The Prince of Souls (The Nine Kingdoms Book 12)

by Lynn Kurland

  “Can that be done?”

  “If my gilded tongue won’t save the day, I’ll trade bits of my soul for the same.”

  “And you would do that for me,” she said, sounding very surprised.

  “I would.”

  “You’re not offering any flowery sentiments,” she said slowly.

  “You render me speechless more often than not—”

  A knock sounded at the door, almost sending him pitching backward out the window. He caught the satchel Léirsinn tossed him, then looked for a handy place to hide. It wasn’t that he wasn’t accustomed to taking a little dive over the back of any sofa that presented itself for use in such an activity, but Inntrig was what it was. Léirsinn’s chamber contained nothing but a pair of very rustic chairs, a bed with no room underneath, and a wardrobe that a child wouldn’t fit in. The whole damned place wasn’t meant for anything but austere living.

  There was only one solution and he settled for it with a light sigh. He tiptoed over to the doorway with Léirsinn, then flattened himself back against the wall out of sight and hoped for the best.

  Léirsinn looked at him. “I love you.”

  “Ye gads, woman,” he wheezed, “again, a little warning next time.”

  She only smiled, then opened the door.

  “Forgive the lateness of the hour,” a warm, honey-toned voice said smoothly. “I am Astar, grandson of the king. Welcome to Inntrig.”

  Acair rolled his eyes. He could think of several things to call the man standing out in the passageway—bloviating windbag came first to mind—but perhaps that could remain unsaid. He supposed he might also have kept up a running mental commentary about the man’s dress, his table manners, and his habit of driving every sensible miss from the room with his inability to count to four and caper about to the simplest dance pattern, but that was likely something better left for another time. He would have to settle for a bit of eavesdropping.

  “Traveling alone is dangerous, but I understand you have a servant at least.”

  Acair scowled. Aye, and one with the ability to memorize not only dance patterns but nasty spells.

  He listened to Léirsinn deflect and demur and was torn between admiring her skill at the same and ruminating over why it was he disliked the king’s grandson so thoroughly. He had encountered Astar several times in various locales, but he’d been even less likely to socialize with that one than he had been with, say, Mansourah of Neroche.

  As he’d said before: Cothromaiche as a whole was just so damned ordinary.

  But their spells weren’t.

  “Oh, that isn’t necessary,” Léirsinn said, “but thank you just the same.”

  Acair dragged himself back to the present and wondered what he’d missed.

  “Then allow me to have something sent up,” Astar said. “Surely you must be hungry.”

  “The chambermaid brought refreshments,” Léirsinn protested. “It was very kind.”

  “I insist. I’ll return in a quarter hour.”

  Léirsinn ended the conversation far more politely than he would have, then shut the door. She looked at him.

  “Soilléir’s cousin?”

  “Aye, and Annastashia’s brother,” he said sourly.

  “The granddaughter you tried to seduce?”

  “As always, tried is the word you should concentrate on,” he said with a shiver. “If the world tallied up the reprehensible things I’d only tried to do, I daresay my reputation would be as sterling as Mochriadhemiach of Neroche’s. Well, perhaps not his, and why are we having this conversation?”

  “Because you’re charming when you’re startled and even more charming when you’re flustered.”

  He pulled her into his arms and hugged her so she wouldn’t see him indulging in a discreet blush. “I am not flustered. I’m appalled by your lack of proper respect for all the terrible things I’ve actually succeeded in doing, but we’ll discuss that later after we’ve survived that fool likely wanting to come inside with your tray and hover over you whilst you try to choke down what Seannair’s cook can produce. I can guarantee you it will involve wild game and inedible veg. I’ll need to find somewhere to sit that out.”

  “There is an armoire over there.”

  “Aye, fit for a child, which I am not, but I suppose there’s no other choice. Tuck me in, darling, and I’ll wait out supper. Don’t save me anything. I’ll just lift a pair of those dry, unappetizing biscuits and try not to crunch in my closet.”

  She only laughed at him, which he thought was slightly unkind given the straitness of where he was going to be trapped during what he hoped would not be a long meal. She did do him the favor of rearranging the items provided in that armoire for a guest’s comfort. If those were limited to frilly, feminine things that left him swathed in colors he wouldn’t have worn if death had loomed, well, at least he was providing some amusement for her.

  He decided that until the doors were closed, he would have another look at his gran’s notes to once again see if there was anything he’d missed. If he found himself joined by a gel who perched uncomfortably atop several pairs of silk slippers to keep him company, he wasn’t going to complain.

  He read until he realized she wasn’t reading with him, she was watching him. He used his finger as a bookmark, closed the notebook, then leaned over and kissed her. It was becoming a very bad habit, that business there.

  “I’m going to look mussed,” she said.

  “All part of the plan, darling.”

  She pulled away and smiled at him. “You are absolutely incorrigible. I’m assuming you’ve run afoul of that man threatening to feed me?”

  “Unfortunately,” he agreed. “He has terrible manners, but I’ll allow that he’s quite a bit cannier than he looks. He also has a cache of spells I wouldn’t mind rifling through, but I’ve never managed to find him napping, if you know what I mean.”

