by Lynn Kurland
She leaned her head on his shoulder and sighed. He rested his cheek against her hair and watched the flames dance. He had to admit he was a bit surprised that his grandmother’s magic hadn’t first done what he’d asked, then suddenly turned on him and incinerated him, but perhaps she was fonder of him than he supposed.
Taking air that was simply air and not full of the seeds of fire waiting to be magically harvested, so to speak, then forcing it into fiery shapes where it lingered in a more permanent state than he was accustomed to finding it…now, that was something. He half expected Soilléir to come charging into the garden to protest someone using anything that came close to his own mighty magic.
“Did you call that fire or make it?”
“Neither.”
She lifted her head and looked at him in astonishment. “Did you meddle?”
“I did,” he said, feeling a bit awed by the same.
“Would your grandmother be proud or furious?”
“Well, she did give me the spell,” he said. “I’m half afraid to look around lest using it has cracked the world in two in places I can’t see.”
“How long will it last?”
“That is the question, isn’t it? I’m not certain I have the patience to wait it out, and I’m certainly not going to leave you out here to do the work for me.”
“I’m not sure I want to stay out here without you,” she said seriously. She watched the flames for a bit longer, then frowned. “There’s something about it that seems familiar.”
“Lingering indigestion from substances imbibed at my granny’s tea-table, no doubt.”
“No doubt,” she agreed.
He sat with her in what turned out to be a lovely, companionable silence for perhaps longer than he should have, but the work that lay ahead of him was going to be heavy. He wasn’t afraid of it, naturally, though he had to admit the thought of leaving Léirsinn on her own whilst he was senseless from the efforts gave him pause.
The fire burned out eventually, though it took a good hour before it even began to fade. He watched, his arm around a lovely, courageous woman who didn’t seem to mind just sitting with him there and waiting until the flames disappeared as if they had never been there to start with.
He sighed. “Well, there’s that. How about breakfast, then I’ll be about my labors? I’ll need to make a list of vile things that might be useful, which fortunately won’t take all that long.”
She caught his arm before he rose. “Look.”
He stopped in mid crouch, then straightened as she stood up next to him. He realized what she was looking at, but imagined no one else needed to make any note of it. He nodded slightly, then walked with her back into the house, shut the door, then dropped a spell over it to lock it. He looked at her.
“I didn’t imagine them?”
“Those dragon shapes burned into the wood?” she asked. “Not unless I’m dreaming with you.”
“We’re close enough to Bruadair where that might be possible,” he admitted, “but in this case, I imagine not. I wonder what that means?”
“Are you going to investigate?”
He smiled. “You know I will. Later, though.”
“I’ll leave you to it—”
“Nay, stay,” he said. He paused. “If you will. I wouldn’t mind the company.”
“If you like.”
What he would have liked was an entire afternoon with nothing more to do but walk on the shore with her, but things were what they were and he had serious business to see to.
The sooner it was finished, the happier he would be.
An hour later, he sat at the kitchen table and considered what lay there in front of him. He’d decided on coins from Sàraichte only because Léirsinn was familiar with them. Not that she couldn’t have learned another country’s coinage, of course. He just knew that if she wound up needing to use one of them, she would be under a decent amount of duress. The less she had to think through things instead of simply reaching for a weapon and using it, the better.
He glanced at her, sitting next to him at that comfortable round table in front of the fire, and realized she was watching him, not what he’d laid out there. He blinked in surprise.
“What is it?”
“Just watching you think,” she said.
He shook his head. “I forget to be discreet in your company.”
“I’d rather know,” she said simply. “You don’t seem overly concerned.”
Obviously she wasn’t able to hear the blood pounding in his ears and those damned spells intertwined in his chest setting up a frantic chorus of something that might have resembled cries of warning if he’d been susceptible to that sort of thing. He decided to credit it to questionable porridge a pair of hours ago and move on.
“We should think about what you’ll need,” he said, deciding it might be best to simply side-step the question.
“But you’ll be there.”
He paused and considered what he might say that would be true but not disheartening. He reached out and covered her hands that were clasped together on that rather lovely wooden table.
“I plan to be,” he said carefully.
“You won’t like what I do to you if you aren’t.”
He leaned over and kissed her, partly because her hands were shaking even though the hearthfire felt uncomfortably warm to him, and partly because he was simply besotted. She wasn’t what he’d expected and losing his heart to her was…well, at the moment he realized it had been inevitable.
“I’m properly cowed,” he said, pulling away. “No wonder those ponies in your barn never misbehave.”
She didn’t look particularly comforted, but she nodded just the same.
“You’ll be there,” she said firmly.
“I will, but should I be momentarily distracted by the odd mug of drinkable ale or sparkling spell, I want you to have a full complement of things at the ready.”
