“Where in blazes did you find that?” the king demanded.
The spell simply vanished as if it hadn’t been there. Acair leaned over with his hands on his knees and fought not to lose his supper right there. He sucked in desperately needed breaths for a moment or two, then heaved himself upright, fully expecting to find the king striding out to chastise his grandson. But Uachdaran wasn’t watching Aonarach, nor was he wearing an expression of fury.
Acair found that the king was watching him without any expression at all.
“That spell, Grandfather?” Aonarach asked mildly. “I can’t remember exactly. I overheard someone using it recently, but I seem to have missed the final few words.”
“Daft child, have you learned nothing from watching this bastard’s father?” Uachdaran asked.
“Aye, what not to do if one wants the ultimate prize.”
Acair folded his arms very deliberately over his chest and looked at the king’s grandson as if he’d been a butler who had just spilled a bit of wine on his best shirt. What he wanted to do was gape at the fool and demand to know where he had found a spell that was uncomfortably similar to the one Cruihniche of Fàs had written in Léirsinn’s book.
Where in the hell had the lad come bythat?
“This is an outrage,” the king said. “But outrages are best left for daytime, I always say. We’ll discuss this tomorrow after breakfast.”
Acair felt as if he’d been suddenly dropped into a dinner party where he knew no one and the usual rules of decorum were completely changed. Uachdaran of Léige had a reputation for dealing out immediate justice, not putting it off until after the next meal.
He stopped just short of scratching his head over what seemed so profoundly odd about the situation—and not odd in a way that left him wanting to indulge in a sardonic smile over someone else’s having been maneuvered into place for nefarious purposes. It seemed, oddly enough, that Uachdaran had been wanting to rifle through his grandson’s pockets—magically speaking—to see what sorts of foul things the lad was keeping there and had been waiting for just the right mage to come along—
He felt his mouth fall open in what he was certain was a terribly unattractive manner. He had just been used like an everyday handkerchief—not even a monogrammed sort—with intention of being subsequently tossed aside without care.
Thatwas offensive.
Not that he hadn’t done that kind of thing to others more than once in the past, but he’d had good reason and the mage—perhaps mages and a handful of crown-wearing lads, his memory occasionally failed him on those kinds of details—had deserved what he’d gotten. But surely King Uachdaran followed some sort of monarchial standard when it came to making use of his guests in such a callous fashion.
More to the point, why was the king allowing his grandson to show off his wares, as it were, when those wares were so perilous?
“Sleep for what’s left of the night,” Uachdaran ordered brusquely. “Or, in your case, Master Acair, don’t. I still owe you for a very large number of sleepless nights.”
Acair cleared his throat and tried not to choke on his next words. “I apologize, Your Majesty. I’ve been a bit busy—”
“You’ll unbusy yourself and be grateful if I leave you alive enough to do so. Go put those rivers back where they belong and stop using the others that run under my hall.”
Acair nodded. He’d caused the king sleepless nights over more than one thing and he was definitely at the man’s mercy.
“As you say, Your Majesty, I’ll need to still be breathing to huff out the odd spell or two.”
“I said I’d leave you alive and so I shall. But that will change abruptly if I find you in my solar, horse or no horse.”
“I wouldn’t dream of intruding there,” Acair said.
The king actually rolled his eyes. “Your ability to lie is only eclipsed by your cache of truly disgusting spells.”
Acair would have relished the compliment, but his need to correct the record took precedence.
“I never lie,” he said. “’Tis my greatest failing.”
The king grunted. “I’m certain that’s what you tell yourself. Mistress Léirsinn, bring your lad back here tomorrow and have him teach you how to manage your fire-making. He has skill enough for that, I’ll warrant. Aonarach, come along.”
Acair didn’t spare the breath to protest, mostly because the king had already walked away, his grandson in tow. He also didn’t argue when Léirsinn caught him before he went down to his knees, though that was a near thing. He put his arms around her, leaned his forehead against hers, and shook right along with her.
“Forgive me,” he said, giving voice to those accursed words as easily as if he’d been doing the like since the very moment he could speak. “In truth, I wish you hadn’t seen any of that.”
She pushed away far enough to draw his arm around her shoulders, then put her other arm around his waist.
“You talk too much,” she said.