  “I do,” she said. “Essence changing?”

  “They would never trust him with those,” Acair said with a snort, “but he’s unearthed some other darkly interesting things. I’m guessing he found those whilst nosing about in the corners of the cellar where his cousin is too fastidious to go.”

  He supposed he didn’t need to add that Soilléir had likely gone places he himself might hesitate to consider, but he wasn’t in the mood to credit that overly wholesome worker of spells he desperately wanted with anything good.

  “Why did your granny draw those bees?”

  He looked at the pair of fuzzy fiends lingering on the edge of the map, then shrugged. “She hopes I’ll kick over a large hive of the same? One of my mother’s sisters, Fiunne, I believe, claims Fearann as her home. I imagine that in addition to keeping bees and making lace, she spends copious amounts of time trying to pretend that her land isn’t simply an island in the larger sea of Fàs as a whole.”

  “Is it on your list of places not to go?”

  “Absolutely, mostly because of the catastrophically boring nature of what they do there. If they use any essence meddling, I’m sure ’tis only to keep the bees immobile whilst they go about the dastardly work of stealing their honey. At this point, nothing would surprise me when it comes to my grandmother. And there, poor gel, is your supper at the door.”

  She pushed herself out of the closet. “I’ll make this brief.”

  “Your tum will thank you.”

  “Oh, don’t worry,” she said, leaning over and kissing his cheek. “I’ll save you some.”

  He supposed he made some remark that sounded more like a plea for mercy than anything saucier, but the closet door had already been shut. He tried not to give into despair. If the smell of supper didn’t fell him, having to listen to Astar make small talk likely would.

  ’Twas obvious, though, that Léirsinn had had a great deal of practice in politely hurrying along lords who might have
wanted to linger. Acair found himself with hardly a cramp in his thighs thanks to having his knees drawn up to his chin before Léirsinn was opening the door and freeing him from his prison. He paused, then sniffed.

  “I’ve smelled worse,” he allowed.

  “So have I,” she agreed. “Help yourself.”

  He supposed he might not mind if he did, so he finished what she had left, downed a mug of an undemanding and rather watery ale, then nodded. “Let’s be off.”

  “Now?” she squeaked.

  He smiled. “The sooner, the better. We’ll find what we need, I’ll nip back out your window, and we’ll be on our way before dawn.”

  “Do you have a destination in mind?” she asked.

  “Not here was my first thought, but we’ll see what presents itself after we’ve seen what we were meant to find.”

  He had thoughts about gingerly asking Léirsinn if she would be willing to retrace her steps back to her childhood home, but he wasn’t quite ready to bring that up. There was enough that lay in front of them already without adding anything more distressing to the evening.

  He handed her back her satchel, watched her put his grandmother’s notes inside it, then made certain the window was closed. No sense in letting any riff-raff in whilst they were away.

  He very studiously avoided putting himself in that class of rabble-rousers and continued on.

  He paused by the door, then looked at her. “Would you mind taking a peek into the passageway, just in case?”

  “Of course,” she said. She took a deep breath, then opened the door and looked out.

  He decided he wouldn’t say anything about how carefully she did the same or where she might have learned the skill. Her uncle had many things to answer for. A wee nip in and out of Briàghde was definitely going on his list of things to see to later.

  “Empty,” she whispered. “What now?”

  “Library.”

  She nodded and stepped back. He eased past her and slipped out into the passageway first, then waited for her to follow him and close the door softly behind them. He took a moment to get his bearings, then decided that he definitely should have insisted that Soilléir draw him some sort of map. He considered the lay of the land from the garden’s perspective and decided to go left, away from the kitchens. It would likely take them closer to Seannair’s throne room—such as it was—than they would enjoy, but there was nothing to be done about that.

  He nodded, then turned and ran directly into a body that hadn’t been there a moment before.

  A body belonging to none other than Astar of Inntrig, busybody extraordinaire. He supposed it could have been worse. He could have run into Annastashia.

  “Give me one reason not to slay you where you stand,” Astar said in a low voice, “or, rather, turn my sister loose on you. I’m not sure which would be worse.”

  “I think you know,” Acair said before he thought better of it.

  “One reason,” Astar repeated evenly.

  “Your cousin sent me.”

  Astar uttered an epitaph better suited for a barn, which Acair thought best not to comment on. The lads in Inntrig could have used a bit more time in polite society, something he also decided might be better left unsaid.

  “He’s telling the truth.”

  Acair would have begged Léirsinn to leave him to his fate and save herself, but perhaps ’twas too late for that. She had already moved to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with him. He supposed the trio was completed by that damned spell of death standing there with a bit of a slouch on her far side.

  “Why don’t we go back inside and discuss this like civilized folk?” Léirsinn said calmly. “There might be wine left.”

  Acair had definitely heard worse ideas. He also supposed that with a decent bit of luck, he might manage to render his foe unconscious, stuff him in that damned armoire, then be about his business and away before he came to.

