by Lynn Kurland
“And miss the future pleasure of watching terror cross your features as you realize my spell of death is falling upon you and there isn’t a damned thing you can do to stop it?” Acair asked mildly. “I think not.”
“An honorable black mage.”
“Hardly that,” Acair said seriously. “I’ll spare my lady the depths of my depravity. You, however, will see the full measure, I promise you.” He gestured elegantly toward the door to the inn. “After you, Your Highness.”
Léirsinn wouldn’t have blamed Mansourah for hanging back but the man was obviously not a coward. He was also apparently no fool, for he only gestured for her to go ahead of them without bothering to offer her his arm.
She was grateful to reach their chamber safely, relieved to sit and have something very ordinary to eat, and too tired to fight the appearance of a maid who was soon called to help her dress. She endured what was required to make her look presentable, then happily showed the girl out of their chambers and shut the door behind her. She went to stand close enough to the hearth to try to warm her hands without setting herself on fire. Acair was sitting in a high-backed chair nearby, staring so thoughtfully at the flames that she couldn’t bring herself to disturb him.
She shifted, trying not to be distracted by the very lovely sound her skirts made. She had no idea what the fabric was, but she knew the color looked a great deal like the pines near Tor Neroche and she didn’t dare touch the damned thing.
“Lovely gown,” Acair remarked.
She glanced at him then and realized he didn’t look as peaceful as she’d first supposed. “Are you plotting something?”
“Perish the thought.”
She tried a different tack. “You have a remarkable amount of self-control.”
He looked up at her with eyes that she supposed might be likened to the sea, though surely not the dark business that she was familiar with. Perhaps a bay of greenish-blue water in some secluded spot. She wondered rather abruptly how it was that any woman still breathing managed to look away from him.
“I need him alive,” he said mildly.
“Mansourah?” she managed. “For a sparring partner?”
“He’s hardly worth the effort of drawing my sword,” he said seriously. “The only reason he’s still breathing is because I need him to keep you safe.”
“Me,” she said, wishing she sounded a bit more like she was scoffing instead of choking. “Surely not.”
“I am willing to travel in rather unsavoury circles to keep myself safe,” he said with a half shrug. “You? I wouldn’t take you within a hundred leagues of them, which leaves me relying on that fluttering faery to do what I cannot.”
She shook her head. “Who are you?”
He smiled briefly. “At the moment, I honestly don’t know but don’t think that uncomfortable self-examination will last long.” He looked at her, then shook his head. “Mansourah will be protection enough for the evening, but I’m already thinking on other means of assuring that you and I both see the spring.”
She would have expressed an opinion on that, but she was interrupted by Mansourah coming back inside the chamber from points unknown.
“Ready?” he asked pleasantly.
What she was ready to do was hike up her skirts and go hide behind the nearest curtain, but she supposed it was too late for that. Acair bundled her up in a cloak and herded her and her escort to the door. He held on to the wood at the level of Mansourah’s throat, his forearm preventing the prince from leaving.
“Kiss her,” he said distinctly, “and I will slay you with my bare hands.”
“I think she can decide that for herself,” Mansourah said coolly. “Let’s be away, Léirsinn, before he works himself into a state over things that are none of his affair.” He ushered her out into the passageway and pulled the door shut behind them. “Tea awaits.”
“May you choke on its bitterness!” was hurled at the other side of the door.
Mansourah smiled. “I don’t think that was directed at you.”
“I don’t think he means anything by it,” she offered. “We’re not—” She had to take a deep breath. “Well, we’re not . . . you know.”
“I think our friend inside has a different opinion on that,” Mansourah said, “but let’s ignore him for as long as possible. Simeon has never set a very fine table, but one can hope his cook won’t ruin tea and biscuits.”
She had her own thoughts on how easily food could be ruined, but she supposed there was no point in saying as much. She nodded, then followed Mansourah toward an evening she was fairly sure she wasn’t going to enjoy.
• • •
An hour later, she was walking down a poorly lit passageway and wishing she had traded places with Acair and remained behind as the servant.
It wasn’t that Mansourah wasn’t delightful company, because he was. The man she cared quite a bit less for was Simeon of Diarmailt, a rather smallish man with beady eyes and restless hands. She didn’t suppose it was polite to wonder if he picked guests’ pockets while they were otherwise distracted, but she was a cynic when it came to men with titles—and he didn’t even still have his title, if what she’d heard was true. All she knew was that the palace was very shabby, which she thought spoke rather loudly either of a family fallen on hard times or a master of that family who couldn’t manage his funds properly. A lesser relation of a once powerful, magical house was how Acair had described him back at the inn, which she supposed had been a rather kind thing to say.
In the end, she didn’t care who was pretending to sit on the Diarmailtian throne, presently past wishing she could make a curtsey to him and go.
“Here we are,” the king said, opening the door to what was apparently his private solar. “After you, Lady Léirsinn.”
She entered in front of Mansourah and their host, looked as usual for all possible exits, then realized the solar wasn’t as empty as it could have been. She came to a teetering halt, causing the men behind her to stop abruptly. She supposed that was a boon given that it drew the attention of her two companions who made every effort to assure themselves that she wasn’t unwell.
