by Lynn Kurland
She nodded, though she didn’t agree. Then again, given the king’s relationship with Acair’s sire, she decided that trying to convince him that Acair might not be as terrible as his father could likely go safely unattempted.
“I’ve been visiting my grandson and his bride in the north,” the king said suddenly, as if they’d been talking about nothing else, “admiring the tapestry of the world and the players involved, then paused here to stretch my legs. There’s a matter of chance for you.”
“How long have you been waiting, if I might ask?”
He shot her a disgruntled look. “Long enough to think I need to have a chat with your mount about the virtues of haste.” He shook his head. “I don’t like to involve myself in the matters of the world, to the surprise of many no doubt, but I was told someone was hunting you and that you might require aid. I’ll keep that mage occupied long enough for you and Fionne’s wretched offspring to find somewhere safe to hide. If such a place exists for him, that is.”
She wished she’d had posh manners to put on, but the best she could do was her most polite smile. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I didn’t realize there were so many good people in the world.”
“I think you might be surprised, gel, though even the good ones aren’t going to be too fond of your lad who is now coming our way.” He frowned at Acair. “Finished?”
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Acair said gravely. “You have allowed me to see to a task I don’t think I could have managed otherwise.”
The king grunted. “I’m under no illusions about your ability to make trouble, but you’re welcome just the same. Off you go, the both of you, and save the world. I’ll see to him who vexes you if he strolls by.”
Acair looked at him seriously. “Do you know who it is?”
The king drew himself up. “Do you honestly believe that I would bother myself over some self-important, unimpressive worker of lesser magic?”
“Then you do know him.”
The king shook his head. “Vermin are all the same,” he said. “Not worth the trouble to turn over the rock to see what’s underneath. I’ll simply keep an eye out for whatever crawls after you. I’ll also provide you with half an hour’s head start. ’Tis the least I can do for this poor girl who I hear gave so much to keep your sorry self alive.”
Acair took a deep breath, then made the king a low bow. “My gratitude, Your Majesty.”
“I did it for her, whelp.”
“I know, Your Majesty.”
Léirsinn found herself shaking hands with the king in a friendly fashion, then forced herself not to be thoroughly distracted by the handful of elvish guardsmen she hadn’t seen clearly before. They were without a doubt the most beautiful creatures she had ever seen.
“I have elven blood too, you know,” Acair murmured in her ear.
She would have given him a bit of a shove, but that would have taken time away from looking at the king’s guards. She managed to stumble off and skirt the edge of the clearing, but that was perhaps only because Acair had taken her by the hand and tugged. She could hear Sianach trotting along behind them, wearing some sort of four-footed shape she didn’t bother to identify. At least they wouldn’t be making the rest of their journey on foot.
Acair paused on the edge of an outcropping of rock overlooking a large waterfall. There was a bridge there, gleaming dully in the gloom, but she didn’t think attempting the path down to it was anything she wanted to do in the dark.
“Did you do what you needed to?” she asked.
He shot her a quick smile. “For the most part.”
She tried to dredge up a stern look but feared she had failed. “You are absolutely incorrigible.”
“And I paid a steep price to the nymph who guards that bridge. Tonight cost me a necklace of my grandmother’s that seemed to be clamoring for an adventure when I found it in her solar several months ago.”
“I’m not at all curious whether or not it was given to you fairly.”
“Fairly fairly,” he said. “It fair leapt into my pocket as I passed through her solar, but if it eases you, she’s the one who shoved it there. I’m guessing she trusted I would find someone else appropriate to annoy with it.”
“How so?”
“I understand at certain times of the year, it sings an off-key Durialian drinking song. I would suspect the gem was hewn out of Uachdaran’s mines without his permission and he enspelled it as it was being helped across the border in some granny’s purse.”
She shook her head. “I’m beginning to understand where you get your bad habits.”
“My grandmother is always up for the odd, ribald jest at others’ expense,” he agreed. “The larger the crown—or the arrogance of the lad or lass wearing that crown—the better. In this case, that necklace was very useful. I thought it best the guardian of the waters be too distracted to notice I hadn’t kicked all five rocks back into their previous spots.”
“Three, then?”
“I’m offended.”
“Four, because you’re on your best behavior.”
He smiled and whistled softly for his horse.
***
She couldn’t say she would ever travel comfortably on the back of a flying beast of any sort, but she couldn’t argue with the view.
Acair patted her hands, snugly encased as they were in the gloves that King Uachdaran had so kindly gifted her, then pointed over to the right. She looked over Sianach’s scaly dragon wing, expecting to see…well, she wasn’t sure what she’d expected. Not what she was looking at, surely.
An entire day had passed and the sun had long since begun its descent through the western sky, but there was more than enough light for her to see clearly what was below them. Acair’s horse-turned-dragon skimmed over a faint breeze coming ashore which gave her the chance to view the coast in all its glory.
