The Prince of Souls (The Nine Kingdoms Book 12)

by Lynn Kurland

  “He seems to have itchy feet, that wandering lad, but he’ll always be welcome. We should absolutely offer your sister a safe harbor to keep her out of the clutches of that essence-changing madman. If you’d care to be in the same place with me, that is.”

  She looked at him pointedly.

  He only smiled and reached for her hand. “Your grandfather likely needs a decent meal and a nap before I corner him to present my suit, giving us time to be off and doing. You don’t mind coming with me?”

  “As long you don’t require anything from me that’s longer than five words.”

  “Six, darling. You’re up to six.”

  She didn’t want to tell him that she had absolutely no desire to use any magic at all, mostly because she was appalled to find that might not be as true as she wanted it to be. She’d made werelight when she’d first come out to the barn and reached for that very handy spell of containment to avoid having to look for a broom not a quarter hour earlier.

  “I’m finished after this time,” she said firmly.

  “Are you trying to convince me or yourself?”

  She glared at him, though what she wanted to do was go into his arms and stay there for a bit.

  But if anything could be said about that man there, it was that he wasn’t oblivious. He smiled, then pulled her into a thoroughly comforting embrace.

  “Use it or not, as it pleases you,” he said.

  “I might consider it if there were others who needed your help,” she conceded.

  “My help,” he said with a snort. “Can you imagine?”

  “I won’t say a thing,” she promised. “Wouldn’t want word getting round about these new and unsettling sides of you.”

  He hugged her so tightly she squeaked.

  “You do love me,” he whispered.

  “Almost as much as you love me,” she agreed. She pulled out of his arms, then nudged him out of the way before he opened the stall door for Sianach. “I’ll saddle him while you give that some thought. Are we riding or flying?”

  “Let’s fly, if Sianach will behave himself. Even on an errand of mercy, I don’t fancy all morning spent out in the rain. Besides, I’d like to be back before Soilléir offends everyone so terribly that we lose our accommodations. Also, I have a grandfather to opportune.”

  She smiled and went to fetch Sianach’s gear.

  It took only an hour or so to reach a little cabin on the edge of a clearing. She suspected they might have known they were in the right place by virtue of the enormous pastures nearby. If that hadn’t been enough, the good lord of Angesand standing near the front gates, pacing, surely would have.

  Sianach did them the very great favor of waiting until they were off his back before he slipped into his hell-hound guise, which only earned a brief smile of satisfaction from Hearn. He shook her hand companionably, then looked at Acair.

  “You were successful?”

  “The maker of those shadows is gone,” Acair said, “and Fuadain of Sàraichte won’t be making mischief either for a bit.”

  “What of Droch? I can understand why he wanted Falaire—who is mending properly at home—but he’s not known for his interest in riding.”

  “Falaire was a bribe to keep him placated, or so I understand. Droch is still as he always was: looking for more power. I daresay he had his fingers in this stew, but he’ll soon find there’s nothing left in the pot. There’s nothing to worry about from that quarter that I can see.”

  “You’ll see to him down the road, no doubt.”

  “Your faith in me is gratifying.”

  Hearn looked a little green. “I’m honestly not certain what I have faith in at the moment, but I don’t often find myself in this position.”

  Léirsinn cleared her throat. “Trust,” was what came out of her mouth, though she certainly hadn’t intended to say it. She was acutely aware of how difficult that had been for her when Mistress Cailleach suggested the same.

  Hearn took a deep breath. “Follow me.”

  Léirsinn thought Acair looked as if he might rather do anything else, but that lad there didn’t lack courage. He simply nodded once, then started after Hearn up the path to the house. If he caught her hand on the way and squeezed just once perhaps a bit more firmly than he’d intended to, she understood. She imagined Hearn wouldn’t fault him if he couldn’t restore his son to his proper state, but there were people a body simply didn’t want to disappoint.

  A woman was standing in the doorway, dressed as if she’d just come in from morning stables. Léirsinn supposed that was Hearn’s wife, mostly because she could imagine that pair having had more than one spirited discussion about the horses in their care.

  Hearn stopped a handful of paces away. “Marcachd,” he said carefully.

  “Hearn.”

  “How is the bay I sent you?”

  “Eating,” she said briskly. “Not ready to go back under saddle yet, but perhaps in another fortnight.”

  Hearn stepped back and nodded. “I’ve brought the company I told you about. Léirsinn of Sàraichte, my wife, Marcachd. Marcachd, you may already know Lord Acair, if by reputation alone.”

  Léirsinn was accustomed to the reception Acair generally received, so she wasn’t surprised by the wary look he was enjoying at present. He simply stood there and left his hands in plain sight, no doubt in an attempt to allay any fears about his intentions.

  Hearn’s wife nodded once, then opened the door to allow them inside.

  The house was full of the usual horselike clutter she was accustomed to—papers, bits of tack, boots in the corner—but what surprised her was the light. Perhaps she had spent too much time in Briàghde where the sun had shone relentlessly but with a harshness that had left her wanting to avoid it.

  Or perhaps that had been her life before a black mage with terrible spells had stridden into her barn like a very unlikely Hero and filled her life with so many unexpectedly beautiful things.

