“I couldn’t agree more,” Acair said. “’Tis a bit overdone of late, if you ask me, particularly that new settee—”
The chamber went rather silent. Acair supposed that was what happened when men with lesser wits were having things occur to them that required all their powers of concentration. He preferred a few gasps echoing in any given chamber before silence fell, but he was that sort of lad. Theatrics were his lifeblood.
Now, if he could learn to curb his instinct to slander poorly appointed solars when the opportunity presented itself and keep his own bloody mouth shut instead, he might have something.
Mansourah shifted in his chair and gaped at him. “You were in his solar tonight!”
Acair decided there was no point in denying it. “Someone had to make certain you didn’t have too much wine.”
“I am not Adhémar,” Mansourah growled.
“I never said you were, old thing,” Acair said soothingly. He removed the book from where it resided halfway dug into his lower back and placed it carefully on the mantel. “I had business there of my own, so I thought I might as well pop round and see that you two were safe.”
Mansourah pointed at the book. “What—and please don’t think I’m actually curious—is that?”
“It is,” Acair said slowly and distinctly, “a book.”
“I can see that!”
“It never hurts to clarify these sorts of things for those with lesser minds.” He shrugged. “Trust me, Simeon will never notice what’s missing until we’re very far away from here—”
A pounding on the door had him quickly revising his opinion of the king’s ability to sense when he’d been robbed. He tucked the book back into his belt, then rubbed his hands together.
“Time to go.”
“Time to go,” Mansourah repeated incredulously. “What do you mean—and what is that book?”
“Best you not know,” Acair said promptly. “Now, if you would be so good as to do something about my lady’s clothes?”
Léirsinn looked at Mansourah, startled. “My clothes?”
Mansourah was, as Acair found himself forced to acknowledge with regularity, a gentleman. The prince shouted a demand for a moment to prepare himself to receive guests, then looked at Léirsinn.
“My apologies in advance,” he said with a wince.
She would no doubt have protested, but before she could apparently blurt anything out, the change was made. Her gown was gone, to be replaced by very fine traveling clothes, a sturdy but obviously warm cloak, and an exceptionally handsome pair of boots. Acair didn’t bother to ask if he might have a similar outfit. He suspected Mansourah would prefer to leave him standing there in his altogether just for the sport of it. He would simply make do with less.
“I don’t suppose you’re going to bolt out the window,” Mansourah said grimly.
“It seems preferable to attempting the same through the door,” Acair said. He looked at Léirsinn. “Are you afraid of heights?”
“I love them,” she said through gritted teeth.
A fine lie, he had to admit, from a truly sporting gel. He reached for her hand.
“I’ve already been up and down a perfectly safe route tonight, so not to worry.” He looked at Mansourah. “I don’t suppose you’d be good enough to keep the rabble at bay for a few more minutes.”
Mansourah glared at him. “For Léirsinn’s sake.”
“Of course,” Acair agreed. “Let’s rendezvous at the barn. I believe I’ll make a little detour to my tailor, but that won’t take long.”
At the rate the pounding was intensifying, he suspected that door wasn’t going to last long either, so he clapped Mansourah on the shoulder, avoided a fist headed toward his own very fine nose, then hastened with Léirsinn to the window. He climbed out, helped her out onto the ledge, then spared a brief moment to reflect on the fruits of his evening’s activities. He had the feeling he was about to pay a heavy price for having tampered with Simeon of Diarmailt’s most treasured book of spells, but it wasn’t as if he’d bothered to steal the whole thing—
He paused, cursed his damnable propensity to always tell the absolute truth, then had to admit that while he should have only liberated a page or two, he had succumbed to temptation to take the whole bloody thing. He’d deposited another of the king’s books in its place, turned in a way that shouldn’t have left the man noticing the theft right off. Suspicious whoreson. If he’d been a bit more at his leisure, he would have sat down and penned a sharply worded complaint to the local monarch. Extremely bad form, that.
He stood on the ledge just to the right of the chamber’s window and made himself a mental note to compliment Mansourah of Neroche on his ability to shout in the manner of an outraged nobleman missing out on his rest whilst holding the chamber door closed long enough to give his companions time to bolt out the window. It begged the question of whether or not the lad had done that sort of thing before, but perhaps that was something that could be investigated later.
At the moment, he was busy congratulating himself on having come in that same window earlier in the evening. If he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have realized the best he would manage would be a ledge hardly wide enough to hold up a plump bird, never mind a man with escape on his mind.
He looked to his right to find Léirsinn standing there—clinging to the side of the inn, actually—with her eyes closed, looking as if she might faint. He covered her closest hand with his.
“Léirsinn,” he whispered, “there’s a roof a trio of paces to your right—”
“Are you daft?” she asked tightly. “If I move, I’ll fall!”
He decided against pointing out to her that the worst a fall might result in would be a broken bone or two. The woman didn’t care for heights, something she had let him know very clearly several times in the past.
He didn’t share her fear. He couldn’t begin to count the number of times he had gleefully thrown himself off whatever castle wall, abbey spire, or rickety bridge he’d found himself atop, waiting until the very last moment possible before changing his shape into whatever came to mind at the time. The higher the perch, the longer the drop, the more time that passed before he gave himself the power of flight, the better.
Being forced to move about as a mere mortal was extremely inconvenient.
“If you can shift your feet just a bit at a time,” he said, trying to sound as encouraging as possible, “we’ll reach that little overhang in no time at all. After that, I’ll go first, then help you down.”
“All the way to the ground?”
“It won’t be much farther than getting off the back of any number of horses you’ve mastered,” he lied. “I’m sure.”
“You’re not sure of a damned thing.”
“I am sure of several things, one of which is I can guarantee our pampered companion will be exiting the inn by way of the front door. Think on how you’ll then be able to taunt him with your exploits when he next vexes you.”