“And if I might now offer that apol—” Acair put in, then he shut his mouth.
Léirsinn caught the tail-end of the look the king had sent him and supposed he was wise to not offer anything but silence at the moment. The king turned an only slightly less skeptical look on her.
“Where did you encounter him?” he asked.
“He was shoveling manure in my uncle’s barn,” she said.
“Was he?” the king said, looking slightly more interested. “Tell me that went on for quite some time.”
“Not as long as she would have liked,” Acair put in, “and if I might encourage perhaps a less-visible presence here?” He lowered his voice. “I’m being hunted.”
“Well, of course you’re being hunted,” the king said with a snort. “Anyone with any sense wants you dead. Dionadair, take the lads and have a look around to see who we might want to reward for their good intentions. I can contain Fionne’s runt for a bit myself.”
Léirsinn didn’t flinch as the king came to stand directly in front of them only because she’d spent a lifetime not giving any indication of her unease. She had to admit to being overwhelmed, though, by the sheer beauty of the monarch in front of her.
“’Tis his glamour,” Acair murmured. “Powerful stuff, that.”
The king leaned closer. “As is my magic, whelp, so you’d best not be reaching for any of your nasty little spells. Oh, and what do we have here?”
Léirsinn felt Acair’s spell shiver a bit before it slipped between them and made the king a low, shadowy bow. If it shared some sort of silent dialogue with the old elf, she wouldn’t have been surprised. What did surprise her was how it deserted them both and went to hover at King Sìle’s elbow.
“Yet something else that wants to do you in,” the king said pleasantly. “I approve. Now, Mistress Léirsinn of An Caol, what is your role in this quest?”
Léirsinn realized at that moment that she was past surprise when it came to what those of a magical bent might know about her, though the place where she’d been born was certainly nothing she had ever shared with anyone.
She paused. She had told Acair’s mother, true, but she suspected Fionne of Fàs didn’t visit all that often with the monarch standing in front of her.
“I’m just the stable hand,” she said.
Sìle studied her in silence for a moment or two, then nodded thoughtfully. “I think I might be wise to leave this alone, but I also believe that my aid will be required. I will do what I can.”
“Very gracious, Your Majesty,” Acair said, sounding very surprised.
“I wasn’t talking to you,” the king growled, “though I understand you’re carrying one of my spells in your black heart.” He huffed a bit. “Don’t want it getting pilfered by some lesser mage before I can pull it from your chest myself.”
“You’ve been talking to your grandson,” Acair said.
“I have, and you may cease with those hushing motions you’re making—eh, what, Dionadair?”
Léirsinn noticed only then that the king’s guardsman had returned. He stepped up to the king’s side and leaned in to have a quiet word with his liege. King Sìle frowned.
“I believe you would be wise to attend to your affairs here quickly and be on your way. I’ll remain long enough to keep your lady company whilst you do what you must.”
“’Tis beyond what I could ask, Your Majesty,” Acair said, “but perhaps you might want to reconsider a safer locale—”
“Spare me your concern,” the king said shortly. “There is little left in this world that leaves me pacing the floor at night, though I understand from my good friend Uachdaran that such is not the case for him. I also understand you’re responsible for that, so I won’t stand in your way of fixing it. Dionadair, Rùnach told me this little fiend cannot use his magic, so go with him and aid him with what he needs.”
“As you will, my liege.”
Léirsinn watched Acair walk off with the king’s captain and reminded herself, as the silence grew uncomfortably long, that she wasn’t unaccustomed to important lords and their ilk. Then again, the lords her uncle entertained weren’t all that important and they definitely didn’t simply drop their crowns into a place of invisibility, then mutter threats under their breaths in languages that sounded like running water.
“That is an interesting charm you wear.”
Léirsinn looked at the king in surprise, then put her hand over the dragon charm Mistress Cailleach had given her. It occurred to her then that it was lying atop her cloak, visible, even though she usually kept it tucked away against her skin. Perhaps it, like her magic, had recognized someone it had an affinity with.
“I know the man who forged it,” the king continued. “I believe he tinkers with such trifles whilst waiting for his horseshoes to cool.”
“Does he?” she asked, beginning to understand why Acair’s mother was forever reaching for a notebook. She suspected she might come close to filling one with just the appalling things she’d heard over the past few weeks. “Is he a farrier, then?”
