The Prince of Souls (The Nine Kingdoms Book 12)

by Lynn Kurland

  “I will,” he said seriously, “beggar myself to buy you as many Angesand ponies as you can ride.”

  “You’re daft,” she said with an affectionate smile.

  “And soon to be very poor from said beggaring, but I’ll rob a few unwary monarchs so you have enough feed and hay.”

  “Altruistic to the last,” she noted.

  “That I am, love.” He hesitated. “What can I do?”

  “Come with me inside?”

  He took a careful breath and nodded. There was nothing else to be said and he wasn’t at all sure what he would find, but it had seemed as though their current footfalls were simply more steps on a journey that had been set out for the both of them long before they would have considered the same.

  Soilléir saying take her home as he’d shut that damned border spell almost on his arse had been something to consider, of course.

  What he hadn’t expected, however, was to realize that he had walked through that village himself decades ago.

  “Are you unwell?”

  He looked at her quickly. “Rather I should be asking you the same.”

  “You’ve been here.”

  He wasn’t entirely sure how to respond. “I believe so,” he said slowly. “If you want the entire truth, I believe I may have met your father’s father.”

  “My father, or my step-father?”

  “Your father, Niall,” he said carefully, “though he was a youth at the time. I’m sorry to say I can’t remember his father’s name, though I think we could find it easily enough. We’ll put my mother on the trail when next we see her.”

  She took a deep breath. “I suppose my grandfather is no longer that, is he?”

  “I think he would be heartbroken if you didn’t claim him as yours.” He thought she looked a bit ill, but he was afraid to ask her if that was from where she was standing or whom she was considering wedding. He decided abruptly that he didn’t want to know, so he cleared his throat and settled for the easier concern. “I could go in—”

  “I’ll come.”

  Sterling, beautiful, fearless gel. He nodded, then shot Sianach a pointed look. His horse turned in a circle a time or two, found himself a spot by the front door, and sat back on his haunches. Bared teeth gleamed brightly in the gloom, which Acair supposed was the best they were going to do for any sort of alarm. He took Léirsinn’s hand and walked inside her house.

  It was as empty as he would have expected it to be given that the front door no longer hung there. He would have released her, but she didn’t seem inclined to let go of his hand and he certainly wasn’t going to argue. He supposed there would be nothing of interest to see—

  “Look.”

  At any other time, that tone and that word would have had him doing a little caper of delight over the thought of unexpected spoils where they shouldn’t have been, but at the moment they filled him with a particular sort of dread. He followed the direction in which Léirsinn was pointing and realized there was something on that rough-hewn mantel.

  There was no reason not to look and innumerable reasons why he should.

  He walked over to the hearth with Léirsinn next to him and looked at the missive sitting there. ’Twas so like that moment all those years ago when he’d found that spell sitting atop a different mantel, wrapped up and irresistible for a lad of eight summers, that he could hardly breathe.

  Léirsinn looked at him, then reached out, but he caught her hand.

  “In case there’s a spell of harm attached,” he said seriously.

  She looked at him as if he’d lost his wits. “And ’tis better that you touch it than I?”

  “I think so.” He took the missive, popped open the seal, and pulled forth a handwritten note. He considered, then looked it over for spells. He saw none, which he supposed was an improvement over his last bout of mantel razing.

  “Well?”

  He held it out. “We’ve been invited to a house party.”

  “You mean you have been invited,” she said slowly.

  He shook his head. “The two of us. In Tosan.”

  “But it’s a trap.”

  He would have called it a final meeting, but he was perhaps more cynical than she was. He nodded, then looked at her.

  “Do you care to remain for a bit?”

  She shook her head. “Perhaps another time.”

  He understood. He walked with her out of the house and paused just outside the doorway. He released her, tore the missive in half, then cast it on the ground. He was utterly unsurprised to watch it catch fire and smoke terribly before it burned itself out.

  “Reply sent,” he said with a shrug. He reached over and scratched his horse behind his ears. “Sianach, we need to go. Back up and into something with wings, if you please.”

  “You’re very calm.”

  He shrugged. “I am never, ever afraid. Well, I might be of horses, if you want the entire truth. And snakes. I don’t care at all for snakes.”

  “Will we reach Tosan safely?”

  He sighed deeply. “The final meeting won’t happen if we’re too dead to attend. We’ll be safe enough.”

  Though what would happen once they walked through those mediocre palace doors was anyone’s guess.

  He waited for his hell-hound to have a proper stretch, then walk away from the house and take the shape of a terrifying black dragon with numerous red-tipped scales. He looked at his love.

  “We’ll be there by dawn, I imagine,” he said quietly. “Why don’t you ride before me and try to sleep some.”

  “I was going to say the same thing to you.”

  He smiled and pulled her cloak up around her chin. “You just want an excuse to hold me in your arms, you shameless vixen.”

  “Do I need to resort to that?” she asked archly.