He was coming very close to lying, which he imagined she knew, but he wasn’t about to say aloud that if he were dead, he wanted her to be able to escape to a land that contained someone powerful enough to protect her from the mage loitering outside.
Those safe havens were going to be, he feared, fewer than either of them would have wanted.
He considered, then decided perhaps ’twas best to have the uncomfortable conversations over with before he began his work.
“If something happens to me—”
“You’d best make sure it doesn’t,” she said fiercely.
“I will reward you properly for that when I have a lengthy moment,” he said with a smile, “but whilst we’re both not in the middle of peril, I’m going to give you a list.”
“But,” she began, then she stopped. “Very well.”
“You don’t have my enemies,” he said, having a fairly good idea of where she’d been going with that. “You do, however, have a very powerful one out there, so you need to find someone who can protect you. You know I will never willingly give up that spot next to you that I so richly deserve by virtue simply of my massive amounts of charm and—dare I say it?—very fine kisses.”
She blushed. He was fairly certain of it.
“You talk too much,” she said weakly.
“My worst failing, right behind having too many vile spells,” he agreed. “But let’s discuss the very unlikely possibility that you might need help from someone besides me. Soilléir will be your best choice, as much as it galls me to admit as much. I’m guessing he’ll be at the schools of wizardry, though I imagine he’ll have a fair idea of where we are just the same.”
“I don’t want to run into that Droch person,” she said with a shiver.
“Not after our having stolen—”
“You stole him.”
“Not after my having stolen a horse he wanted,” Acair said. “We might co
nsider Inntrig, instead. Seannair would be able to keep you safe and send for Soilléir. If you’re on the other side of the mountains, go to Hearn or my father’s parents.”
“Your grandparents.”
He had to take a bit of a breath over that. “Aye, my grandparents. Miach and Mhorghain would also be able to keep you safe. I might even pause before going up against that lad, young and green as he is.”
“This list sounds a little familiar,” she said slowly.
“It is,” he agreed, “but there’s a reason for that. Whilst there might be others who could give you a safe harbor, those are the souls I would actually trust.”
“But it isn’t going to be a concern because you’re going to do what you do with those,” she said, waving at the coins with a hand she’d pulled out from under his, “and that’s going to be enough.”
If her hand wasn’t steady, he thought it only polite not to make any note of it.
“It will be. Now, let’s see what we have already.”
She slid what he’d retrieved from Uachdaran’s throne over to their right. “Death.”
“Very useful, but fairly permanent. We have five coins here, so I’ll make you five spells. We’ll use more powerful spells on higher value coins, does that suit?”
She nodded, though she looked rather ill. He shared the feeling, actually. If something happened to him and he left her—
He pushed aside the thought and concentrated on what was before him. He set the sovereign aside for use with something he was fairly sure she wasn’t going to like, then looked at the remaining four. He thought for a moment, then looked at her.
“You can make fire and contain things.”
“I also did make werelight last night.”
And so she had. Sìle, he suspected, might not even slay him if he ever had the pleasure of watching Léirsinn work a spell that didn’t immediately explode into something quite different. Fadaire was very circumspect when it came to that kind of thing, or perhaps it drew some restraint from the spell that occasionally sparkled on Léirsinn’s arm.
“You did,” he agreed, “and you were brilliant at it. As for these, let’s make un-noticing, fettering, some sort of shield, and distraction.”
“Distraction?”
He realized he was making a copy of what Sladaiche already had of his, but perhaps if used together, they would cancel each other out and leave Léirsinn happily making a successful escape in a different direction.
He looked at her carefully. “It will create shadows all around whomever you fling it at, causing him a great deal of frustration and a decent reason to start screaming. I suggest you fling and turn away.”
“I’ve seen what you can do,” she said quietly. “I’ll take that advice. What’s the last one for?”
He picked it up and fingered it for a moment or two, then looked at her. “Shapechanging.”
She gaped at him. “Me?”
He nodded. “You’ll decide on a shape, then clap your hands together with it between your palms. I suggest wind, but that’s just me. You’ll be invisible and able to flee.”
“But,” she said faintly, “how will I—well, I won’t need to use it, so never mind.”
“I don’t think you will,” he said carefully, “but should that change, you’ll use this, then make a leisurely journey to one of those souls we’ve discussed. They’ll help you return to your proper form. I’ll make that so even Soilléir won’t have to work too hard to remove the spell.”
She attempted a smile. “Will you two ever share a companionable mug of ale?”
“Doubtful,” he said, “but I do trust him with this much.”
He didn’t add that trusting the whoreson hadn’t worked out all that well for him so far, but he thought in this the man might be able to confine himself to simply removing a spell, not making any untoward additions.
“Do you want me to leave you to this?” she asked.
He hesitated. “I might go into my study, if you wouldn’t be offended. The work on the first four isn’t difficult, but the last one will be.”
“I’ll make some soup, then.” She looked at him quickly. “We have everything needful inside.”
