He thought he might have to do more than just talk to keep her safe in the future. He didn’t anticipate another encounter with the king in his chamber of horrors, but should it occur, he would absolutely keep her out of the damned spot.
It occurred to him a short time later as he faced the guardsmen standing in front of her door, that locking her in that bedchamber might suit. With any luck at all, he might be able to enlist the aid of those lads there, one of whom he had most definitely encountered before.
“My apologies,” he said without thinking, then shook his head. Three in one night. The world was truly going to split in two soon.
The dwarvish guardsmen didn’t look to be in a forgiving mood, especially the one who looked as if he might be suffering from a colossal headache. The Nerochian coins Acair slipped out of his sleeve and handed over seemed to at least soothe the worst of the ruffled feathers. He walked into Léirsinn’s chamber with her, then didn’t protest when she pushed him over onto a sofa that looked a far sight cleaner than how he’d left it. Magic had its uses, to be sure.
She brought wine and poured herself a glass with a very unsteady hand. If she downed the entire goblet without pause, he was too much the gentleman to make any untoward remarks about it. It helped, he supposed, that he was also dispensing with good manners to simply drink from the bottle with rather rustic and uncouth gulps.
“Why did the king do that?” she asked.
“Beyond giving me a chance to preen and display for you?” he asked wearily. “I haven’t a clue.”
That wasn’t the truth, of course, and he was appalled that the lie had tripped so easily off his tongue. He would be damned, however, before he voiced his thoughts.
“I thought he was going to kill you.”
“He doesn’t dare,” Acair said seriously. “He wants that horse very badly.”
She was silent for quite a while. “Those were very vile things going on below,” she said finally.
“I am a very vile mage.”
Her only response was to yawn, which he supposed was rather benign all things considered.
“I think you’re quite a lovely man with terrible spells,” she said sleepily. “You take the bed. I’ll guard your granny’s notes.”
“They’re under your pillow,” he said, “and I am a gentleman. I’ll take the floor.”
She leaned over and put her head on his shoulder. “Acair, I don’t think I can move.”
And if she continued to say his name that way, without curses and hastily spat charms of ward attached, he wasn’t sure what he was going to do.
She fished about in her pocket, then handed him his spell of death. “You might want that.”
What he wanted was a moment to properly contemplate the woman’s ability to encounter so many awful things without flinching, but he thought sleep might serve him better. He shoved his rune of death down the front of his boot, then caught Léirsinn before she simply tipped over off the sofa. He put her to bed, took off her slippers, then covered her up with a blanket.
He stretched out on the floor in front of the fire. Guardsmen were lurking outside the door, Léirsinn was obviously too weary to work any magic that might go awry, and his spellish shadow was sitting on a stool at his feet, watching him with those soulless eyes.
“Not to worry,” he told it, “He bested me as well.”
The spell drew its feet up onto the stool with it, wrapped its arms around its knees, and looked almost as unsettled as he felt.
He looked up at the ceiling and suspected sleep wouldn’t come easily, despite how weary he was. It had been years, decades really, since he’d had so few reserves that using magic had left him that exhausted. Then again, fighting off the king’s assault had left him digging deeper than he had in almost that long.
Then there had been that spell of Aonarach’s…
He closed his eyes. One more day. One more day for Léirsinn to recover and for him to slip in and out of Uachdaran’s solar to see if a piece of his soul might have been left there.
Then they would leave Léige one way or another.
Six
Léirsinn tossed another forkful of hay into the empty stall where the king’s prized bribe was wont to spend his days, then paused to rest. ’Twas possible she should have remained in bed for another day, but she hadn’t been able to. Not just the habit of tending horses every day without fail, but the chance for a distraction from the chaos in her head had driven her outside at dawn.
She set aside the pitchfork and ushered the stallion back into his stall. She shut the door, but lingered there, pretending to fuss with the latch. That left her looking very busy, something she hoped would discourage anyone—namely King Uachdaran—from reminding her that he’d wanted her to go below with Acair and learn to use her magic. With any luck, she might be able to put that off for quite a while.
Besides, it wasn’t as though she didn’t know any mighty mages capable of doing anything she might need done. She turned and leaned back against the stall door where she could look at one of those across the aisle snoozing peacefully atop a bale of hay. She folded her arms over her chest and studied him dispassionately.
