Acair felt as if he’d been suddenly dropped into a dinner party where he knew no one and the usual rules of decorum were completely changed. Uachdaran of Léige had a reputation for dealing out immediate justice, not putting it off until after the next meal.
He stopped just short of scratching his head over what seemed so profoundly odd about the situation—and not odd in a way that left him wanting to indulge in a sardonic smile over someone else’s having been maneuvered into place for nefarious purposes. It seemed, oddly enough, that Uachdaran had been wanting to rifle through his grandson’s pockets—magically speaking—to see what sorts of foul things the lad was keeping there and had been waiting for just the right mage to come along—
He felt his mouth fall open in what he was certain was a terribly unattractive manner. He had just been used like an everyday handkerchief—not even a monogrammed sort—with intention of being subsequently tossed aside without care.
That was offensive.
Not that he hadn’t done that kind of thing to others more than once in the past, but he’d had good reason and the mage—perhaps mages and a handful of crown-wearing lads, his memory occasionally failed him on those kinds of details—had deserved what he’d gotten. But surely King Uachdaran followed some sort of monarchial standard when it came to making use of his guests in such a callous fashion.
More to the point, why was the king allowing his grandson to show off his wares, as it were, when those wares were so perilous?
“Sleep for what’s left of the night,” Uachdaran ordered brusquely. “Or, in your case, Master Acair, don’t. I still owe you for a very large number of sleepless nights.”
Acair cleared his throat and tried not to choke on his next words. “I apologize, Your Majesty. I’ve been a bit busy—”
“You’ll unbusy yourself and be grateful if I leave you alive enough to do so. Go put those rivers back where they belong and stop using the others that run under my hall.”
Acair nodded. He’d caused the king sleepless nights over more than one thing and he was definitely at the man’s mercy.
“As you say, Your Majesty, I’ll need to still be breathing to huff out the odd spell or two.”
“I said I’d leave you alive and so I shall. But that will change abruptly if I find you in my solar, horse or no horse.”
“I wouldn’t dream of intruding there,” Acair said.
The king actually rolled his eyes. “Your ability to lie is only eclipsed by your cache of truly disgusting spells.”
Acair would have relished the compliment, but his need to correct the record took precedence.
“I never lie,” he said. “’Tis my greatest failing.”
The king grunted. “I’m certain that’s what you tell yourself. Mistress Léirsinn, bring your lad back here tomorrow and have him teach you how to manage your fire-making. He has skill enough for that, I’ll warrant. Aonarach, come along.”
Acair didn’t spare the breath to protest, mostly because the king had already walked away, his grandson in tow. He also didn’t argue when Léirsinn caught him before he went down to his knees, though that was a near thing. He put his arms around her, leaned his forehead against hers, and shook right along with her.
“Forgive me,” he said, giving voice to those accursed words as easily as if he’d been doing the like since the very moment he could speak. “In truth, I wish you hadn’t seen any of that.”
She pushed away far enough to draw his arm around her shoulders, then put her other arm around his waist.
“You talk too much,” she said.
He thought he might have to do more than just talk to keep her safe in the future. He didn’t anticipate another encounter with the king in his chamber of horrors, but should it occur, he would absolutely keep her out of the damned spot.
It occurred to him a short time later as he faced the guardsmen standing in front of her door, that locking her in that bedchamber might suit. With any luck at all, he might be able to enlist the aid of those lads there, one of whom he had most definitely encountered before.
“My apologies,” he said without thinking, then shook his head. Three in one night. The world was truly going to split in two soon.
The dwarvish guardsmen didn’t look to be in a forgiving mood, especially the one who looked as if he might be suffering from a colossal headache. The Nerochian coins Acair slipped out of his sleeve and handed over seemed to at least soothe the worst of the ruffled feathers. He walked into Léirsinn’s chamber with her, then didn’t protest when she pushed him over onto a sofa that looked a far sight cleaner than how he’d left it. Magic had its uses, to be sure.
She brought wine and poured herself a glass with a very unsteady hand. If she downed the entire goblet without pause, he was too much the gentleman to make any untoward remarks about it. It helped, he supposed, that he was also dispensing with good manners to simply drink from the bottle with rather rustic and uncouth gulps.
“Why did the king do that?” she asked.
“Beyond giving me a chance to preen and display for you?” he asked wearily. “I haven’t a clue.”
That wasn’t the truth, of course, and he was appalled that the lie had tripped so easily off his tongue. He would be damned, however, before he voiced his thoughts.
“I thought he was going to kill you.”
“He doesn’t dare,” Acair said seriously. “He wants that horse very badly.”
She was silent for quite a while. “Those were very vile things going on below,” she said finally.
“I am a very vile mage.”
Her only response was to yawn, which he supposed was rather benign all things considered.
“I think you’re quite a lovely man with terrible spells,” she said sleepily. “You take the bed. I’ll guard your granny’s notes.”
“They’re under your pillow,” he said, “and I am a gentleman. I’ll take the floor.”
She leaned over and put her head on his shoulder. “Acair, I don’t think I can move.”
And if she continued to say his name that way, without curses and hastily spat charms of ward attached, he wasn’t sure what he was going to do.
She fished about in her pocket, then handed him his spell of death. “You might want that.”
What he wanted was a moment to properly contemplate the woman’s ability to encounter so many awful things without flinching, but he thought sleep might serve him better. He shoved his rune of death down the front of his boot, then caught Léirsinn before she simply tipped over off the sofa. He put her to bed, took off her slippers, then covered her up with a blanket.