The White Spell (23 page)

On the other hand, she did have a very valuable horse that she had flapped off with. She had no idea what else to call it, for the
truth was she'd stolen the damned beast and would likely hang for that alone. But he was safely trotting about one of Sgath's turnouts, changing his shape apparently for the pleasure of it.

She also had a new vision of the world. She had an even clearer vision of things the world contained that she wouldn't have considered anything but fable not a fortnight earlier. If that hadn't been enough, she now knew that food could be made to taste good, something she had hardly dared hope for previously.

Finally, she was looking at a man who had apparently tried to steal the world's magic. That had seemingly been the culmination of a lifetime of naughtiness he had perpetrated, reputedly simply because he could.

She sat back in her chair and studied him as he prowled restlessly through the library, picking up this book or that, opening it, then closing it and putting it back. That was a point in his favor. He could have just dropped the tomes on the floor.

She moved onto other things. Calling him handsome didn't begin to do him justice. Now that she saw him in the proper setting, she realized just how much like the grandson of a prince he looked. He was dressed all in black, but she supposed that allowed him to engage in nefarious deeds more easily. He was a tall, well-fashioned, extremely handsome man she would have accepted any number of invitations from and counted herself very fortunate indeed.

She realized with another start that he was leaning back against a bookcase, watching her.

“What?” she asked in surprise.

“I didn't want to obscure your view of the books I'm standing in front of.”

She realized what he was saying and scowled at him. “I wasn't looking at books.”

“Stop,” he said, putting his hand over his heart. “I'll blush soon.”

“I wasn't looking at you either.”

He tsk-tsked her. “That lying,” he said, shaking his head. “A terrible habit to start. Besides, you're not very good at it.”

“Thank you.”

He smiled. “You're welcome.”

She set her book on the table and looked at him seriously. “I've been thinking.”

He only waited. Her uncle would have made some insulting comment about the effort being too much for her, but apparently in spite of all his flaws, Acair of Ceangail was not that sort of man.

“Let me see if I understand the situation,” she said slowly. “I am hundreds of leagues—”

“Perhaps not that far,” he interrupted.

“A fair distance from my home, then—”

“Where they were plotting to kill you, remember,” he reminded her.

She looked at him in exasperation. “You have a horrible habit of interrupting.”

“No patience,” he admitted. “There's little point in suffering a lesser mage to go on and on about ridiculous things when you know you're going to destroy him in the end, is there?”

She felt her mouth fall open and couldn't stop herself. “You destroyed mages?”

“Humiliated,” he corrected, then he paused. “I may have left a few begging on the streets as well. My memory fails me.”

“I imagine your memory doesn't fail you at all. How is it that someone so impossibly handsome and charming can be such an utter ass?”

“You know,” he said thoughtfully, “my mother has often said the same thing to me. It is a mystery I have often wished to solve, but alas, no time yet.” He smiled. “Impossibly handsome?”

“I misspoke,” she said. She suspected the last thing he needed was anything else to feed his enormous ego. “Let's discuss your flaws instead.”

He sighed lightly. “I am an evil man, as I said, which has earned me a world full of enemies.”

“A whole world?” she asked.

“Are you mocking me?”

“Heaven forbid. But go ahead and make me a list.”

“Shall I begin with the kings of nations, their powerful ambassadors, or just the pedestrian landholders? Or shall I go right to the terrible black mages who would happily see me dead?”

She considered. “Are we going to encounter any of them anytime soon?”

“I certainly hope not.” He walked across the room and cast himself down in a chair across the table from her. “Since I am seemingly at liberty to say what I care to, I daresay there's no reason we can't speak freely.”

“Will you describe for me more vile deeds?” she asked politely.

He sighed. “There are those in abundance, but you've already heard a list of some of the worst. I'm quite certain you'll hear more in the future. Nay, I thought we might discuss our plans whilst we have a bit of peace for that sort of thing. You will stay here, of course, in safety. I need to find that damned Soilléir and convince him to take back his spell so I have magic to hand.” He met her eyes. “That rubbish that doesn't exist.”

“I've been watching Falaire shapechange all morning,” she said wearily. “I believe I've become resigned to a few things I couldn't believe before.” She considered. “If you have—” She waved her hand in his direction. “—you know.”

“I know.”

She took a deep breath. “If you have it, can you not find out what those shadows are?”

“I thought I might try.”

“And save my grandfather?”

“That too.”

She chewed on what she wanted to say for longer than she liked, but she could hardly bear to ask. “Do you think you could heal him?”

His expression was very grave. “I will try.”

“Then do whatever you need to,” she said. “I don't matter.”

“I think you do.”

“I can't imagine why,” she said. “I certainly don't have any magic. Not a smidgen of it.”

“You know, Léirsinn, neither does Hearn of Angesand—or so 'tis said—and look at what a remarkable legacy he continues to leave trailing along behind him through the centuries.”

She looked at him in surprise. He was wearing the same look of astonishment, actually.

“I believe,” she managed, “that you should go on to be a philosopher.”

“And I believe you should stay here,” he said seriously. “I've described those spots of shadow to my, er—”

“Grandmother.”

He looked rather uncomfortable. “Aye, my grandmother. She believes they aren't benign, nor are they without some sort of consciousness. We suspect that they aren't simply appearing out of nowhere.”

She wished rather desperately for a glass of water. “Meaning someone is creating them?”

He nodded. “Exactly that.” He fussed with a pair of books on the table, set them aside with a sigh, then looked at her. “I'll tell you very plainly that you won't want to be anywhere near whoever is creating those spells, nor will you want to see what I'll have to do to stop him.”

“Not that I'm terribly enthusiastic about coming with you,” she admitted slowly, “but I tend to notice them before you do, wouldn't you agree?”

