The White Spell (31 page)

“You didn't have my brothers,” Acair said darkly.

“You didn't spend your youth with Adhémar,” Miach said dryly.

Acair paused, then nodded. “You're right. You had it worse. Now, to the material point, which is where is that damned Soilléir? I want to talk to him and the sooner the better.”

“He's not here.”

Léirsinn supposed that if he hadn't had a decent amount of balance, Acair would have simply fallen backward off the stump he was sitting on. He gaped at Miach, his mouth working for several moments with no sound issuing forth, as if he simply couldn't latch onto any useful thing to say.

“That bloody whoreson,” he managed finally.

“I believe he had business elsewhere—”

“He didn't, damn him to hell,” Acair growled. “That vaunted sight of his told him, I'm quite sure, that I was stumbling after him as best I could. He is doing this apurpose simply to make my life hell.”

“Well, that might be possible,” Miach agreed. “I think I can find him, if you can give me a few hours. You can sit in front of my fire and keep a weather eye out for any of my brothers who might want to murder you.”

“At least I would have an idea who wants me dead,” Acair said grimly. “I'm honestly at a loss about anyone else.”

“I'll leave you with ink and paper,” Miach said solemnly. “You can make a list. I think you can leave me off it, though.”

“There's a mercy,” Acair said with a sigh. “And I don't think I thanked you properly for the rescue. Very kind and, I will admit, rather unexpected.”

“Hard to turn over a new leaf without a bit of help,” Miach said
with a faint smile. “You're welcome. Perhaps after a late supper, you can tell me what the hell you've been doing that stirred up that hornet's nest following you. There were at least a dozen of them and they were definitely not novices.”

Léirsinn watched the fire burning between her and Acair and listened to discussions of things she had to admit she now had no trouble believing. Patches of shadow, mages who didn't care for having them stepped in, Droch of Saothair, supper at Sgath and Eulasaid's table, then an endless number of other things. She realized after a certain point that she had stopped paying any heed to what they were discussing. They were under the cover of spells and starlight and she was perfectly happy to watch the heavens and let talk of mages and magic wash over her.

“I think we've bored her past all endurance,” Miach remarked.

Léirsinn came back to herself and realized they were both simply watching her. She smiled. “Forgive me. I was thinking of nothing.”

“Acair does that often,” Miach said.

“You could only wish to reach the superior quality of my thoughts,” Acair said with a snort. “But don't trouble yourself overmuch, Miach my lad. Locked here in this rustic hovel of yours, you won't need them.”

Miach only laughed. “And you think I'll let you inside my gates now?”

“If I were polite, you would suspect me of nefarious intentions,” Acair said. “Insulting you is likely my only hope of having any supper.”

Miach stared at him for several minutes in silence, then looked at Léirsinn. “Does he do that often?”

“Do what?”

“Blurt out those bits of uncomfortable truth?”

“He is blunt,” Léirsinn conceded. She smiled faintly. “Is he right?”

“I'm embarrassed to say he is.” Miach rose and looked at Acair. “My apologies.”

Acair huffed a bit as he pushed himself to his feet, then pulled Léirsinn to hers.

“I believe my ears have failed me, but I won't make you repeat that for my benefit. Know that I fully intend to hide behind you if I manage to get past your front gates without them falling on me out of habit.”

“Have you ever been inside Tar Neroche?”

Acair smiled. “Before you were born, my little mage king. Your honored sire and I had spirited words together in the garden. I only got off a few choice insults before your mother came out and frightened the hell straight from me.”

Miach smiled. “I'd like to hear that tale in full. Over sour wine in my tower chamber later, perhaps?”

“I'm sure you would enjoy it,” Acair said, “for she, as my father's father would say, took me to the woodshed and beat a few manners into me. A remarkable woman, Queen Desdhemar. I believe she even gave my father pause.”

Léirsinn wondered if Acair knew he was endlessly keeping hold of her hand to tuck it under his arm or if that was just habit. Courtly manners, perhaps, beaten into him by Miach's mother.