  He wasn’t surprised when Léirsinn opened the door and Astar waited for him to follow her in. Perhaps the man had had the same idea when it came to his location for the rest of the night. He entered ahead of one of Seannair’s many progeny, then was somehow unsurprised when Astar simply stood there in the middle of the chamber instead of looking for a seat. There were many things that could have perhaps been said about that prince, but that he was casual about guarding his grandfather’s property was not one.

  Astar looked at Léirsinn. “Who are you?”

  “Fuadain of Sàraichte’s niece,” she said, “as I said.”

  Acair cleared his throat. “And I am—”

  “I know who you are!” Astar shot him a look of loathing, then turned back to Léirsinn. “Did he abscond with you?”

  “Of course not,” Léirsinn said without hesitation.

  Astar frowned. “I hesitate to believe ill of a woman so beautiful, but I wonder that you’re keeping company with this bastard here. As Lord Fuadain’s niece, you should be looking in better places for a companion.”

  Léirsinn only inclined her head. Acair thought he might want to compliment her on that the next chance he had. He felt decidedly, if not politely, put in his place and that look hadn’t been directed at him.

  The next one, from Soilléir’s cousin, was directed at him and it had been a very unfriendly look, indeed.

  “I don’t believe Léir would send you anywhere but to Hell.”

  “Trust me,” Acair said, “I think that would be his preferred destination for me, but things are what they are. I’m off doing his dirty work, if you want as much truth as I can give you.”

  “Hmmm,” Astar said, looking no less unfriendly but slightly less murderous. “Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me. What is that spell there that dogs your steps?”

  “Something designed to slay me if I use any magic,” Acair said. He suspected he was one wrong word away from a very swift trip to Seannair’s most uncomfortable cellar, no doubt to be put into a cask next to the one that held the king’s crown, so perhaps a bit of honesty couldn’t go wrong. “I had thought ’twas your cousin to fashion that spell, but he claims not.”

  Astar looked at him in surprise. “You don’t recognize the magic?”

  “Do you?” Acair countered.

  “Well, dolt, of course I do.” He looked at Léirsinn. “As should you, given the magic in your veins. Who put that there?”

  “Ah—”

  “Perhaps the better question is, why?”

  Acair wanted to point out that Astar had an annoying habit of interrupting. Most of the poor souls who found themselves trapped in conversation with him generally wanted to find themselves somewhere to sit and something strong to drink until he talked himself out. As usual, that was likely an observation better left for a different time.

  He pulled himself back to the mystery at hand.

  “This spell that haunts me,” Acair said, “’tis not of Caocladh. I’m certain of that.”

  Astar looked at Acair in surprise. “I cannot believe that you of all people don’t recognize it.”

  “That could mean so many things,” Acair began.

  “Don’t count on me to enlighten you,” Astar said with a snort. He looked at Léirsinn. “But still, why do you have that magic in your veins? Ah, never mind. I understand now.”

  Acair felt his ears perk up and was fairly certain Léirsinn elbowed him with excessive force, unerringly, in a very tender spot under his ribs. It would leave a bruise, of that he was certain.

  “It was a gift,” Léirsinn said easily. “From someone who knew I needed to offer aid in a particular quest.”

  “I imagine I know who that someone is. Why he chose that particular stuff is perhaps something you don’t want to discuss.” He took her hand and bent low over it. “You should rethink the company you’re keeping.”

  “Thank you, Your Highness,” she said po
litely. “I’m sure I’ll take that to heart.”

  Acair found himself the recipient of a look from Astar that in any other circumstances he would have repaid with a half-hearted invitation to a duel, time to be determined when he might feel inclined to rouse himself out of bed to attend it. That he could at the moment only smile politely was yet another thing to add to the list of indignities he would most certainly be handing to a different Cothromaichian prince for his perusal before he helped that man meet his very timely, very painful end.

  “You should be very far away before the sun rises,” Astar suggested.

  “I believe I’ve said the same thing to your cousin,” Acair said before he could stop himself. “More than once.”

  “No doubt.” Astar yawned behind his hand. “Lady Léirsinn, I believe I feel the need for a pleasant stroll through the passageways. I can only assume you might wish to join me. If I lose you at some point near the library, I’ll assume you can find your way back to your chamber?”

  “Thank you, Your Highness,” she said. “Very kind.”

  Acair found himself with the prince leaning in a bit more closely than he was comfortable with.

  “If you stray from the library,” he said in a low voice, “I will hunt you down and slay you myself.”

  “That would be a far less painful death than what your sister would inflict, I imagine.”

  “No imagination needed, and you would consider my offer a mercy if you knew how true that was.”

  “I appreciate the concession.”

  “Don’t make me regret this,” Astar said, pulling back. “I’m doing it for that woman there who deserves far better than the likes of you.”

  “I’m trying to be worthy of her.”

  Astar’s snort almost felled him where he stood, but, sadly, he was accustomed to worse.

  What he wasn’t accustomed to, however, was an escort to a place he wasn’t supposed to be. He trailed after Léirsinn and her royal companion until they paused before a particular set of heavy doors. Astar shot him one last warning look, then simply continued on down the passageway as if he had places to go and things to do.