"I don't care for it," she added suddenly.
"Care for what?" he asked, wrenching his thoughts away from those compelling thoughts.
"Magic," she said promptly. "In any form. I avoid it at all costs."
"You have none of your own?" he asked.
She looked at him as it he'd given mortal offense. "Death first," she said, quite seriously. "I would not wish such a fate on my worst enemy."
Interesting. Perhaps she had an ancestor at some point in her lineage who'd had a bit of magic and passed it on. Her sight might be clearer than most because of it. She might possess just enough to have awakened the sleeping sword of Neroche. It might be nothing more than that.
Or it might be something else entirely.
Finding out the truth of that was reason enough to remain with the company longer than was sensible. Because his magic was very strong and no one saw through his spells unless he wished it. Because the Sword of Neroche had been dead steel when he'd touched it last.
Because she was frowning at him as if she would have preferred to be getting her answers by means of a sword pointed threateningly at his gut.
Aye, he would stay a bit longer. If nothing else, he would solve the mystery of Morgan of Melksham and her brushes with several things magical.
She turned suddenly toward the darkening plain. "This is so much more vast than I imagined." She looked at him. "I have never been very good with maps."
"How have you gotten around Melksham?"
"Camid navigates for us," she admitted. "He's fond of a good map."
"Dwarves generally are," Miach said. "There is no shame in allowing him his enjoyment of it."
"Aye," she agreed. "I should have asked his opinion on this matter, but…"
"But?"
She looked up at him. "My errand is private."
"And urgent?"
"That too."
"Then you'll need horses, and ones built for speed."
She sighed. "I know nothing of Angesand and his horses save vague rumor."
"Do you not ride?"
"It isn't a quiet way of traveling."
"But it is swift."
"Melksham is not overly large," she said, "and I never had need of haste before." She looked at him. "Can you bargain with this Hearn of Angesand? You and Glines?"
"Why me?" he asked, turning to look at her with his arms folded over his chest. "Why not Adhémar?"
"We want horses, don't we? Forgive me since he is your kin, bastard brother perhaps, but he has not a sweet word in his mouth. He will flatter this lord of Angesand with his pretty face, then open his mouth and ruin the deal."
Miach put his hand over his mouth to cover his smile. Poor Adhémar. "He is not overly diplomatic," he conceded.
"But you are," she said. "At least you do not bray on like the jackass who is your brother. Can you not take Glines and speak sweetly to this lord of Angesand and win us steeds? If nothing else, Glines can gamble for them and leave this Hearn feeling as if he'd had a fair deal."
"I daresay he couldn't. Hearn loves his horses more than his children."