“I'll pay greater heed to where I step.”

“You'll never manage my horse on your own.”

He started to speak, frowned, then pushed himself to his feet and began to wander about the library as he'd done before. She watched him pull books from shelves, then put them back almost immediately, as if he couldn't find anything compelling enough to hold his interest. She realized after a few minutes that he was
nervous. For some reason, that was the most alarming thing she'd seen yet.

She was accustomed to his wearing irritation like a cloak, wielding haughty words like a sword, and trotting out all sorts of untoward and perhaps slightly dangerous skills in order to save her sorry backside and feed her, but she was seeing a side of him she wasn't sure she cared for.

“Acair?”

He stopped and smiled at her briefly. “Not many people call me by my name.”

“What do they usually call you?”

“Do you really want to know?”

She smiled in spite of herself. “I imagine not.” She studied him for a moment or two, then folded her hands atop a book on the table in front of her. “There's something wrong.”

He took a deep breath, then walked over to her and held out his hand. “There's something you need to see.”

She had to admit she was growing increasingly tired of having her heart stop so suddenly, then start up again with a great pounding that was almost painful. “Falaire? Is he injured?”

“Your horse is fine,” he said grimly, pulling her to her feet. “The rest of us? I'm not sure.” He blew out his breath. “Just come and see for yourself.”

She would have run, but she had no idea where she was going and Acair managed to get them lost in a garden so thoroughly that they were forced to find aid. The servant who they pressed into service seemed not to be aware of their desire for haste which only added to her frustration. Acair thanked the man once they reached the stables—more politely than she could have managed—then walked swiftly with her to the stall where she knew Falaire was being housed.

He continued on past that stall, which left her rather short of breath, but he didn't pause. He stopped finally at the gate to a very fine arena and looked at her. Léirsinn was vastly relieved to see
Falaire in that arena, cantering about in his proper shape. Eulasaid was there as well, standing just inside the gate, watching Falaire thoughtfully.

“What—” Léirsinn cleared her throat. “What is it?”

Eulasaid held open the gate for her, then stood next to her after she'd come inside. She nodded toward the stallion.

“Watch.”

Léirsinn saw nothing out of the ordinary until she realized there was a pool of shadow not twenty paces away from where she stood. How that accursed thing had found its way there, she didn't know. Falaire trotted over toward her, spotted that shadow, then turned aside to go and have a sniff. She would have started forward to stop him, but Eulasaid put her hand out and caught her gently by the arm.

“Wait,” she said calmly.

Falaire regarded the shadow in front of him for a moment or two, then reared. He came down with a snort and stomped the bloody hell out of it.

The shadow splintered into scores of shards that glittered in a way that left her almost dazzled by their beauty. She realized tears were rolling down her cheeks. That something so lovely should have been destroyed—

The shards fluttered suddenly, then gathered themselves back together, forming again that small pool of shadow.

Léirsinn realized Acair's grandmother was surprisingly strong only because the woman saved her from falling straightway upon her arse. She felt behind her for the gate, then leaned back against it. Acair's hand was suddenly very lightly on her shoulder, which she appreciated. She patted his fingers, then nodded briskly.

“I am well.”

He made a sound that indicated very clearly that he didn't believe her, but he took his hand away just the same. She looked at Eulasaid.

“What do you think?” she managed.

“I think your pony is obsessed with that shadow,” Eulasaid
remarked. “He's destroyed it dozens of times, watched it reform, then destroyed it again. He doesn't seem any worse for the wear, which is reassuring, but he is determined to continue to meddle with it.” She looked at Léirsinn. “He saw it before I did, I'm afraid.”

Léirsinn nodded, then took the lead rope Acair's grandmother handed her. She walked out to the middle of the arena, had a brief battle of wills with her horse, then led him away. He only hesitated for the first few steps, then he came with her willingly.

It was odd.

It also made her decision for her.

She put Falaire in the stall provided for his use, then leaned on the open window and watched him as he helped himself to a steaming bucket of grain. She didn't so much hear Acair as she felt him come stand next to her. He rested his elbows on the ledge of the window as well and watched her horse.

“I want you to stay here,” he said quietly.

“I know.”

“I am not ever this altruistic,” he continued, “which is what I think should worry you the most.”

She looked at him then, reputed son of a black mage, lad with a very disreputable past full of dark deeds himself, and wondered about him. “And yet you're trying to save me.”

“I know what lies ahead.”

“You're simply trotting off to find a friend,” she said with a shrug. “How dangerous can that be?”

He blew out his breath. “Extremely. And I can do nothing to save either of us if trouble presents itself, which I find to be an unacceptable position to be in.” He paused. “Also, when I find Soilléir, I might be less than polite.”

She smiled in spite of herself. “Harsh language?”

“I may have to resort to that, aye.”

She leaned on the wood and shook her head. “How is it you can be so charming yet have such a terrible reputation?”

“I like my victims to feel as if they've had a jolly good time before
I either steal their magic or pilfer their choicest spells,” he admitted. “That generosity of spirit is indeed my worst failing.”

She stepped back and shut the window. “I'm coming with you.”

“Léirsinn . . .”

“Careful, Prince Acair, lest I think you're serious about your concern for me.”

“Heaven forbid,” he muttered. He shot her a look. “And don't call me that. It might give people the wrong idea about me.”

She smiled. “What do people usually call you?”

“I don't use those sorts of words in the presence of ladies.”

“I can just imagine.” She took his arm. “Let's go, lad, and don't think I'm going to let you scamper off with my horse.”

He sighed deeply. “Again, Léirsinn—”

“Don't waste your breath.”

He studied her for a moment or two in silence, then shook his head. “Very well,” he said, sounding resigned, “we'll leave in the morning. I think Eulasaid and Sgath—”