She suspected he was going to need them.

“I would
definitely
like to hear that tale,” Miach said with a smile, “as would several of my brothers. Let me feed you, then you can repay us with it. You might even manage to make it to dessert that way.”

“One could hope,” Acair said. He looked at her, then nodded toward the keep. “Safety.”

“For me, at least,” she conceded.

“I'll hide behind you,” Acair said. “Miach too, if necessary.”

“Perhaps your lovely manners will be enough to save you,” she offered, then she lost her train of thought as they made their way to the castle.

The road there led past walls that seemed to tilt outward just
the slightest bit, no doubt to intimidate and frighten. She understood completely.

In time, she walked through massive gates and into what she supposed was the main courtyard. She wondered if the time would ever come where she didn't feel like a rustic miss who had never seen anything more grand than an ordinary supper laid out on a table inside a manor house she wasn't free to enter.

She feared not.

•   •   •

H
alf an hour later, she realized that while she was perhaps a bit closer to a meal in a fine house than usual, it was going to take a bit of talking from her two escorts before she was going to be able to sit down to it.

She had been right about the need for courtly manners. She found herself in the private dining chamber of the palace of Neroche, a place that was far grander than anything she had ever seen in her life. She would have perhaps more successfully gaped at it, but she was standing with her nose pressed against Acair's back while he had his nose pressed against Miach's back. If he removed his nose, it was only to shout the occasional apology or bellow a prettily spoken compliment. Neither was being received very well.

“Are you daft?” someone shouted furiously. “What in the bloody hell are you thinking to allow that piece of refuse in here?”

“Thank you for your opinion, Rigaud,” Miach said calmly. “I'll take responsibility for him.”

“When?” that same man spat. “After he makes you too dead to watch him slay the rest of us?”

Léirsinn leaned up and looked over Acair's shoulder. He put his hand behind him and held her where she was.

“I wouldn't,” he whispered.

She patted him, then stepped around his hand before he could stop her. She went to stand shoulder to shoulder with Miach so she
could better see what was going on in the pasture, as it were. Her first thought was that, again, she would someday have to learn not to gape at her surroundings with what she was certain was an expression of utter astonishment.

She leaned closer to the king. “If this is the dining chamber,” she whispered in awe, “I would hate to see the rest of this place.”

He smiled at her briefly, then turned back to face several men who were past furious. Léirsinn paused, then changed her mind about that. There were five men facing her and of the five only one seemed to be past reason. The remaining four were simply watching one of their number as he thoroughly lost his temper. Some of them were smiling, others were obviously attempting not to smile.

They were the king's brothers, or so she'd been warned as they had made their way through the palace. Acair had also made a point to warn her that his welcome, as usual, wouldn't be a warm one. She had watched him be proven wrong both at his grandparents' house and Aherin, so she hadn't been particularly worried.

Now, she was beginning to think she had let her guard down too soon. Miach's brother Rigaud was absolutely beside himself with fury and not shy about sharing his opinions. She suspected Acair wouldn't even manage an apology before that one slew him if given the chance. Then again, it wasn't as if she could have done anything to save the man standing behind her, continuing to offer the occasional kind word.

“He's turned over a new leaf,” Miach shouted at one point.

“Aye, to find all the bodies of those he's slain when they wouldn't give him their magic!”

Acair cleared his throat and leaned over Léirsinn's shoulder. “I believe, Prince Rigaud, that you're confusing me with my illustrious but admittedly morally impoverished sire—”

“Shut up!” Rigaud thundered.

“Well,” Acair said, “there's no need to be unpleasant.”

Miach laughed. Léirsinn watched Rigaud, definitely the best dressed of the lot, offer a final warning in less-than-dulcet tones
before he stomped off, snarling curses at no one in particular. The rest of the men there didn't seem to be reaching for swords or spells, which she thought boded well. Miach looked at her.

“Introductions,” he said. “These are my brothers: Cathar, Nemed, Mansourah, and Turah. Rigaud is the one who recently made such a graceful exit, hastening off to no doubt make plans to slay Acair in his sleep.”

