He shrugged. “There was one under a crock of butter in Uachdaran’s kitchen. I flattered the most susceptible-looking kitchen maid for it.”
“You’re absolutely incorrigible.”
“And my grandmother is absolutely terrifying. Facing Uachdaran’s fury seemed a much more pleasant prospect than showing up to tea at her table without something to appease her.”
She shook her head and turned back to the pile. The remaining items consisted of that golden wafer slathered with a self-casting spell of death and a stub of a pencil. He was his mother’s son, certainly. She nudged the gems into piles by color, ignoring the fact that she’d done the same thing on the floor in front of his mother’s fire very late one evening. If she hadn’t, if he hadn’t grumbled over the fact that Soilléir of Cothromaiche’s aid seemed to be limited to doling out runes, she wouldn’t have known to use that same rune to call for Soilléir’s aid, and they certainly wouldn’t be enjoying a hot fire and full stomachs at the moment.
“You’re not afraid anyone will rob you?” she asked, looking at him.
“Me? Never. That said, I only carry a few things I value and tuck others in select spots.” He paused, then shook his head. “I think I might regret having asked Odhran to keep that rune for me, though he wasn’t without his own store of magic.”
She sat back and looked at him. “Who slew him in truth, do you think? That mage in the glade?”
“I’ve wondered,” he said slowly, “though I can’t imagine why unless ’twas simply for spite. Though he certainly has the power to do so, his spells aren’t terribly impressive.”
“Didn’t he force Mansourah back into his own shape?” She listened to the words come out of her mouth and didn’t bother to marvel over them any longer. The descent into madness was complete.
“That isn’t difficult,” Acair said. “I’ve done it scores of times. Now, dear old Gran could do the same and keep a lad in a shape he didn’t care for quite a bit longer than he liked, but, again, that’s essence meddling for you.” He nodded knowingly. “Makes you wonder whose pockets she’s rifled through, doesn’t it?”
She smiled in spite of herself, but couldn’t bring herself to speculate. She picked up the golden disk and watched the way the firelight glinted off it, giving no indication of what terrible spell it contained.
“How many stalls for your ponies?”
She put his rune on the table and slid it across to him, then gathered her courage. “I couldn’t let you build me a barn,” she said, though those words cost her quite a bit. “I have a little money saved with Mistress Cailleach, though.”
“I see,” he said slowly. He twisted his rune of death over his knuckles, one by one, for a moment or two, then looked at her seriously. “I understand the need to be independent.”
“I could learn to play cards.”
“Haven’t we had this conversation before?”
“That was before I saw the ocean a hundred paces from your front door, then looked back and saw that you came along with it.”
He blinked, then bowed his head and laughed. “You are going to be the ruination of me.” He shook his head and smiled. “What if I gave you the land, I build you stables to go on it, and you use your powers of persuasion with the good lord of Angesand to convince him to sell us a few steeds? You can breed them and sell them thereafter for eye-watering prices whilst I keep my hands in my own pockets, not in your clients’. Best behavior and all.”
She rose, gathered up bowls, then leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “Thatis an interesting proposal.”
“I’m thinking about more than horses,” he protested.
She could hardly believe he might be, but as she’d reminded herself earlier, she was completely out of her depth. That place was less uncomfortable than it had been before, though.
She put things in the sink, then felt her hand be taken by a man with terrible spells who had come to stand next to her. She looked at him gravely.
“I have a little money—”
“Nay,” he said.
“Shall I offer you maudlin sentiments instead?”
“And have you burn not only my house but my sweet self to cinders?”
She shook her head. “Perhaps just your heart.”
He closed his eyes briefly, then pulled her closer and wrapped his arms around her tightly.
“Damn you,” he said, sounding as if he were suffering from a bout of emotion himself. “You must cease with these vicious attacks on my good sense. There won’t be anything left of me to see to this questing business if you don’t leave me be.”
“I have the feeling you’ll survive,” she said wryly.
