The Prince of Souls (The Nine Kingdoms Book 12)

by Lynn Kurland

  She started with the barn ledger. She could hardly believe the dates there, but if Acair’s sire had lived a thousand years already, perhaps a stablemaster who had been let go a hundred years previously wasn’t unthinkable. She tucked a few details away for discussing with Acair later, then looked through the other things they’d brought with them. Interesting, but not particularly noteworthy.

  She wound up finally with her own book in her hands. She sat back against the sofa and closed her eyes, holding it close. It was a very odd feeling to have something in her possession that she’d had as a child, then lost. She was tempted to wonder how it had found its way into King Seannair’s library, but perhaps that could safely be left to Prince Coimheadair to investigate.

  Stranger still was why that first story was missing. If Slaidear had indeed been the one to have taken it, the question was why would a grown man have removed a tale about a dragon from a children’s book?

  Admittedly, the dragon had lost his soul and gone looking for it in odd places, but both the dragon and his search had been nothing more than a product of someone’s imagination. It wasn’t as if the dragon had said…

  She felt her entire being stop. Her heart, her breath, her swirling thoughts.

  Full stop.

  It wasn’t as if the dragon had said anything, was what she’d been thinking.

  But the beast had…

  “Léirsinn?”

  She was certain she’d jumped half a foot, right off the divan. She knew she’d thrown her book up into the air because a hand reached out and caught it. The rest of the books next to her tumbled to the floor at her feet.

  Acair looked at her and held up his hands slowly.

  “Friend, not foe.”

  “You’re too quiet,” she managed.

  “Says the lass who has left me startled more often than not. You were lost in your reading, I think. I called you three times, if you’re curious.” He looked at her with a slight frown. “What is it?”

  She leaned over and stacked the fallen books on top of each other, then took back her own when Acair handed it to her. She held it, then looked up at him. “I might need something to drink.”

  He didn’t move. “You found something.”

  “I’m not sure.”

  He frowned thoughtfully, then poured things into glasses. He sat down next to her and handed one to her. “Water for you, darling, and whisky for me.”

  She took his glass out of his hand, had a sip of his brew, then deeply regretted it. She handed it back to him and settled for the water he’d poured for her.

  “I think I might need to walk,” she said, feeling a little lightheaded.

  “We’ll take a turn about the chamber,” he said slowly. “I don’t think we dare go outside, but this is the very last time that is the case.” He took their drinks and set them on the table, then pulled her up with him. “What did you find?”

  She took the arm he offered, then walked with him around the edge of a chamber that she realized was far larger than she’d thought at first. Somehow, that didn’t ease her all that much, but as he said, perhaps it would be the last time being in a confined space would be necessary.

  “I looked over King Seannair’s barn ledger,” she began. “He bought a horse three hundred years ago.”

  “Let’s acquire that particular pony, then,” Acair said with a snort. “Just my ancient sort of nag. I imagine it will be far too tired to do any damage to my fine form.”

  “I suspect so. That was also only the first of many horses he bought over the course of those subsequent three hundred years.”

  “So, Seannair has purchased many ponies over the centuries,” he said slowly. “Any ideas from where?”

  “From whom is a more interesting question.”

  He looked at her. “Look at you peering into musty old corners. The next thing we know, you’ll be wanting your own set of tools for the picking of locks.”

  “I’ll leave that to the lad who already has them,” she said uneasily. “As for the other, I don’t think I would have noticed if the horses hadn’t come through a particular line.”

  “Do not tell me they have their own equine family trees.”

  “You know they do,” she said. “Three hundred years ago, Seannair bought a horse from Flann of Ionad-teàrmainn.”

  “I don’t suppose there’s a description of either the lad’s flaming red hair, or perhaps the color of that pony, is there?”

  “Does calling it a chestnut suffice?” she asked. “And aye, that’s what they call it. So, the interesting thing is, King Seannair continued to buy horses from that particular line from that same family, though two hundred years ago—and believe me I can hardly choke this out—the horses continued to come from that line but the barn moved.”

  He stopped and looked at her in surprise. “You can tell that from a ledger?”

  She nodded. “I could tell you what they were fed almost to the week, if you were interested.”

  “I am absolutely not,” he said with a shudder.

  She smiled briefly. “I didn’t think you would be. But that line of horses continued to be sold to the king until twenty years ago.”

  He caught his breath. “Who was the last seller of that particular line?”

  “Muireall of An Caol.”

  “Of course,” he said quietly. “I’m assuming she was selling a pony descended from those lads who peopled a barn in Ionad-teàrmainn.”

  Léirsinn nodded. “If you can believe that. And here’s something else. Remember the book you set aside about farrier techniques?”

  “Boring stuff, that.”

  “It might have been less dull if we’d known it was written by the man who’s been shoeing Seannair’s horses for the past three hundred years.”

  “I wonder if he’s the same lad who made your dragon charm?”