He rose, pulled her up into his arms, and held her until he supposed if he didn’t let her go, he wouldn’t manage to.
“An hour,” he said, “no more.”
He supposed, an hour later, that he should have patted himself on the back for being so businesslike about slathering parts of his soul on Sàraitchian bits and bobs, but the truth was, the only thing he could think about was how delighted his great aunt would have been to have been tossed a pair of his best efforts in payment for a day-old fish. He left his work on the mantel, then stumbled to the kitchen, feeling thoroughly wrung out.
If he made it through supper, ’twould be a miracle.
Léirsinn looked up from her soup pot when he walked in, then set her spoon down and walked over to him. “You should go to bed.”
“I’ll sleep in the study with you,” he said. “Wouldn’t want to deprive you of the view, of course.”
She pushed him down in a chair and put a bowl of something that smelled rather delightful in front of him. He looked up at her blearily.
“I’m impressed.”
“Don’t be,” she said, sitting down next to him. “I found your cook’s cache of herbs and recipes. Do you never come in this room?”
“Not when I can help it,” he said. “I’m going to be even less likely after tasting your wares here. Well done, you.”
He made manful efforts to stay awake, but even attaching simple spells to inanimate objects was exhausting. Putting that spell of shapechanging on that sovereign had almost done him in.
He realized Léirsinn had rescued his soup before he’d nodded off into it, then felt her take his hand and pull him up. She pulled his arm over her shoulders.
“Walk.”
He’d heard worse ideas, so he trusted she would put him to bed somewhere reasonable. He soon found himself stretched out in front of the fire in his study, Léirsinn sitting next to him. He reached up and touched her cheek before he lost all his strength.
“Don’t go outside,” he said wearily.
“You’re sure that’s Sladaiche?”
He nodded, fighting a mighty yawn.
“And he’s also the orchardist?”
“I daresay.”
“Why did he leave you that spell all those years ago, do you think?”
“Perhaps he thought my father might know how to finish it,” Acair said, turning toward the fire and noticing only then that she had taken off his boots.
“Would he have?”
“I’m not certain he would have bothered.”
“But if you trade pieces of your soul for black magic, wouldn’t that be useful?”
“I never said my father was particularly smart,” he murmured, “just power hungry.”
“Why would he want me?”
He pried his eyes open and looked at her. “You have something he wants.”
She looked at him blankly. “I am no one.”
“Must we do this again?” he asked, ignoring the crack in his heart that he was quite certain was reflected in his voice.
“I’m serious. You might want me, but you’re obviously blinded by my formidable ability to set things on fire.”
“It is impressive,” he agreed, feeling his eyes close relentlessly. He was honestly past fighting the weariness any longer. “And your red hair,” he murmured. “Don’t forget your red hair.”
“You’ve met red-haired women before, I’m certain.”
“None that I remember speaking to,” he protested, though he supposed that wasn’t entirely accurate.
Then again, the only one he could think of was Ruithneadh’s wife, Sarah. She was one of t
hose dastardly dreamweavers, though, and capable of all manner of terrifying things. She and Léirsinn should never meet over tea. They would likely burn the whole damned world to cinders.
Well, and that gel who had helped him escape the gates of Eòlas after he’d sent Léirsinn and Mansourah off on his horse. She’d had red hair…
“I wonder if he was in Briàghde when those mages wanted you dead. That mage said you knew too much.”
He pushed aside things he simply didn’t have the strength to contemplate and struggled to focus on what she was saying.
“Those lads—oh, those mages,” he said, realizing he was slurring his words but unable to help himself. “Braggarts. Know the type.”
He was the type, but he imagined she already knew that. He groped for her hand and felt her brush his hair out of his eyes. It was perhaps one of the most profoundly intimate gestures he’d ever experienced, but, he had to admit, he had been accustomed in the past to tiara-wearing princesses wielding fans and perhaps one too many witches and magick-possessing noblewomen wielding spells.
What a lovely change.
He squeezed her hand and felt himself slide into darkness.
Sixteen
Two days later, Léirsinn sat in the same place, watched the man lying on the pallet in front of the fire, and wondered if he would ever again wake.
After the events of the morning, she was wishing quite desperately that he would.
Perhaps events was overstating things. She’d had a single event that had completely changed her opinion of those coins sitting on the mantel and left her counting them over and over again in her head, reminding herself of what they would do if she needed to use them.
Sianach lifted his head suddenly and that motion alone almost left her jumping out of her skin. He looked at her as if she’d lost her good sense, which she feared she might have. She put her hand over her chest to keep her heart where it was meant to stay, then reached out and patted Acair’s pony on the head.
He licked his chops—she didn’t want to know what he’d hunted out in the garden—and put his muzzle atop her bare foot. Comforting, if she could ignore the teeth that were still a bit too large for his mouth and weren’t exactly pleasant against her flesh.