  He certainly hoped she didn’t, but he imagined he didn’t need to say as much. He put his arm around her and pulled her toward their mount. Perhaps they would divide the journey and take turns trying to rest.

  Unfortunately, he feared that what awaited them, soulless black mage that he was and terribly courageous horse miss that she was, might require much more than sleep could furnish them.

  Twenty

  Léirsinn wondered why it had never occurred to her that the palace at Tosan wouldn’t have wood shavings on the floors and mattresses stuffed with hay.

  Perhaps the luxury of her surroundings had something to do with arriving at the front door in the company of an elven prince’s grandson. Acair wasn’t at all shy about using his connections to his father’s family, though perhaps just the thought of hosting a black mage of such terrible reputation but flawless manners had been enough to cause the lord and lady of Tosan to rouse themselves before dawn to greet him at the front door.

  They had been escorted with all decorum and not a few guardsmen to a chamber that definitely hadn’t seen any equine visitors recently. Water for washing, tea and a light repast, and a maid and manservant had been provided for Lord Acair and his affianced lady without delay. Léirsinn had done her best imitation of Acair in skirts, which she suspected had amused him almost to the point of wheezing, but what else could she do? She was so frantic with worry and concern, she was almost beside herself.

  She was tempted to go look behind the sofa and under the bed for hapless stablemasters idly counting their evil spells, but she thought that might leave the servants wondering if she’d lost her wits.

  “I believe my lady will simply require some rest,” Acair said, shooing servants toward the door. “Breakfast would be lovely, however, and please send my thanks to His Grace for the hospitality.”

  Léirsinn turned as she heard the door shut and lock, then wondered if anyone would think her unreasonable to have left both her dignity and her shoes by the hearth as she bolted across the chamber and threw herself in
to Acair’s arms.

  “Well,” he said, staggering a bit, “I hate to go to such extremes to have you right where I want you most, but if this is what it takes.”

  She couldn’t find the words to make even a poor response to that, so she simply closed her eyes. He no doubt knew exactly what she feared, so there was no point in talking about it. She stood there and shook until he put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her over to the hearth. He sat down and pulled her onto his lap, then wrapped his arms around her.

  That helped, but not much.

  “This is very fine,” she said, searching for something unremarkable to discuss. “Not a boot scraper in sight.”

  “Contrary to your previous opinion of it?”

  She sighed. “What did I know? I thought Sàraichte was vast.”

  “I’m sure the local burgess would be flattered, but nay, Sàraichte is only a tiny spot within the larger country of Siochail.”

  “Never heard of it,” she said, wishing that were still the case at present.

  “There is absolutely nothing interesting there,” he said. “The place is so large and full of hamlets and farms that it can’t scrape together enough royalty to have a seat on the Council of Kings. Tosan is the capital and the current lord of Tosan styles himself Duke, but who granted his family that honor is anyone’s guess. At least the accommodations are less terrible than I expected them to be.”

  She pulled away far enough to be able to look at him. “I think it helps to be the grandson of a prince,” she offered.

  “Bastard and horse gel or children of nobility,” he said with a shrug. “I’ll take the former for home, but I think we can happily use the latter for decent seats at table and chambers that look like this. It has been done before, believe me. And I believe that’s breakfast knocking at the door, if you’re interested.”

  She nodded and crawled to her feet, then went to stand with her back against the fire. The servants Acair let in were quick about their work of laying things out on the table near where she stood, and Acair was equally swift at inviting them to leave. She poured tea for them both, but managed only a sip or two before she found she couldn’t choke down any more.

  She sat, though, because she thought she might manage not to drop anything if she were closer to the table than standing would have put her. Acair made substantial inroads into finishing what was there. She had noticed him scrutinizing things for what she assumed were spells or poisons, but apparently he hadn’t found either.

  “Will he come inside here?” she asked, when she thought she couldn’t hold onto the question any longer.

  Acair shook his head. “He can’t have what he wants if we’re dead.”

  “You’ve said that before.”

  “Unfortunately, that’s because ’tis true.” He set aside his cup. “Do you have your coins?”

  “I left them in my satchel, but that’s just here by the hearth.”

  He fetched it, then removed the coins and his spell of death from the pocket there. He put the books on the floor, then considered for a moment before he laid the coins and rune on top of them. He sat down on the sofa and patted the spot next to him.

  She joined him and was rather thankful to be sitting closest to the fire, though she suspected that had been deliberate on his part.

  “Where do you usually keep your gear?” he asked.

  “Hoof pick down the side of my boot,” she said with a shrug. “I don’t carry anything else.”

  “I think I should have found you a decent swordmaster from Uachdaran’s garrison,” he said grimly. He settled back against the divan and sighed deeply. “That and a dagger from his forge. This is what I get for being so principled. Never again, I tell you.”

  She smiled in spite of herself, then wedged herself just behind him where she felt appallingly safe. She rested her head on his shoulder and sighed.

  “Do you think he’s still, well, Slaidear?”