Directly beneath them was a crescent-shaped bay complete with perfect sand and crystal bluish-green water. Sianach swooped toward it, then turned abruptly, giving her full view of the rugged coast that lay to the north. Past a certain distance up that coastline, she could see nothing but open sea.
Sianach dove down toward the earth with an unseemly haste that should have left her worried that they’d finally been caught, but she suspected he was simply in a hurry to go off and look for supper. He landed a decent tromp away from the beach but only twenty paces away from a house. She slid off his back, waited a moment or two until her legs had recovered from hours in the saddle, then turned to gape at the building there.
The entire front of it was made of nothing but glass. She had the feeling that being inside would only be different from standing outside on the shore because of the protection from the elements. Sturdy wooden beams separated the enormous sheets of glass from each other and held up a heavy, beamed roof. She suspected the entirety of her uncle’s barn might fit inside what she could see from where she stood.
Fuadain of Sàraichte would have ground his teeth to powder with jealousy over it.
She looked at Acair to find him watching her with perhaps the most guarded expression she had ever seen him wear.
“Is this yours?” she asked.
He nodded. “Like it?”
“I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in my life,” she said honestly.
He smiled slightly, then walked around Sianach’s smoking nostrils to put his arms around her.
“Now, don’t fall to pieces on me and burn the damned place down with one of your maudlin displays,” he warned.
“You are an ass.”
“I hear that more often than you might imagine.” He sighed deeply. “’Tis just a pile of wood and stone, but rather handsome just the same, I suppose.”
She turned her head and rested her cheek against his shoulder so she could better look at what he’d created. She wasn’t surprised, actually. It
was Acair after all and he could certainly trot out very fine manners when they were called for. That his home should be so lovely was perhaps nothing unexpected.
“I never bring anyone here,” he said quietly.
“I can understand why,” she said. “It would utterly ruin your reputation for murder, mischief and what is the third?”
“Mayhem,” he said dryly. “You haven’t seen the condition of the kitchens, so don’t speak too soon. I’m very rarely home, so the provisions might be a bit sparse.”
She pulled away and looked at him. “Why?”
He looked profoundly uncomfortable. “I’m not sure,” he hedged. “A poorly stocked wine cellar, probably.”
“Too much peace and quiet, more than likely. Who knows where that might lead.”
“Ye gads, woman,” he said faintly, “have a care for my poor self. I refuse to admit to anything, though the thought of depriving the world of my sparkling wit and flawless manners does leave me feeling slightly hollow inside. So many fine suppers, so little time to attend them all.”
She shook her head in disgust, then waited. He seemed to be in no hurry to go inside, which she found less comforting than alarming.
“What is it?” she asked uneasily. “Lose your key to the front door?”
“Well, that’s the thing,” he said slowly. “There’s a spell.”
She wondered why she hadn’t realized what that faint shimmer of something over his home had been. It could have been mistaken for a fine evening mist, but once she realized what she was looking at, she could see that it was anything but.
“It lets me sleep at night,” he said. “Protection, avoiding death, that sort of thing.”
And, was almost out of her mouth before she realized what he was getting at.
“And you can’t undo it now—wait, nay,” she said, holding up her hand. “Knowing you, the spell will allow you through with only yourself as the key, but no one else. Is that it?”
“Aren’t you like a duck to water with all matters magical,” he said.
She took a deep breath. “That’s fine. You go and I’ll find somewhere to hide.”
He looked at her in surprise. “Of course you won’t. Either we both go, or neither does. I think you can use your spell of containment to terrific reviews. Let’s try it on our wee friend here and see how it goes.”
“And if I fail—”
“You won’t. Take your spell out, wrap it around that lad there, and I’ll get us through whilst it’s busy trying to free itself.”
“Sianach, as well.”
He blew his hair out of his eyes. “Aye, damn him. I’ll pull all three of us through, then we’ll go see if there are any apples left in the bin.”
She knew she should have been flexing her fingers and preparing to trot out the second of the two spells she knew, but all she could do was stand there like a terrified colt and shake. Acair closed his eyes briefly and pulled her back into his arms.
“You are unnerved,” he said, “and you have reason for it. The first time I had to remove that damned Falaire from his stall, I felt the same way.”
“This isn’t the same thing at all.”
“You have no idea how unnerved I was. No magic and that enormous maw reaching for my arse? Terrifying. Now, go ahead and do your worst. I’ll see to our other business here.”
She nodded, though the icy cold running through her was even less pleasant than the usual fever her magic seemed to carry with it. She put her shoulders back and looked at Acair’s surly companion.
“You’re going to stay here,” she said sternly. “I don’t care what someone has instructed you to do.”
The spell glared at her belligerently, but she expected nothing less.
She looked up at Acair. “Please don’t die.”
He looked as if she’d just kneed him in the gut. “Stop that,” he said hoarsely. “Any more of those maudlin sentiments and you’ll destroy not only my house but my poor self with your magical stylings.”