  What she knew was that whatever it was that left light streaming into Marcachd of Angesand’s house—spells or perhaps simply pure mountain air—it made the woman’s home a very peaceful, healing place. No wonder Hearn sent horses and sons to her.

  A man sat just outside the back door, staring off across the pastures, unmoving. She stopped a few paces away with Acair and looked at him. He resembled Hearn so strongly she would have assumed they were kin even if she hadn’t already known who to expect.

  Marcachd moved to stand in front of her son. “I think you’re mad to have brought this mage,” she said to Hearn bluntly. “Had I not been so desperate, I would have forbidden it.”

  “The lad’s powerful,” Hearn said evenly, “regardless of how he uses it.”

  “What if he slays him?”

  Léirsinn felt her heart break a little at the pain in Marcachd’s voice, but she understood. If she had only known Acair by his foul reputation alone, she likely would have thought the same thing.

  “Trust me,” Hearn said. “And give this lad here a chance. ’Tis difficult to change when no one wants you to.”

  Léirsinn glanced at Acair to find him looking as if Hearn had just elbowed him in the nose. She squeezed his hand, but didn’t dare smile. There was still a task in front of him that might very well be beyond what either of them could accomplish. It wasn’t as if they’d been able to practice on anyone to perfect the art.

  Trust.

  She blew out her breath and waited for Acair to do his part, if doing could be done.

  He took the piece of Tùr’s soul that Soilléir had done him the favor of gathering, then looked at her. She nodded and felt a little silly, but ’twas too late to turn back.

  Or at least she felt ridiculous until she watched Acair press that piece of soul against Tùr’s throat and look at her. She repeated the six words she knew, backwards, then watched him as he
reversed the rest of the spell from her own book of faery tales.

  If he added a bit of the old oomph, as his mother might have said, from that piece of essence-changing Soilléir had used on him, she wasn’t going to make any mention of it.

  Tùr gasped, then opened his eyes. He blinked a time or two, then looked up at Acair.

  “My lord Acair,” he said, looking slightly winded. “Giving souls instead of taking them, eh?”

  “You’re confusing me with my highly skilled but morally destitute sire,” Acair said faintly, “but aye, that does seem to be the case.”

  “A fine choice,” Tùr said with a smile.

  He stood up, shook himself off as if he’d just come in from the rain, then walked over and put his arms around his mother. Hearn stepped forward and put his arms around them both.

  Léirsinn stepped away to stand next to Acair, then looked at him to find him shaking his head slowly. He looked at her helplessly. She smiled, nudged him affectionately with her shoulder, then decided they might have things to discuss later on when they had a bit of peace.

  Marcachd of Angesand released her son and spun around. Léirsinn hardly knew what to expect, though she wouldn’t have been surprised by either curses or a brisk invitation to find the front door. She was surprised to watch the woman throw her arms around Acair. She pounded him on the back exactly three times, leaned up and kissed him loudly on the cheek, then turned and flung her arms around her son again. If she wept, Léirsinn couldn’t hear her and Hearn’s enveloping hug hid her from sight.

  Léirsinn looked to find Acair standing there looking as if he’d not only been elbowed in the nose, but kicked in the gut. He put his hand to his cheek as if he’d never touched his own skin before.

  She wasn’t sure she would ever not enjoy the sight of Acair of Ceangail off balance. He looked like a colt who hadn’t quite found its legs yet, gangly and unsure.

  It was one of the most endearing things she’d ever seen.

  She supposed it didn’t change who he was. She had seen him at what was arguably his very worst. Perhaps he’d shown Slaidear mercy, or perhaps he’d simply been the one to mete out the proper justice no matter how that looked. She imagined he’d left her uncle looking at horrors he would never unsee simply because he’d been able to. That might have been a bit much, but she was neither his judge nor his sanctifier. He would have to live with what he’d done.

  So would she, she knew. That she could still light a fire with five words was proof enough of that.

  “I didn’t realize I’d come to visit, Mother,” Tùr said. “I feel like I’ve been dreaming, but they weren’t pleasant ones. Is there anything to eat?”

  “We should go,” Acair murmured.

  She nodded, then found Hearn holding out his hand. She shook it, then he extended it to Acair as well.

  “Thank you,” he said simply.

  “Thank you for the release from Uachdaran of Léige’s dungeon.”

  “The price was worth it.”

  “I would have done it just the same, my lord.”

  Hearn slid him a look. “Careful, lad. Word will get around, you know. I do have that thank-you note you sent hammered into a barn wall. Someone might see it.”

  “I’ll know whom to blame if they do.”

  Léirsinn supposed the world hadn’t ended, but watching the two men in front of her exchanging pleasant words instead of curses was something. Hearn looked at her.

  “He looks a bit shattered. Put him to bed for a few days, then have him shovel manure. He’ll be back to himself before we’re comfortable with it, I’m sure.”

  Acair only nodded without comment, which Léirsinn supposed was indication enough of how weary he was. She had a final look at Hearn’s wife and son now walking off toward the pasture, then followed Hearn back through the house.

