He thought, however, that the healing of the woman in his arms would require quite a bit more than moral support.
Léirsinn opened her eyes. “Is it…finished?”
He thought he might have made a different noise that was less like a howl and more like a sob, but perhaps he could slay the two on either side of him later if they noised that about.
“Aye, darling,” he said. “’Tis finished and all the credit goes to you for it.”
“That was six words.”
“Indeed it was, my love. Well done, you. Now, close your eyes and rest. We’ll see you made whole.”
“Hurry,” the woman said fiercely.
He watched the man take hold of the bolt, then he nodded sharply and used that same Fadairian spell he’d used on Léirsinn’s arm at his house. The man pulled the bolt free as he spoke the last word. The wound was healed, he could see that through the rent in her shirt, but she didn’t stir.
He did howl then.
He saw a different hand reach out and rest on her head. He looked up and found Soilléir of Cothromaiche kneeling there next to that flame-haired wench.
“Again,” he said quietly. “I’ll help. ’Tis the bolt, Acair, that has caused the damage.”
“If I had more soul,” Acair said, knowing he sounded as broken as he felt, “that wouldn’t matter.”
Soilléir nodded. “There is truth in that, but we’ll see to remedying that later.”
“I don’t care about myself, damn you!”
“I know,” Soilléir said. “You’ll need to use your grandmother’s spell this time. It will call to the magic in Léirsinn’s veins and do what’s required. Leave me room before the last word to add something of my own.”
“I’ll memorize both.”
“Of course you will.”
He realized that Soilléir wasn’t waiting for him, he was already weaving something of his own over Léirsinn. He waited, not because he wanted the man’s spell, but because he wanted the woman in his arms to be whole.
Soilléir looked at him expectantly, so he began his grandmother’s spell of reconstruction. He felt the magics surrounding his heart leap through his hands to join his grandmother’s spell in a way that left him, frankly, breathless. He paused for Soilléir to add his bit, then carried on and was rather grateful to have the prince speak the last word of his own spell along with him.
He saw after the fact exactly how Soilléir had turned his grandmother’s spell into essence changing and wondered if that whoreson there knew what he’d revealed.
Léirsinn gasped as if she’d been struck, then let out her breath as slowly and peacefully as a babe. She breathed a time or two, easily, then opened her eyes and looked at him.
“I feel better.”
He gathered her into his arms and added Soilléir to the list of people he would slay if they ever spread about the way he sobbed into the hair of the woman who had so thoroughly stolen his black heart.
He thought he might have wept for rather an embarrassingly long time.
It occurred to him eventually how uncomfortable she had to be, so he stopped smothering her and helped her sit up.
She looked around herself, then froze. Acair supposed that might have been courtesy of what was visible thanks to the werelight Soilléir so thoughtfully provided. He would have crawled to his feet and helped her to stand, but he found she needed no aid. She leapt to her feet so quickly, she almost toppled him over in her haste.
If she hauled him to his and almost knocked him into the fountain, he couldn’t blame her.
She looked from the woman to the man and back.
Then she gasped out a hearty curse.
Well, that seemed to be the thing to do, apparently. He stepped back and watched as the three of them became one mass of weeping humanity. He wished heartily for a place to sit, but supposed the edge of the fountain was definitely not going to be his perch of choice. He looked at the pool of water there and found even just the sight of it to be profoundly disturbing. He looked at Soilléir.
