How he managed to win her, I don't know.”

“Wait,” she said slowly. “If King Ehrne is your cousin, that would make you an elf. Part, at least.”

“To my continued surprise, aye, it does.”

“And part witch.”

“Wizard,” he said, “through my mother and the lady Eulasaid, whom you've met. Aye to that as well.”

She stopped and looked at him. “But if your cousin is the king of Ainneamh, does that make you a prince?”

He had to admit he rarely thought of it that way, but there was truth to it, he supposed. “If it earns me entrance to a dining hall that sets a decent table, absolutely.”

She smiled. “Your needs are fairly simple, aren't they?”

If she only knew. He supposed he would have been far better off in the past if he'd limited himself to what he'd intended to eat each night and left other things alone. “You're a wise lass for
noticing that,” he said. “Supper, cards, the odd, irreplaceable knick-knack. I'm honestly not at all sure why I have so many enemies.”

“I can't imagine either,” she said solemnly, “but King Ehrne certainly seems to fall in with that lot.”

“The feeling is quite mutual, I assure you,” he said. He paused, then looked at her. “He may have more reason for that than I'm allowing. 'Tis possible that I may have vexed him overmuch in the past.”

“Pinch something or just insult him?”

“I removed his crown from where it had fallen half off his head whilst he was napping in his great chair, hefted it, then tossed it back at him as not worth the effort.” He shrugged. “I may have also insulted his wife.”

She laughed a little. “I should be appalled.”

“Likely so, for you have to know I'm leaving out the more unsavory bits in deference to your finer sensibilities,” he admitted. “He is an ass, as anyone will tell you, and deserves everything I've taken the time to do to him over the years. Sarait's father, Sìle, though is a different sort. I'm honestly not sure why he gave my father permission to wed his daughter, but Gair is nothing if not charming.”

“It must have been difficult to have him start over with someone else,” she said quietly.

“Especially given what brats he sired on her,” Acair said with a shudder. “Awful souls, every last one of them.”

She nodded and walked on with him. She was silent for so long, he finally looked at her. She was watching him out of the corner of her eye.

“You don't have to tell me more,” she said.

“I'm honestly not sure I can,” he said. “And stop looking at me with those eyes of yours that see too much. 'Tis no wonder no stallion in your barn manages to be about a decent bit of mischief with you watching.”

“I am a good judge of hearts.”

“Don't judge mine.”

She only smiled briefly, then turned back to watching the path in front of them. He wasn't entirely sure she hadn't murmured
too late
under her breath, but he wasn't about to ask her to repeat it so he could be certain.

He said nothing more, for there was nothing more to say. She could peer inside his black heart all she liked, but she wouldn't find anything good. He had burned it all out decades earlier. No matter what horrors that Fadairian spell of healing had done to him, in the end, there was nothing left of his heart but the ashes from too many evil deeds.

More the fool was he for indulging in even the slightest wish that things could be different.

He gathered up a few thoughts of mayhem and wrapped them about him like a cloak. They were comforting and left him feeling much more at ease. He nodded briskly to himself and marched on with purpose. He would stash Léirsinn comfortably at Sgath and Eulasaid's lovely palace, then be off on the hunt for that lazy meddler from Cothromaiche so he could have that damned spell of death properly disposed of. Once that was done, he would solve Léirsinn's mystery of those annoying spots of shadow, rescue her grandsire, and see her settled somewhere safe. He would then be back to his normal way of doing things.

He hadn't the heart for anything else.

•   •   •

A
pair of hours later, he supposed it might take him a bit longer to be on his way than he'd feared. He was sitting in the very cozy nook of a welcoming kitchen, enjoying a glass of excellent wine and watching the three other souls there discuss—what else?—horses.

Sgath was a keen horseman, Acair knew from rumor alone. Angesand foals occasionally found their way into Sgath's stables, something Acair knew was so rare as to be relegated to the stuff of legends. Eulasaid was just as enthusiastic and Acair imagined
she was the one who managed, on those rare occasions when managing was accomplished, to talk Hearn of Angesand out of his beasts.

He watched his father's parents chat with Léirsinn, interrupting each other with affection, finishing each other's sentences with smiles of good humor. He had to use a great deal of energy to ignore a pang of something that might have been called envy. He had no memories of his father ever having had anything to do with his mother and, if he were to be completely honest, he thought it might have been better that way. If ever two were not meant to live together in bliss, it had been those two.

He couldn't help but wish that he'd attempted a visit to his current location much sooner.

He set his glass down, smiled, then pushed his chair back. Too much sentiment was obviously detrimental to his health. “I'd best go see to . . . er, the out of doors. Rather.”

“Wouldn't want it scampering off,” Eulasaid said with a smile. “Go ahead, darling. Walk all you like.”

He was ninety-bloody-eight years old, yet he left his pride behind at that damned table and bolted. It took him a dozen turns about the garden before he thought he might have gotten control over his traitorous heart. Damned thing. He should have told Rùnach to rip it from his chest, not heal it—

He ran bodily into his father's sire before he realized what he'd done. “My apologies,” he said, reaching out to steady Sgath.

His grandfather only laughed. “I'm not so far into my dotage as all that, lad, but I thank you for your pains just the same.” He nodded toward the path. “A decent moon tonight, as well as your grandmother's spells of lamplight tucked artistically into the trees, which I'm sure you've already noticed. Another few turns about the old place, aye?”

“Ah, I'm sure I have something to do elsewhere—”

“And I'm fairly certain that whatever that thing might be, it will wait. Don't you think?”