  “That is the question, isn’t it?” He reached for one of her hands and held it in both his own. “If he is going about in his persona of stablemaster, he’ll have trouble moving about freely here without a very good reason. I guessing at the very least he inspired someone to send Fuadain an invitation. I’m sure he will have found a way to come along.”

  “I’ll be surprised if Fuadain manages to reach the table instead of finding himself face-down in a horse trough,” she said. “Why Slaidear hasn’t murdered my unc—well, you know who—long before now, I don’t know.”

  “I would assume Fuadain is useful to him as a distraction, if nothing else.”

  “I still don’t understand why he didn’t slay me in the barn,” she said. “Or you, for that matter.”

  He shifted a bit to look at her. “Do you think he was the one who sent those mages after me that night?”

  “I honestly couldn’t say for certain,” she said. “I was so horrified by the idea that I didn’t pay attention past wondering how to keep you alive.”

  “A life without yours truly was just too bleak to contemplate, I’m sure.”

  “You might be surprised how true that is.”

  She found herself the recipient of one of those charming little smiles he’d used on his grandmother and wondered, as she had then, how anyone told him nay.

  “Stop that,” she said weakly.

  “I think I won’t.”

  “I am unmoved.”

  He leaned over and kissed her softly. “You aren’t, but I won’t force you to admit it.” He straightened with a sigh. “You horse people are as impossible to control as the ponies you love, I’m finding. As for the other, whilst I think Slaidear may be stupid, I think he’s patient. You have something he wants. I would very much like to know what that is, but I won’t put you in danger to find out.”

  “But I don’t own anything past the coins Mistress Cailleach keeps for me, this dragon charm, and that crossbow and bolts we left behind, which he likely now has. What else could he possibly want?”

  He considered her so closely for a moment or two that she thought she should perhaps be nervous. She might have been, if he hadn’t been who he was, which was as unlikely a thought as she’d ever had.

  “Might I look at that charm?”

  “Of course.” She pulled the necklace over her head and handed it to him. “King Sìle told me he knew the man who made it.”

  Acair looked at her in surprise. “Did he? When?”

  “When you were off not kicking rocks back where they were meant to go.”

  He smiled. “Never close all the doors right off is my motto. And Sìle said he knew the man who made this particular charm?”

  “Aye, though how he would know that I don’t know. He also said the man who made this also makes horseshoes.”

  Acair choked. She would have patted him on the back, but he held up his hand before she could.

  “I’m well,” he managed. “Did he say where?”

  “He didn’t, just that he would arrange an introduction if I liked.” She paused and looked at him. “An elven king, no less, arranging things for me.”

  “I think you underestimate your ability to make an impression,” he said with a smile. He held the charm up and studied it for a moment or two. “Does it do anything odd?”

  “It grows unusually warm from time to time.”

  “Well, there is magic folded into the silver, but damned if I know what it is from just a quick look.” He shook his head. “Horseshoes and dragons. I think, darling, that your quiet life in a barn was perhaps an illusion.” He handed it back to her. “Let’s go sleep for a pair of hours, then we’ll pore over those books and see if we can find what we’re missing.”

  She imagined it might take more than a pair of hours to leave her equal to doing anything but pacing and fretting, but she was desperate enough to try almost anything to give herself a
bit more strength.

  She thought she might understand why a mage might want the same, though stealing that strength from someone else was something she couldn’t fathom.

  “Sleep,” Acair said, standing and holding down his hand for her. “We both need it.”

  She let him pull her to her feet, but she found she couldn’t move. “I’m afraid to close my eyes.”

  He winced slightly. “And me with no spells of ward. Let’s do this. You sleep and I’ll keep watch, then we’ll trade. Here, we’ll bring your coins with us. Just don’t use them on me, aye?”

  She nodded, gathered up the coins he’d made her, and hoped she wouldn’t have to use them on anyone else quite yet.

  She realized only after she’d woken that several hours had passed. If Acair had slept during any of that time, he didn’t seem inclined to mention it and he made no complaints about having remained awake so she could sleep. He seemingly had no compunction about nodding off with her manning the defenses, though, so she suspected he hadn’t even napped.

  He was a very light sleeper, though, in spite of that. Brushing the table still laden with the remains of their breakfast with only the back of her hand had him sitting up, fully awake. She waved him back to his rest and took up a post in front of the hearth.

  She wished desperately for a horse and an open field. The urge to flee was almost overpowering.

  She gave herself a good shake and walked over to look at the books left spread out on the sofa. She sat down and picked up the first one she came to without any idea of what she was looking for. She did that with horses more often than not. After all the years she’d spent looking them over, she had become confident in her ability to spot a gem amongst lesser offerings.

  What had served her best, though, was to simply get on their backs and allow them to show her what they could do. Perhaps that didn’t work with books, but she was out of ideas on what might. Perhaps starting from the top of the pile and working her way down would reveal something she couldn’t have foreseen.