“I didn’t think you’d be interested if I told you to go find something and use it for good.” Soilléir looked at him gravely. “I misjudged you.”
Acair waited.
“I apologize.”
Acair looked about himself, then glared at the prince. “The world still stands, which is encouraging. But for that absolutely appalling mendacity, I believe I will require more than a simple apology.”
When one had an essence changer cornered, there was no reason not to press one’s advantage. He was quite sure his mother had said that a time or two, which led him to wonder if she’d had experience with the like.
Soilléir only smiled. “Seven rings of mastery, my lord Acair, then we’ll talk.”
“Can you imagine,” Acair said with a snort, ruthlessly tamping down a little something that bubbled up in the vicinity of his heart over the thought. “Me, at the schools of wizardry.”
“I can,” Soilléir said. “Miach did it.”
“He had time on his hands,” Acair said loftily. “I, on the other hand, have a very full calendar.”
“If you have an opening, you might consider it.”
Acair set aside that appalling thought to perhaps contemplate after an inordinate amount of Durialian dark ale, then continued to walk in companionable silence with a man who had apparently been more involved in world events than he’d claimed to be. How those events had been a part of his own life without his having known a damned thing…
He thought he might have to walk on the shore near his house for quite a while before he managed to come to terms with them.
“One more thing.”
He thought he might be able to guess what Soilléir was about to say, so he simply looked at him in silence.
“Her father’s people have in the past lived decently long lives.”
He took a deep breath. “I see.”
“I may or may not have…meddled,” Soilléir added. “With the both of you. For a bit longer than either of your souls would provide.”
He was simply beyond surprise, to the point where all he could do was gape at the man in silence.
Soilléir only smiled and walked away to stand altogether too close to Léirsinn’s sister.
Acair hung back as the company gathered itself together to discuss the gastronomic possibilities lurking inside The Preening Pelican. He watched Sianach toss off his equine shape with a snort and dart off into the forest with a yowl of feline hunger. Doghail staggered, but was caught quite handily by Lord Tosdach and ushered without delay inside. The rest of the company followed, chatting companionably.
He found himself in the end standing outside with Léirsinn. He was enormously gratified to have her put her arms around him and it had nothing at all to do with her keeping him on his feet. He supposed he would need to tell her about those things Soilléir had gifted the two of them, apparently, but perhaps later, when they were sitting in front of his fire at home and he’d had a decent amount of whisky.
He could only hope she wouldn’t regret being saddled with him for as long as she likely would be now.
“No spot of shadow by the door,” she said suddenly.
“Thankfully,” he said, pulling himself back to the conversation at hand.
“I have that piece of your soul in my pocket, just so you know. Soilléir has thoughts on how we might put it back in you.”
He could only imagine. “Whisky first,” he said weakly.
“I suggested that.”
He took her face in his hands and kissed her. “You are a sterling gel. You deserve a far better man than I.”
“Should I keep looking, then?”
He blinked, then realized she hadn’t released him. “Of course not. Just giving you one last chance to escape.”
“Still not a proper proposal, Acair.” She kissed him quickly, then pulled away. “You might want to work on that while we’re working on you. Soilléir has a plan.”
That plan, he discovered a half hour and four fingers of whisky later, involved a Cothromaichian spell of un-noticing cast over their company, Léirsinn’s family’s dragon spell spoken in reverse, and his charred soul and Léirsinn’s hand placed on his bare chest over the scar Rùnach had so thoughtfully left behind to remind him how close he’d come to death before.
He gaped at the rune on the back of his lady’s hand that blazed with fire in the shape of a dragon and snorted what felt like the fires of Hell directly into his flesh.
He looked around at the souls watching him, but none seemed to have the slightest bit of sympathy for the agony that was, he had to admit, mercifully brief.
He considered, frowned a bit, then looked at his love.
“I feel…better.”
“You look better.”
He flexed his fingers. “I might have to take myself out for a canter about the old place in a bit.” He leaned closer to her. “I also might need to make a hasty journey in the direction of Angesand.” He looked around him, but the rest of the company had somehow left him for a rousing game of cards with another group of locals. He turned back to his lady. “You know, in regard to that promise I made to Hearn.”
She pushed a small coin toward him. “Soilléir said he went back to my unc—I mean, to Fuadain’s study for a bit of a visit while you and I went to the barn.”
“No doubt to make certain I’d left the man alive,” he muttered.
“I think he cared far less about that than finding this, if you want the truth.” She nodded. “He said you would need it.”
He pocketed that very precious piece of what he assumed was Tùr of Angesand’s soul and decided that he might have to tender a decent thank-you for the same. “I don’t suppose Seannair’s youngest grandson also sent word ahead as well as leaving us directions on where to go?”
“I think he said something about not wanting to be too involved in things.”
Acair looked for the barmaid and raised his finger. That comment was going to require another drink, but perhaps after that he would decide how best to accomplish the final task on his list.
“Will you tell me what we’re actually going to do?”
He blinked. “Of course.” He put his arm around her and leaned back against the wood of the bench they shared. “Hearn asked me to do a bit of, well, healing. For a change. With his son.”
“Careful,” she murmured. “You never know where that might lead.”