“It has become a bad habit,” she agreed. “And look at what it got you. Your shirt is in shreds as well.”
“I’ll go find something else.” He rose. “Make as at home, of course.”
He decided to ignore the expression she was wearing, as if the words simply didn’t have any meaning for her.
Her uncle had many things to answer for.
He fetched something from the armoire in his bedchamber, then returned to the kitchens to find them empty. He ruthlessly ignored the panic that flashed through him and decided that the sooner he had food and a decent night’s sleep, the better.
He found Léirsinn by his front door. She hadn’t opened it; she was simply standing there, staring at it as if she couldn’t decide whether she should stay or go. He moved to lean against the wall opposite her.
“Thinking of bolting?” he asked mildly.
She looked at him in surprise. “I wasn’t, actually. I was just wondering why you had no lock. Then it occurred to me that you aren’t afraid someone will come in because you have…you know.”
“Magic?” he asked. “Aye. But it is what I do, isn’t it?”
She didn’t look particularly comforted. “What about the spell over your house?”
He considered what he might say to reassure her, but supposed none of it would matter. He knew what the spell was capable of because he’d made it so he might have one place in the wide, terrible world where he could sleep in peace. He also suspected that hearing about the inner workings of the magic involved would interest her as much as knowing the precise ingredients in Sianach’s supper might interest him.
“Oh,” he said with a shrug, “’tis just a little mixture of this and that. The frame is a spell I found lying about in, as irony would have it, Uachdaran of Léige’s forge, but the rest is just pedestrian stuff I’m not sure I could bring to mind.”
She only watched him, silently.
He suppressed the urge to shift uncomfortably. In the interest of continuing his slide into that warmish pile of virtue entitled Honesty, he had to admit he knew exactly what he’d put into the damned thing and could likely point out where each layer began and ended. What covered his house was elegant, direct, and fatal to anyone who thought to try to best it. It had occurred to him, no doubt during that same bit of thinking about how useful it would be to leave pieces of his power under various thrones and sofa cushions, that he might someday find himself with a need for a refuge. He’d constructed his spell with the caveat being that he would always be allowed through it with only his sweet self as the key.
Léirsinn’s having managed to contain that mysterious spell of death long enough for him to pull her through his arguably best piece of work was something he was going to have to think through a bit more. That said piece of foul magic now found itself trapped in the web of his own spell was something he would face after he’d poured himself something very strong to drink.
“Let’s just say it will hold,” he said finally.
“Not even Soilléir could breach it?”
“Well, now isn’t that an interesting question,” he said, reaching for her hand, “and one for which the answer is far more entertaining than you might expect. I’ll tell you all about it over supper.”
“A lock first?”
He realized quite suddenly that she was afraid. Hard on the heels of that came a terrible suspicion that she might be afraid of him. Perhaps what she’d seen in Uachdaran’s cavernous chamber had…well, he should have insisted that she leave.
He hadn’t, though, and there was nothing to be done but press on. He stood there for a moment or two, finding himself with a new appreciation for her ability to approach any horse no matter how skittish and leave it not bolting the other way. He carefully took a step closer to her and held out his hand toward her.
“Fadaire can be a bit of a bother sometimes,” he said casually. “My half-brother Rùnach healed me with a piece of it, as you know, and I vow I’ve been given to all sorts of uncharacteristic displays ever since. Tears, maudlin sentiments, the overwhelming desire to write Nerochian questing poetry and bore everyone in the vicinity with my droning readings of the same.”
She put her hand in his, which he supposed was promising.
“I suppress it all, stellar soul that I am,” he continued, “simply because my overarching purpose in life is, as you know, to make the world a better place. Now, let me go fetch our gear, then we’ll find something hopefully edible and sleep in peace. If I use any magic, I’ll do it aloud so you might be properly dazzled by my mighty skill.”
She stopped him. “Must you go outside?”
He decided at that moment that perhaps she was less afraid of him than she was for him.
That was almost worse, actually.
“I promise you that I will return,” he said seriously. “Here, stand at the door and watch.”
She looked none-too-happy about the idea, but she released him and nodded just the same.
He stepped outside and walked down the path to collect their packs. He ignored the death-dispensing spell suspended in his very useful and businesslike piece of protective magic, then scanned the path to the shore, looking for mages who wanted him dead. He saw nothing, but that was somehow not all that reassuring.
He walked back inside his house, shut the door firmly, then wove a simple spell of imperviousness over it. He left a delicate tassel hanging from the doorknob, then looked at Léirsinn.
“If you feel the need for fresh air, just give that a tug and off you go. Perhaps you heard your name mentioned amongst those fine words which means that you’ll be able to come back inside, no pulley needed.”
“And no one else can?” she asked, looking rather less comfortable than he would have hoped. “Come inside, that is.”
He slung their packs over his shoulder, then reached for her hand. “No one,” he assured her. “Well, save a master of epicurial delights who comes to stay from time to time, but even he would need to knock thanks to that new lock.”
“You have a cook,” she said in disbelief.
“Occasionally,” he said. “You might be interested to know that offering him a position with my vast and impressive entourage almost started a war, but to pacify the short-tempered monarch I stole him from I’ve arranged a sort of share-and-share-alike bargain. Sadly, I’ve been off groveling so often over the past few months that I felt it only fair to release the man to appease the monarchial palate until called for again.”
“Good of you.”
“I thought so,” he agreed. “He does keep up with the larder just the same, so there might be bits of dried fruits and cured meats with perhaps even a hastily scrawled recipe or two lurking there. If he’s been particularly diligent, we might find things still resting comfortably in the garden.”