She wasn’t unwell; she was terrified.
Damn that Acair of Ceangail. She would have wagered her only pair of riding boots that he was the man who had just flung himself over the settee placed at the back of the room. How he’d gotten himself inside the king’s solar was a mystery, but she suspected he had quite a list of unsavoury skills to boast about. At least he was fortunate that the sofa found itself far enough away from the fire to be comfortable if one were about some sort of strenuous mischief.
She sat where invited to and tried to pay attention to the king and Mansourah. There were no noises coming from that particular corner of the chamber where she thought a particular intruder might be having a wee rest, but perhaps anyone who had made it to the king’s inner chamber wasn’t fool enough to wheeze while about his nefarious activities. At least that lad didn’t have to feign any interest in polite conversation. Once she finally managed to listen to what Mansourah was discussing with the king—the latest batch of wine from some country she’d never heard of—she was left wishing she’d taken a tumble over the back of that splendidly upholstered sofa herself.
“I would enjoy that very much,” Mansourah said politely. “Léirsinn, darling, King Simeon has invited us to go take a turn in his gardens with him.”
Léirsinn dragged herself back to the conversation at hand. “Ah, well, wouldn’t that be lovely,” she managed, scrambling for an excuse not to go. “If only it weren’t so cold.”
“Of course,” Mansourah said gently. “You are of a delicate constitution, so perhaps the chill should be avoided.” He turned to the king. “It was a rather difficult journey here, Your Majesty, and my lady is rather fragile. I wonder if we might leave her here in comfort and perhaps visit your wine cellar instead?”
&n
bsp; Simeon smiled, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m not parting with any of my private supply, lad.”
Mansourah laughed politely. “I wouldn’t presume to ask, of course. I might, however, be able to identify the remainder of what you sent my late brother the king for his coronation all those many years ago, if that would amuse you.”
“Adhémar did love his drink,” Simeon agreed. He rose and paused. “If you’re certain your lady won’t feel neglected.”
Léirsinn shook her head quickly. “It would be a great kindness, actually, to be able to simply sit and enjoy your lovely fire,” she said, doing her damndest to sound as noble as possible. Telling him to take his sorry arse out of his solar so she could shove the man she needed alive to rescue her grandfather out the window was likely not the right thing to say.
“As you will. Come, Prince Mansourah, and we’ll take a torch downstairs. I’ll leave guards outside the door for your lady’s safety.”
Léirsinn watched them go, looking as fragile as possible until the door closed. She waited a bit longer just to be safe, then hopped up and bolted across the room. She knelt on the sofa and looked over its back, utterly unsurprised at the identity of the man lying there with his hands folded over his chest.
“What are you doing here?” she whispered fiercely.
“Collecting payment for something I failed to provide,” Acair said, sitting up and brushing dust off his shoulders. “Though why I’m bothering, I don’t know.”
She could scarce believe her ears. “You’re stealing something?”
“I’m not sure I would use that word,” he said, heaving himself to his feet, “but you can if you like.”
She gaped at him, but either he didn’t notice or he was accustomed to those sorts of looks. She honestly wouldn’t have been surprised by either.
He walked over to a glass case sitting on a large, ornate table near the window. He didn’t hesitate before picking the lock on it as easily as if he’d done the like hundreds of times before, which she suspected he had. He slipped his tools back into some sort of pocket, then opened the lid of the case. He paused and looked at her.
“You might not want to watch,” he said seriously.
“Who will rescue you if you run afoul of trouble?”
“Ah—damnation. Don’t save me.”
She watched him leap across the chamber and dive over the back of the sofa. There was no point in telling him that she had no intention of even trying to rescue him, mostly because she assumed he already knew that. She almost managed to get herself to her own seat before the door opened, but not quite. She clutched the back of her chair and found a theretofore untapped ability to feign illness as she looked at the king.
“Your Highness,” she rasped, wondering if putting the back of her hand to her forehead would be too much. She considered, then decided it was best to continue to hold onto her chair. At least that way, she could heave it at the man if he did anything untoward.
The king rushed to her side and took hold of her elbow. “You’re unwell.”
“I think I am,” she said, grasping for the first thing that came to mind. “I thought standing for a bit might aid me, but I think perhaps a turn in your garden might be best. Fresh air and all that.” She hesitated to ask him where Mansourah had gotten himself to on the off chance she was going to soon be joining the prince of Neroche in the dungeon, but she was no coward. She took a deep breath. “Where is His Highness?”
“On his way,” the king said smoothly. He leaned his hip against the chair facing the one she was clutching and looked at her. “So, my dear,” he said without preamble, “who are you?”
“Just a country miss,” she said as politely as possible, “trying to navigate the shoals of a very large world.”
“Then why is the prince of Neroche pursuing you?”
“It is,” she said honestly, “an utter mystery to me.”
She wasn’t entirely sure she hadn’t heard a snort from the corner, but couldn’t fault Acair for it.
“From whence do you hail precisely?”
“Ah, the East,” she said, latching on to the first thing that came to mind.