“No doubt,” Acair muttered. “I'll sleep with one eye open, I daresay.”

Miach winked at Léirsinn, then nodded in the direction of his brothers. “And that rabble there has now been joined by my lady wife, the princess Mhorghain of Tòrr Dòrainn, now queen of Neroche.”

Léirsinn wondered how she hadn't noticed the queen before. She was so painfully beautiful that Léirsinn half wondered if she might be—well, of course she was. She couldn't say she was good with very many things, but she'd discovered in Sgath's library that she had no trouble memorizing maps. Tòrr Dòrainn was the elven land to the east of Ainneamh, which meant that if the queen of Neroche hailed from there, she was obviously of that elven bent.

She didn't look as arrogant as King Ehrne and his lads had been, though. She rolled her eyes at her husband and walked across the chamber to hold out her hand.

“I'm Morgan,” she said with a smile.

“Ah,” Léirsinn said, at something of a loss. Queen though the woman might have been, she somehow seemed a great deal like the comfortable sort of person her husband was. “I'm—”

“Léirsinn of Sàraichte,” Morgan finished. “So I hear. I've never been to Sàraichte, but I hear it isn't a place to linger.”

Léirsinn suspected she might be looking at a friend. “It's worse than you can imagine.”

“Oh, I can imagine quite a few things,” Morgan said. She looked over Léirsinn's shoulder. “And who do we have here?”

Léirsinn stepped aside, mostly because she couldn't imagine
that the queen would damage the man behind her. She looked at Acair to find him looking a bit winded, actually. He took a deep breath, then made the queen a low, sweeping bow.

“Your Majesty,” he said. “A pleasure, truly.”

Morgan pursed her lips at him. “Flattery, my lord Acair?”

He shrugged and smiled faintly. “I thought I would give it a try.”

Morgan considered him for a moment or two, then looked at Léirsinn. “We share a father, you know, who I fortunately don't remember very well. They tell me that one there is nothing like him save for perhaps the fairness of his face. All I know of him is what I've heard thanks to an endless number of tales about his bad behavior. What do you know?”

Léirsinn wasn't sure she'd heard the queen correctly. “You share a father?” she asked blankly, feeling quite thoroughly as if she had indeed been raised in a barn. The twistings and turnings of the family trees she was encountering were truly something to behold. “Sgath is your grandfather, then?”

Morgan nodded. “So he is.” She glanced at Acair, then looked at Léirsinn. “What do you think of my half-brother there?”

“He tucks my hand under his arm constantly,” Léirsinn said, because it was the first thing she could think of. “He has also fed me when I couldn't afford to do so myself.”

“Interesting,” Morgan said. “I understand he's spent a goodly part of the past year groveling before various offended dignitaries. Sounds unpleasant, doesn't it?”

“Very,” Léirsinn agreed.

Morgan looked at Acair for a moment or two longer, then seemed to come to some sort of decision about him. She smiled at Léirsinn. “Let's leave him to fend for himself. If he manages to survive the gauntlet that will form on his way to the table, I might just see him fed.”

Léirsinn followed the queen across the chamber, noting that she had predicted things aright. The king's brothers seemed determined to perhaps have a bit of sport at Acair's expense. Well, save for one
of those who deserted the rest without hesitation and hurried around the table to hold out a chair for her. She looked at the queen, but Morgan only smiled and shrugged.

Léirsinn was uncomfortable accepting aid from someone besides Acair, a rather alarming realization to be sure, but she sat where invited to just the same. She then looked at the man who plopped himself down next to her. He was terribly handsome, so much so that she had to admit she felt a little light-headed.

“Drink,” Morgan said dryly, handing her a delicate glass of something. “Sourah, leave her alone.”

“She's exquisite,” the man said. “She obviously needs my protection.”

“You realize that means you'll be fighting Acair of Ceangail for her, don't you?” Morgan asked seriously. “I don't imagine you'll win.”

“I intend to give it my best effort. The prize would be worth it.”