Coimheadair of Cothromaiche had always been a rather quiet man, but Acair had assumed that came from standing so long in his father’s shadow. Now, he began to wonder if perhaps the prince simply didn’t have the temperament to rule the country.
No wonder Soilléir had gathered up all the spells of essence changing and hidden them away for safekeeping.
“Oh, please go on,” Léirsinn said.
Acair dragged his attentions back to the conversation at hand and wished rather fervently for a notebook and a pencil. There was obviously no fighting it any longer: he had become his mother.
“Your father was Niall of Ionad-teàrmainn, the lone survivor of his particular line, I believe. I’m not certain of your mother’s roots, which is a failure on my part. Tracing lines of that sort is one of my pastimes.”
“Fascinating,” Acair said sincerely. “You must turn up some interesting things.”
Coimheadair huffed a little in pleasure. “I must admit that is the case more often than not. Ionad-teàrmainn is the land across the great bay of Sealladh from Bruadair, but I’m guessing Lord Acair, that you must know that already.”
Acair was grateful he’d had the foresight to plant himself firmly on his stool. No more tipping backward with legs and arms waving frantically in the air. No wonder Sladaiche wanted revenge. He was likely still smarting from having endured the same.
“I just discovered it recently,” Acair managed, wishing thatrecentlymeant a score of years earlier instead ofjust now. He wouldn’t have chosen a different place to build a house, certainly, but he might have been more inclined to have kept watch for former neighbors with murderous intentions.
“I believe in their language, the name meansrefuge. Their history is full of wars and strife with Wychweald, of all places. Lord Acair, I heard tell you were considering settling there, though ’tis a bit close to Bruadair for comfort, if I’m not wrong?”
“You’re not wrong,” Acair agreed faintly. “And aye, I did build a house there.”
“What did you call it?”
“Tèarmann,” Acair said, ruthlessly suppressing the urge to shift uncomfortably. Naming a home was perhaps a foolish thing, but there was a part of him—perhaps a very large part—that had wished for something…well, something different.
“Sanctuary,” Coimheadair said with a smile. “Apt, if I might be so bold, and very lovely. I didn’t realize you knew any of their tongue, though I’m not surprised.”
“I didn’t,” Acair managed. “I believe I might want to learn a bit.” And bya bit, he meant more than just making a derivative of something he’d found carved into the ruins of a foundation stone he’d had tossed in the rubbish heap before his own foundations had been laid.
“We had a lexicon, rather heavy and substantial, though I’d have to look for it. Their language is almost forgotten, though dredging it up might be something you’d be interested in.” The prince recrossed his legs. “Very fine horse people there, of course, which, Mistress Léirsinn, might appeal to you. Unfortunately, there was trouble several centuries ago. The exact dates escape me, but I could find them later, if you like.”
“Brilliant idea,” Acair put in, deciding he might have to retrieve that lexicon he’d reshelved so badly.
The prince frowned at him, no doubt on principle, then continued. “Tosdach of Briàghde was traveling through An Caol with his son—”
“Tosdach?” Léirsinn. “My grandfather? Er, I mean—”
“Your step-father’s father? Yes, that is correct. His son, your step-father Saoradh, met your mother as he and his father were traveling hereabouts. Your mother was a delightful woman, my dear, and having three young children…” He smiled gently. “I believe, romantic that I am, that it was love at first sight. Saoradh didn’t have your father’s eye for horses, of course, but perhaps that didn’t matter. There is a part of me that always believed that your mother was the keener horsewoman. Not to disparage your sire, of course.”
“Was she from An Caol, then?” Acair asked. He might have thought the prince a very silly man, but His Royal Highness did have a way of sniffing out connections that even Fionne of Fàs might have admired.
“Fògarrach,” Coimheadair said. “Near An Cèin, which I’m sure you know. An Caol was originally settled by the last few stragglers from Ionad-teàrmainn, which you might not know.”
“I didn’t,” Acair said. “Your research is impressive, Your Highness.”
The prince looked pleased. “Fògarrach’s people aren’t elvish, but there are the occasional star-crossed love matches. I believe Ceannairceach of Léige can attest to the lure of that.”
Acair chuckled politely. “I believe she can and I paid a steep price for her happiness.”
“So I hear. Léirsinn, my dear, a glass of sherry perhaps?”
“I’m fine—”
A bellowing in the distance that sounded far too much like the call of a hunting horn had the prince jumping to his feet. Acair was almost tempted to mention that His Highness looked a bit like a fox who knew his time was up, but alas, he had grown soft so he forbore. He was beginning to suspect he would never again be his old self, full of vim, vigor, and acerbic remarks.
“My father,” Prince Coimheadair announced. “You should hide.” He pointed to a tapestry to the right of the fireplace. “There’s a closet behind that. My sire will never look.”
Acair caught the books the prince tossed at him and leapt with Léirsinn toward safety. His Highness held the tapestry for them until Acair managed to find the latch and open the door, then he dropped it. They barely had time to stuff themselves inside and pull the door to before the braying reached the library itself.