  She shrugged. “King Sìle didn’t tell me his name, but I wonder.” She paused, then looked at him. “I’ve been thinking about something else.”

  He only waited. That he didn’t make some insulting comment about that having been a challenge for her…well, she knew she should have been accustomed to that by then, but that didn’t make it any less lovely.

  “I was thinking about that fire you made from your grandmother’s spell in your garden,” she said, finally.

  “With the dragons, in honor of you.”

  “Aye, that one.” She hesitated, then cast caution to the wind. If he was going to think her a fool, he could. “Did you hear it? The song it sang?”

  “Ah,” he began slowly, “nay. What was this song the fire was singing?”

  “This will sound daft—”

  “Many important things do,” he said. “Go on.”

  “I thought I was dreaming that song,” she said. “I heard it in your mother’s house.”

  “The mind boggles,” he said with a shiver, “truly it does.”

  “I finally figured out where I’d heard it before.” She took a deep breath. “It was a lullaby my father used to sing.”

  He closed his eyes briefly. “When you say your father, do you mean your step-father?”

  “Nay, my father. I’m almost sure of it.”

  He looked at her in surprise. “Did your parents have any magic?”

  She looked at him helplessly. “My mother? Nay. My father—or step-father, rather—I don’t remember him ever using any. What my true father had, I have no idea.”

  He paced with her for several minutes in silence. “Prince Coimheadair said your sire was the last of his particular line,” he said thoughtfully, “so that leaves us without anyone to ask. But one wonders what went on in his homeland, aye?”

  She nodded hesitantly, then decided there was no point in not speaking her mind. “I was wondering where you might hide a spell, if you had a spell to hide.
”

  “Besides under sofa cushions and thrones?” he asked with a faint smile. “I suppose I tend to tuck things in books, but as we can see with those spells from Ionad-teàrmainn, that goes awry more often than not.”

  “But the spells you hid, the ones that work on their own. Why did you choose where to put them?”

  He shrugged. “Because hiding things in plain sight, or as near to it as I can manage, tends to leave things undisturbed. Evil little mages are always on the hunt for things lurking in the shadows, not ordinary items sitting out in the open.”

  “Then what do you think about that book we found that had just the cover left? Do you think Slaidear is the one who took whatever was inside?”

  “Spells of revealing don’t lie,” he said slowly. “Whatever it contained—and I’m guessing it was spells—was definitely removed and more than likely by him. Why?”

  “Do you think he’s also the one who cut the pages from my book of faery tales?”

  He nodded. “Same answer there. And just so you know, my nose is starting to twitch with this direction you’re taking. What are you getting at?”

  She was rather glad he had put his hand over hers on his arm to keep her somewhat captive. If she’d been able to, she suspected she might have run right out the door and continued on until she could breathe properly again.

  “We can sit, if you’d rather,” he offered.

  She shook her head. “That won’t make it any easier.” She took a deep breath, then stopped and looked at him. “If he is the one who took that story, it made me wonder why he would have wanted it.”

  He only waited.

  “I started thinking about your runes that look like coins and things, but have your power and magic hidden in them. That led me to wondering if someone might not just hide a spell in a book, but hide a spell inside a tale inside a book.”

  His mouth fell open, but he seemed to be incapable of speech.

  She nodded. “Everything comes back to dragons, doesn’t it?”

  “Ye gads,” he said, looking stunned. “So you’re saying that someone hid a spell in that tale from your book that is no longer there.”

  She shrugged helplessly. “I was just thinking that it was odd that the dragon said so little.”

  He frowned thoughtfully. “I can’t say that’s unusual. A taciturn lot, those scaly beasts. Hearn might have a different opinion, but…why do you ask?”

  She pulled away from him and walked back over to the fire. She looked over her shoulder to make certain he was following her, though she supposed she needn’t have. He was hard on her heels, wearing a gratifying look of concern.

  She sat down on the sofa and dug out the notebook that contained his grandmother’s map. She pulled a pencil from her satchel, turned to a fresh page, and wrote down the words the dragon had spoken. She knew they were exactly as they’d been written because they were burned into her memory.

  She handed the notebook to him. “That’s what the dragon says.”

  He read it, then dropped the notebook. She picked it up, then handed it back to him.

  “I think this is from the same language my father spoke. I can’t be certain, of course, but they have the same sort of cadence my father’s lullaby had.” She looked at him helplessly. “Like a horse’s gaits, you know. They all might canter, but each horse will have his own individual way of doing that.” She paused. “What do you think?”

  He looked at her with an expression of awe. “I think you are a miracle.”

  “What is that magic, do you think? Perhaps whatever they used in Ionad-teàrmainn?”

  He looked up at the ceiling and shook his head. “And there I’ve built a house atop the damned barn.” He rubbed his hands over his face. “If your true sire’s family came from there, and Slaidear was the one who was exiled for his activities—”

  “Perhaps he thought someone in my family had the spell?”