“The East is a very large place.”
She actually had no idea about any of that save a rather unpleasant trip up the river from Sàraichte to Beinn òrain, then an even more unpleasant trip from there to an elven land where she had been tossed in a dungeon, but that had been west of everything she’d ever seen. In truth, she had no idea what the East contained, but it sounded uncharted enough for her purposes—
“Ah, Léirsinn, my love,” a voice said suddenly from the doorway. “I feared you might have become lost.”
She suppressed an enormous sigh of relief, mostly because she didn’t think she should be indulging in that sort of thing while they were still inside the palace walls. She was beginning to suspect that was a dangerous place to be.
“The king was kind enough to rescue me,” she said, pushing herself away from her chair. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
Mansourah rushed into the solar, looking terribly concerned. He looked her over, then turned to the king. “I believe she is very unwell. Forgive us, Your Majesty, if we cut our visit short.”
Simeon pursed his lips. “Another time, then,” he said dismissively.
“Assuredly so,” Mansourah said, inclining his head slightly.
Léirsinn thought she might go back to her uncle’s barn before she paid another visit to Simeon of Diarmailt, but she supposed no one cared about her thoughts. She listened to Mansourah and the king make polite, royal chitchat and forced herself not to look behind her to see if Acair might be visible from where she stood. She wasn’t unhappy when Mansourah managed to get them out of the solar and heading off toward the front doors. The king coming along was simply a happy bit of good fortune, to her mind.
“If you tire of Tor Neroche,” the king said, “do consider making another visit.”
She realized he was talking to her, then wished she’d remained oblivious. She forced herself to smile when what she wanted to do was clout him on the nose.
“What a tremendous offer, Your Majesty,” she managed. “I’m sure His Royal Highness and I would count that as a great honor on our honeymoon tour. Wouldn’t we, Mansourah, my love?”
Mansourah lifted an eyebrow. “A delightful idea, of course. Thank you, Your Majesty, for the courtesy. I’ll make certain my brother the king hears about your graciousness.”
If the erstwhile king of Diarmailt said anything else, Léirsinn didn’t hear it. Mansourah was very proficient at making a hasty yet polite exit and before she knew it, she had been bundled into a carriage and they were heading out of the gates at a decent clip. Mansourah didn’t look concerned, so either he didn’t know Acair was in the palace or he didn’t care.
The third possibility was that he refrained from commenting on the location of their companion because they were still surrounded by the king’s guards and those guards didn’t seem particularly friendly.
She could only hope Acair wouldn’t find himself similarly surrounded because there wasn’t a damned thing she could do to rescue him if so.
Four
It was one thing to pinch the odd, priceless treasure whilst masquerading as a peasant, yet still having one’s magic to fall back on if things went a bit sour. Making an escape without the ability to turn oneself into a brisk winter wind in order to whip past any potentially offended owners of priceless treasures was quite another.
Acair was, he was willing to concede, nothing if not versatile when it came to saving his own sweet neck whilst still holding onto the goods, so he carried on with bolting through back alleyways and across gardens, Simeon of Diarmailt’s cherished book of spells tucked securely under his arm. Truly, there were few in the world with his ability to borrow and bolt, as his mother was wont to term it. He h
ad to admit that watching a few less-than-savvy lads attempt the same at her expense during his youth had been extremely instructive when it came to what not to do.
He let himself into the inn’s garden through a gate in the hedge that he’d used more than once in the past for just such a thing, then tiptoed across the garden, keeping to the shadows. Why he bothered in the dark, he couldn’t have said, but there it was. Old habits died hard.
A quick hop or two up very useful bits of building and a careful scoot along a ledge left him sliding open the window he’d left unlocked on his way out and rolling back inside the chamber just in time to hear voices at the door. He flung his cloak onto the sofa and leapt over to one of the chairs in front of the fire.
If he sat down rather quickly without remembering that he had a damned book wedged into his belt and it subsequently tore what felt like a gaping hole into the flesh of his lower back, well, that was the price for the spoils. He shifted a bit to alleviate the worst of the pain, then assumed a casual pose before the door opened and Léirsinn rushed inside.
She came to a skidding halt halfway across the chamber. “Oh,” she said. “You’re here.”
He was desperate to gasp in a few restorative breaths, but that damned busybody from Neroche was hard on her heels. It wouldn’t do to provide anything interesting for that one to poke his nose into.
“Of course,” he said, trying not to wheeze. “How was tea?”
“Terrible,” Mansourah said, tossing his cloak onto the sofa without apparently noticing what was already there. He accepted Léirsinn’s wrap, then saw Léirsinn seated in the unoccupied chair there in front of the hearth. He looked at Acair. “Move.”
At any other time, Acair would have simply responded to the offer with a cool look, but the present moment demanded a bit more discretion than usual. He heaved himself up out of the chair and was happy to use that exertion as an excuse to catch his breath. He looked at Léirsinn to find her watching him more closely than he was comfortable with—
That thought was enough to leave him wanting to clap his hand to his forehead. Never in all his years had he ever complained about a woman favoring him with a lingering look, no matter her reason.