She couldn’t argue with that, but trying to remain calm was more difficult than she wanted to admit. She imagined they would have perhaps the space of a single heartbeat to leap to safety before that spell of death fell on him and slew him, never mind how well her own attempt at containing it might work. She stood where Acair advised her to, assuming it would be but a single step through to safety, then she looked at his spell.
She resisted the urge to cross her fingers, then simply repeated the words the stable lad had given her. At the same moment, she heard Acair say something that she assumed was the key to opening the shield over his house.
She realized abruptly that no matter how well her spell of containment worked on grain, it didn’t have quite the same effect on that dreadful spell there. The beast lunged for Acair, its shadowy hands stretching out toward him—
She stepped in front of him and heard something snap. Someone made a noise of pain. She didn’t realize until she found herself on the ground, half sprawled over a black mage who was still breathing, thankfully, that the person crying out had been her.
She sat up and looked down.
Her forearm was bent in a way it shouldn’t have been.
“Don’t move.”
Acair’s voice sounded very far away. She had some sympathy for Mansourah of Neroche and his broken arm. How he’d managed to ride all the way to Acair’s mother’s house to have her heal it for him, she surely didn’t know. She felt something cold start at the base of her spine and work its way up toward her head.
She watched Acair take off his cloak, shredded as it had been into nothing but tatters, and make a sling out of it. He looked at her.
“You could faint, if you liked.”
“You could knock me out, if you liked.”
“I would never strike a woman. Here, hold on. We’ll go inside, then see to fixing this.”
She didn’t want to ask him how. The pain in her arm was blinding, though she realized she was starting not to feel anything else. She looked at his spell of death and thought it might have looked slightly apologetic. She imagined she might want to have words with it later about perhaps selecting other victims.
Acair bent, lifted her carefully in his arms, then walked to the front door.
“Are we safe?” she managed, starting to feel herself slipping into darkness.
“Perfectly. Trust me.”
She wondered if he would be gratified to know she did.
Nine
Acair had had many women swoon artfully into his arms, but never in his life had one done so thanks to a terribly broken arm she’d earned whilst about the business of saving his sorry arse. Truly, things had to change before he was fit company only for that collection of banished elves Ehrne of Ainneamh left weeping at his front gates.
“I can walk,” Léirsinn said through gritted teeth.
“I’m certain you can,” he said, “but allow me the pleasure of carrying you just this once.”
He nudged the door open with his knee, almost going sprawling thanks to that damned Sianach bolting into the house in feline form, then carried Léirsinn inside. He shut the door behind them with his foot and strode toward the kitchen, not stopping to light any lamps. He knew his way around well enough in spite of how seldom he found himself there.
He was beginning to think that needed to change.
“And you’re certain we’re safe,” she said faintly.
“Perfectly,” he said, refraining from pointing out that she’d already asked. He honestly couldn’t blame her for being worried, but he knew what sort of spell covered his home. “No one will enter. In fact, I’m not sure anyone but Soilléir knows I live here.”
“No long lines of beautiful women waiting outside to beg for your attentions?”
“Not here,” he said cheerfully. “You have the honor of
being the first lass I’ve lured into my sumptuous web.”
“I think I’m flattered,” she said faintly.
He was floored, actually, but that had nothing to do with her and everything to do with the usual sort of company he kept. That he was more comfortable keeping that company far away from his own four walls than allowing them anywhere near them was telling.
He walked into the kitchen, pulled out a chair with his foot, then set Léirsinn down on it as gingerly as possible. If he almost lost her to senselessness when he helped her rest her arm on the table, he wasn’t surprised. He’d seen several terrible things, but the angle at which her forearm was abruptly pointing left him feeling rather faint himself. Worse still was that he had no skill to set it on his own.
He quickly built a fire in the hearth, then sat down in the chair next to her and put his hand on her back, partly to soothe her but mostly to make certain she didn’t pitch forward out of that chair and onto the floor. He was handy enough with his own bumps and bruises, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d used a spell of healing beyond slapping one on someone else so he could torment them a bit more.
The only thing that gave him any comfort at the moment was knowing exactly how impervious the spell laid over his house—
He froze. His spell was designed to keep out everything and everyone who wasn’t him, unless he had specifically allowed them inside it.
What might that mean for that damned spell of death?
“I’m going to go fetch you something to drink,” he said, which he would just as soon as he’d engaged in a little experiment that might or might not leave him dead. “Don’t scamper off quite yet.”
She only groaned and cursed him. He left her to it and made for his front door at something close to a run. He wrenched it open, then was somewhat relieved to find there was nothing waiting for him there save that spell of death caught up in the web of protection that lay over his house like a clear dome.
He didn’t think; he simply held out his hand and made a ball of werelight—from Fadaire, as it happened, in honor of Rùnach. He would have permanently changed it into a ball of quartz and set it aside to be later tossed with enthusiasm at Soilléir of Cothromaiche’s head, but alas, one made do with less when one’s catalog of enchantments was missing a few critical entries.