Acair looked at Sgath evenly. “Are you taking me out to the proverbial woodshed, Your Highness?”

Sgath only grinned at him. “Too late for that, young one, so I suppose we'll just have to take a walk and see if that keg of ale I stashed behind one of your grandmother's prized rosebushes has survived the fall prunings. Interested?”

Acair couldn't deny that he was, so he nodded and walked with the man who had watched his own son turn away from everything he'd taught him and choose a far different, more unpleasant path.

“You could have come sooner,” Sgath said mildly, at one point.

Acair looked at him quickly. “Would you have allowed me inside the gates?”

“After a trip to the woodshed, most likely.”

Acair almost smiled. “Just as I thought.”

Sgath clasped his hands behind his back. “I hear you've been making a few social calls over the past several months.”

“Unfortunately.”

Sgath laughed softly. “I won't rub your nose in it, son.”

“No need,” Acair said. “Soilléir's done enough of that for the both of you.”

“I imagine he has. And look you there; our destination comes into view.” He nodded up the path. “Tiptoe if you can. Eulasaid isn't particularly keen on the places I store my creations.”

“Eulasaid wishes only that you would stop crushing her rosebushes with them,” Eulasaid said, stepping out of nothing onto the path. “Let me take a turn with my grandson while you find a pair of mugs and an equal number of stools, then I'll leave you to your ruminations.” Eulasaid linked arms with him. “Come along, darling, and we'll leave your grandfather to his preparations. You know, Acair, you could have come to visit sooner.”

Ah, not more of that. He looked for aid but Sgath was pointedly ignoring him. Sgath did send a quick wink his way, then ambled off to apparently find the appropriate
accoutrements
for the night's activities. Acair supposed he was doomed, but his father's mother
had rescued him from a dungeon earlier, so perhaps he owed her a bit of conversation.

“Thank you for the rescue and a delightful meal,” he said politely.

Eulasaid lifted her eyebrow briefly. “You have lovely manners.”

“I didn't learn them at my mother's table.”

“Ah, Fionne,” Eulasaid said with a smile. “She is a force unto herself.”

“With absolutely no sense of right and wrong.”

“Well, I suppose that could be debated endlessly without any useful conclusion being reached,” Eulasaid said. “She has very strong opinions, to be sure, and those opinions are her own. But you must admit she is loyal to a fault.”

“I think I disappoint her.”

“I think she senses that you're conflicted in your heart.” Eulasaid looked up at him. “Good and evil are powerful forces, Acair. I suspect that no matter how much you want to choose the later, the former tugs at you.”

“Good?” he said, trying to put just the right amount of dismissiveness in his tone. He didn't want to think about how soundly he'd failed. “Boring stuff, that. I choose evil every time.”

Eulasaid squeezed his arm. “You try, I'm sure,” she said easily. “I suspect you think about the consequences of each too much. If you could just press on without thought, you might manage to embrace darkness more fully.”

“Like my father?” He regretted the words the moment they left his lips, then realized what he was regretting and cursed himself for it. What did it matter to him if his father's mother suffered grief over her son's choices or was reminded of the same?

“See?” Eulasaid said with a faint smile.

He frowned fiercely. “I vow I don't know where these annoying thoughts come from. I believe I'm not sleeping enough at present. It leaves me unable to embrace my true self.”

“I believe, love, that you're just finding out who your true self might be.”

“With all due respect, Mistress Eulasaid—”

“Granny. You could call me Granny, if you liked. Or Grandmother.” She smiled at him. “What do you call your mother's mother?”

“Nothing. We're always too busy blurting out spells to ward off whatever evil minions she's sent after us to manage any polite greetings. When we attempt to visit, that is.” He shrugged. “She isn't much for family, I daresay.”

Eulasaid laughed. “I'm not at all surprised. I believe I've met those same minions myself. That and her trollish neighbors do give one pause.” She stopped and looked at him. “And here we are by the infamous and well-hidden keg of ale.” She leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. “I'm happy you are here, Acair. Come more often.”

And with that, she started away.

“Mistress—er, Grandmother?”

She turned and smiled. “Aye, love?”

“Thank you again for the rescue this morning.”

“It was most definitely my pleasure, darling. Sleep well.”

He watched her go, completely bemused. He would have rubbed his cheek to see if she'd left a mark, but he simply couldn't bring himself to. He walked over to where Sgath was pouring two substantial mugs of ale, sat down where instructed to, and looked at his father's father in consternation.

“She does that,” Sgath said.

Acair blinked. “Who? What?”

“Eulasaid. She throws people off balance.”

“Is that what she did with me?”

Sgath handed him a mug. “I think with you she was just telling you that she loves you. She always has, truth be told, even when you were off combining terrible mischief. But she doesn't like to interfere overmuch.”

“I can think of several people, one black mage in particular, who would say she did.”

“Ah, well, Lothar of Wychweald needed to be stopped and she was at hand.” He smiled. “She doesn't like to take credit for it, even
though the masters at Buidseachd do send her gifts each year on the anniversary of her having tossed Lothar out their front gates.”

Acair imagined they did. He sipped his ale, then looked at his grandfather in astonishment. “This is delicious.”

“As your grandmother said, you should have come earlier.”

“If I'd known this was what you were brewing, I would have.”

Sgath laughed easily, then continued to smile. “You would be most welcome. Your brothers? Perhaps not so much.”

“They are a sorry lot,” Acair agreed, “and I the worst of them, I'm afraid.”

“The youngest,” Sgath said, “but not the worst.”