“I think you know,” Acair said before he thought better of it.
“One reason,” Astar repeated evenly.
“Your cousin sent me.”
Astar uttered an epitaph better suited for a barn, which Acair thought best not to comment on. The lads in Inntrig could have used a bit more time in polite society, something he also decided might be better left unsaid.
“He’s telling the truth.”
Acair would have begged Léirsinn to leave him to his fate and save herself, but perhaps ’twas too late for that. She had already moved to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with him. He supposed the trio was completed by that damned spell of death standing there with a bit of a slouch on her far side.
“Why don’t we go back inside and discuss this like civilized folk?” Léirsinn said calmly. “There might be wine left.”
Acair had definitely heard worse ideas. He also supposed that with a decent bit of luck, he might manage to render his foe unconscious, stuff him in that damned armoire, then be about his business and away before he came to.
He wasn’t surprised when Léirsinn opened the door and Astar waited for him to follow her in. Perhaps the man had had the same idea when it came to his location for the rest of the night. He entered ahead of one of Seannair’s many progeny, then was somehow unsurprised when Astar simply stood there in the middle of the chamber instead of looking for a seat. There were many things that could have perhaps been said about that prince, but that he was casual about guarding his grandfather’s property was not one.
Astar looked at Léirsinn. “Who are you?”
“Fuadain of Sàraichte’s niece,” she said, “as I said.”
Acair cleared his throat. “And I am—”
“I know who you are!” Astar shot him a look of loathing, then turned back to Léirsinn. “Did he abscond with you?”
“Of course not,” Léirsinn said without hesitation.
Astar frowned. “I hesitate to believe ill of a woman so beautiful, but I wonder that you’re keeping company with this bastard here. As Lord Fuadain’s niece, you should be looking in better places for a companion.”
Léirsinn only inclined her head. Acair thought he might want to compliment her on that the next chance he had. He felt decidedly, if not politely, put in his place and that look hadn’t been directed at him.
The next one, from Soilléir’s cousin, was directed at him and it had been a very unfriendly look, indeed.
“I don’t believe Léir would send you anywhere but to Hell.”
“Trust me,” Acair said, “I think that would be his preferred destination for me, but things are what they are. I’m off doing his dirty work, if you want as much truth as I can give you.”
“Hmmm,” Astar said, looking no less unfriendly but slightly less murderous. “Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me. What is that spell there that dogs your steps?”
“Something designed to slay me if I use any magic,” Acair said. He suspected he was one wrong word away from a very swift trip to Seannair’s most uncomfortable cellar, no doubt to be put into a cask next to the one that held the king’s crown, so perhaps a bit of honesty couldn’t go wrong. “I had thought ’twas your cousin to fashion that spell, but he claims not.”
Astar looked at him in surprise. “You don’t recognize the magic?”
“Do you?” Acair countered.
“Well, dolt, of course I do.” He looked at Léirsinn. “As should you, given the magic in your veins. Who put that there?”
“Ah—”
“Perhaps the better question is, why?”
Acair wanted to point out that Astar had an annoying habit of interrupting. Most of the poor souls who found themselves trapped in conversation with him generally wanted to find themselves somewhere to sit and something strong to drink until he talked himself out. As usual, that was likely an observation better left for a different time.
He pulled himself back to the mystery at hand.
“This spell that haunts me,” Acair said, “’tis not of Caocladh. I’m certain of that.”
Astar looked at Acair in surprise. “I cannot believe that you of all people don’t recognize it.”
“That could mean so many things,” Acair began.
“Don’t count on me to enlighten you,” Astar said with a snort. He looked at Léirsinn. “But still, why do you have that magic in your veins? Ah, never mind. I understand now.”
Acair felt his ears perk up and was fairly certain Léirsinn elbowed him with excessive force, unerringly, in a very tender spot under his ribs. It would leave a bruise, of that he was certain.
“It was a gift,” Léirsinn said easily. “From someone who knew I needed to offer aid in a particular quest.”
“I imagine I know who that someone is. Why he chose that particular stuff is perhaps something you don’t want to discuss.” He took her hand and bent low over it. “You should rethink the company you’re keeping.”
“Thank you, Your Highness,” she said politely. “I’m sure I’ll take that to heart.”
Acair found himself the recipient of a look from Astar that in any other circumstances he would have repaid with a half-hearted invitation to a duel, time to be determined when he might feel inclined to rouse himself out of bed to attend it. That he could at the moment only smile politely was yet another thing to add to the list of indignities he would most certainly be handing to a different Cothromaichian prince for his perusal before he helped that man meet his very timely, very painful end.
“You should be very far away before the sun rises,” Astar suggested.
“I believe I’ve said the same thing to your cousin,” Acair said before he could stop himself. “More than once.”
“No doubt.” Astar yawned behind his hand. “Lady Léirsinn, I believe I feel the need for a pleasant stroll through the passageways. I can only assume you might wish to join me. If I lose you at some point near the library, I’ll assume you can find your way back to your chamber?”
“Thank you, Your Highness,” she said. “Very kind.”
Acair found himself with the prince leaning in a bit more closely than he was comfortable with.
“If you stray from the library,” he said in a low voice, “I will hunt you down and slay you myself.”
“That would be a far less painful death than what your sister would inflict, I imagine.”