  He looked at her in astonishment. “I can’t believe we didn’t see this before.” He read the words again, then frowned. “This isn’t complete, though.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “The spell.”

  “Oh,” she said. “I suppose not.”

  “We’d all be husks otherwise. Though even just this much is terrifying.” He shivered. “I can hardly believe anyone would write even this much down, and you know I have a decent stomach for terrible spells—”

  A discreet knock sounded against the door, interrupting him. He handed her the notebook.

  “Keep that safe.”

  “But you’ve memorized it already.”

  He lifted his eyebrows briefly and smiled. “You know me.”

  Indeed, she did. She watched him walk swiftly over to answer the door and wondered at the twists and turns of her own life. Who would have thought that his present and her past would meet in a barn, perhaps the most unlikely place of all for anything besides grain and hay to meet the interesting end of a pony.

  She came back to herself to find Acair collapsing next to her. He handed her a gilt-edged invitation.

  “We’ve been invited to supper.”

  “What do we do?”

  “One foot in front of the other,” he said. “Hopefully there might actually be something decent to eat.”

  “What if it’s a trap?”

  He smiled, looking thoroughly unconcerned. “It always is, darling.”

  She suspected he would certainly know.

  An hour later, she sat next to him at a remarkably fine table in a very large hall full of people who apparently wanted him dead. She supposed he was accustomed to it, but she wasn’t sure she would ever be so. She smiled weakly when she realized he was looking at her.

  “What?” she asked.

  He reached for her hand under the table. “Bluster, darling, is our only hope.”

  “So says the grandson of a prince.”

  “So must say the future bride of the youngest grandson of Cruihniche of Fàs, the most terrifying witch in all the Nine Kingdoms.”

  She smiled. “Are you the youngest?”

  “Aye, which is why she spoils me with spells every time she sees me. Can you blame her?”

  “You are charming.”

  “And you are lovely. Do you have your coins?”

  She thought she might blush. “I didn’t have any pockets, so I stuck them down the top part of this gown. I think they’ll be safe.”

  “If anyone tries to filch them, there will be a murder tonight.”

  He was very gallant, which she supposed he knew, and looking rather more lethal than usual, which she wondered if everyone else knew. If he had casually inspected everything presented to them before he’d allowed her to touch it, perhaps no one could have expected anything less. All she knew was that if she’d been the lord of the hall, she wouldn’t have dared poison him.

  She toyed with her food, wishing she could have been sitting in front of the fire in Acair’s study, perhaps with her parents and siblings still alive, listening to her father—or step-father, as it were—read that dragon-filled tale—

  “Léirsinn!”

  He whispered her name, which she appreciated, and caught her wine glass before she dropped it and its contents all over her gown. She put on the best smile she could manage.

  “Weariness,” she said, hopefully loudly enough for those around her to hear.

  “Of course, darling. An early night for you, perhaps.”

  She waited until she thought fewer eyes might be turned their way, then brought her glass to her mouth and leaned closer to him.

  “I don’t know if this means anything,” she said slowly.

  He had a sip of wine. “Do tell, just the same.”

  “After one of my parents would read that tale, you know the one.”

  “I do.”

&n
bsp; “There was always a final line we said, though my mother would never let us say it together. Each of us had a pair of words we would say in turn. Always in the same order.”

  He choked. She supposed he’d barely managed not to spew his wine all over the table.

  “Do you remember them?”

  “Of course.”

  “All of them?”

  “Aye.”

  “Give them a little whisper in my ear, then.”

  She looked at him uneasily. “Will I bring the hall down around us?”

  “I sincerely hope not,” he said, with feeling.

  She whispered them behind her hand into his ear. He smiled pleasantly and patted his mouth with his hand as if he might have been hiding a yawn. If that hand trembled, well, perhaps she was the only one who noticed. If he leaned over and pressed his lips against her hair, perhaps the company only thought him terribly besotted.

  “I think,” he murmured, “that you’ve discovered why he wants you.”

  She felt cold suddenly. Perhaps it had to do with wearing a gown that didn’t cover her shoulders, or perhaps she’d had too much of the wine she’d hardly touched. All she knew was that she was very, very afraid.

  “What now?” she murmured.

  “We wait, and then we win.”

  She could only hope he was right about that.

  She didn’t want to imagine what would be left of the world if he wasn’t.

  Twenty-one

  If there were one thing to be grateful for, it was that he wasn’t going to meet his end in a barn.

  Acair pulled off his evening coat and handed it to Léirsinn to wear, partly because he hadn’t had the foresight to bring her a wrap and partly because the cloth was black and she might blend into the darkness better that way. His own chemise was a brilliant white which might have the opposite effect, though he suspected that damned Sladaiche or Slaidear or whatever he was calling himself at present likely couldn’t tell white from ivory with any success so perhaps the color of his shirt wouldn’t make any difference.

  Lesser mages, lesser spells. It was apparently going to be his lot for the evening.