  Hearn opened the front door. “Best be on your way before the morning is completely gone. Your lad can ride with you if you can stomach it.”

  Léirsinn walked out into the late morning sunlight, then stopped so quickly, Acair almost plowed her over. She caught him by his hands on her shoulders. Handy, as it gave her something to do until she found her tongue. She looked quickly at Hearn who had come to stand next to her.

  “A decent pony,” Hearn said mildly. “If you want him.”

  The Grey stood there, nibbling on Marcachd’s flowers. He raised his head, nodded at her, then went back to his tearing of grass and bloom.

  She supposed ’twas the burden of her non-magic that had rendered her so emotional. That was surely the only reason she was having difficulty seeing the lord of Angesand for her tears.

  “I can’t afford him.”

  “Didn’t say you had to pay for him, now did I?”

  “But—”

  “I might occasionally send you other beasts to train. This one will no doubt drain your lad’s coffers with feeding and housing him properly, so I’m repaid yet again.” He nodded toward the horse. “Off you go, lass. I believe you’re staying with Sgath. He likely has a stray brush or two.”

  “Thank you, my lord,” Léirsinn managed.

  Hearn shrugged, clapped Acair on the shoulder, then went back inside the house without further comment.

  Léirsinn looked at the horse, then at the man standing there, barely, and wasn’t quite sure what to say.

  “Please don’t make me walk to Sgath’s,” he managed.

  She smiled. “We won’t.”

  “He doesn’t have a saddle.”

  “He doesn’t need one. I’ll give you a leg up, then you can just hold on and hope for the best.”

  He put his arms around her and held her for a moment or two. “Tell me he doesn’t fly.”

  “Darling,” she said, “I promise you won’t know if he does. Just close your eyes and trust me.”

  She was fairly certain he’d muttered something that sounded a bit like a supplication, but she decided to ignore it. She gave him the promised leg up, then swung up behind him and gathered a bit of the Grey’s glorious mane in her hands. She invited him to be gentle with her love.

  He flew just the same.

  Several hours and a ride or two on that glorious horse while Acair napped in a pile of straw later, she was standing in a stall, brushing out a silvery tail. She finished, sighed, and considered weeping. She looked around to make certain no one would see, then jumped a little when she realized Acair was leaning on the stall door. His eyes were closed, though, so she imagined he hadn’t watched her blubbering over a pony, no matter how perfect.

  “Come to shovel?” she asked.

  He opened his eyes and smiled at her. “Fetch you for supper, rather. I’ll shovel later.”

  She thanked him for opening the stall door for her, handed off brush and curry comb to one of Sgath’s stable lads, then brushed off her hands before she studied him.

  “You look better.”

  “Another day or two and I’ll be back to my old self,” he agreed. “Decent food and lovely surroundings do wonders.”

  “It is very pretty here.”

  “The lake is beautiful. As long as I don’t look all the way across to where Ruith is no doubt plotting my demise, that is.”

  “Perhaps Hearn will tell him of your recent escapades.”

  “That won’t matter,” Acair said cheerfully. “I can’t charm everyone, so I’ll just soldier on as best I can.”

  She walked with him back through the twilight and realized she was looking over her shoulder for something untoward. She looked at him and he shook his head with a smile.

  “Safe enough, I daresay.”

  “Did you use magic to make sure of it?”

  “The odd spell of ward comes in handy,” he said. “But nay, I actually stirred myself to walk outside and have a look whilst you were fawning over that four-legged beastie. Th
at and Sgath—”

  “Your grandfather,” she corrected.

  He took a deep breath. “My grandfather Sgath has his own spells set, of course. And speaking of grandfathers, I had a wee chat with yours.”

  She looked at him. “Did you? About anything in particular?”

  “Permissions,” he said succinctly.

  “And were they given?”

  He nodded slowly. “With the appropriate warnings about seeing properly to the feeding of and caring for your own sweet self. I gave him my word I would do for you what you would allow.”

  “Interesting.”

  “I have one more thing to tell you, though.”

  She looked at him in surprise. If the odd note in his voice hadn’t caught her attention, the rather unsure look on his face certainly would have.

  “Changed your mind, did you?”

  “I haven’t,” he said grimly, “but you might.”

  “Should I be sitting down?”

  He looked, actually, as if he might be the one who needed to find somewhere to do just that. “I’m just going to blurt it out.”

  “I wish you would.”

  He took a deep breath. “Soilléir meddled.”

  “With my sister?” she asked in astonishment.

  “With us,” he said.

  “How?”

  He shifted uncomfortably. “It seems that he tossed our souls into the proverbial essence-changing pot, gave them a bit of a stir, then pulled them back out so they were of an equal measure. Or something very like that.”

  She patted the air around her, looking for somewhere to sit and found only the man in front of her looking solid enough for any sort of support. She took his hands that he held out and suspected that if she’d had any tears left, she would have used them all on him at that very moment.

  “You gave me part of your soul,” she managed.

  He only nodded slightly.

  “How long have you known?”

  “A day or two.”

  She sighed deeply and walked into his embrace. She closed her eyes and decided that perhaps comfort and safety were things that might not be so terrible after all.