“I can scarce wait.”
“You say that now,” he agreed, “but tell me what you think after I make my list. What she is is a small, elegant woman, well-spoken, and old as the hills. She has a very long dining table that is endlessly filled by royalty, nobility, and hangers-on who wait months for the opportunity to take a seat. Her chef is beyond compare, her wine-steward without peer, and I’ve heard but never verified personally that she has wee faeries tending a greenhouse full of herbs and flowers used for beautifying delicate ices and cakes.”
Léirsinn smiled. “That doesn’t sound too bad.”
“I’ve barely left the gates, if you know what I mean. What she is not is kind, merciful, welcoming, or lacking spells that send shivers of dismay down the spines of any number of rulers in the world.”
“Does she use them?” Léirsinn asked, then shook her head. “Ignore that, mostly because I can’t believe I’ve asked that.”
He smiled briefly. “You’ve resigned yourself to the realities of several things with a marked lack of grumbling, something I’m sure my mother made note of. My grandmother isn’t opposed to using spells, but she’s as spare with their use as she is with the amount of tea she’ll put in a pot to steep for family. Weak stuff indeed.”
“Stingy or uninterested?”
“Choosey,” he said. “She’s as up to her elbows in foul deeds as the rest of us, but that tends to be overlooked in deference to the exclusivity of her salon. Or so it has been in the past.” He frowned thoughtfully. “I’m beginning to think I’ve been too preoccupied with my own mischief to take the time to truly appreciate her accomplishments.”
“Tell me again why we aren’t going to the front door and knocking?”
He shot her an uncomfortable look. “I might have, as they say, nicked a knickknack or two.”
She felt her mouth fall open. “You stole from your own grandmother?”
“It was retaliation for her having criticized one of my favorite cravats,” he said promptly. “I took exception to her comments, perhaps a bit too loudly, which left her chasing me from her solar, then sending minions after me over her spike-topped wall. The hastiness of my exit resulted in a great and rather embarrassing rent in my favorite trousers. Revenge was imperative.” He shrugged. “I will be forthcoming and say that one of her doilies was also the price for a particularly coveted seat at an extremely exclusive table.”
She could only gape at him. “You great whacking snob.”
“The supper was unparalleled.”
“As was, I’m sure, the company.”
“I fear I must agree.”
She felt her eyes narrow before she could stop them. “There are times—more often than not—that I can hardly restrain myself from stabbing you.”
He stopped, lifted her gloved hand, and kissed the back of it. Gallantly, it had to be said.
“That was before,” he said.
“Before what?” she asked with a snort.
“Before I encountered a pitchfork-wielding, red-haired dragoness, and that is all the sentiment you’ll have from me tonight. I fear to become too maudlin, lest you lose your resolve to vault over walls with me, something I think you shouldn’t be doing.”
“You know I’m not going to stay behind so don’t waste your breath,” she said shortly. “You told Mansourah you were here for your granny’s book, but I suspect that isn’t the only reason.”
He tucked her hand under his elbow and nodded up the path. “It isn’t, though I’m not particularly keen to discuss anything else lest listening ears I’m unable to see at the moment overhear my plans. You might want to keep an eye open for what we just saw recently, if you catch my drift.”
She wasn’t sure if he was referring to pieces of his soul or something else, but she supposed having a look at whatever caught her eye as he concentrated on other business couldn’t go wrong. “Do you think you left something behind here?”
He blew his hair out of his eyes, then shook his head. “My dignity, more often than I care to admit, but none of that other rubbish. The worst I combined here was plotting thefts whilst enduring grandmotherly lectures about my failings as a mage and a gentleman.”
“Then perhaps I’ll just keep my eyes open for pieces of your pride.”
He shot her a look. “You are far too free with those kinds of barbs at my expense.”
“I am not afraid of you,” she said, realizing as she said so that she believed it fully. “Besides, I have yet to see anything that leads me to believe you are anything more than your average showy stallion.”
He squeezed her hand. “I only hope such will always be the case, poor soft-hearted sap that I have been reduced to.” He nodded toward the house. “I think we might safely attempt a vault over the walls if you like, or we could simply try the gate.”
“The gate sounds more reasonable,” she said. “I might need a bit more practice before I start hurling myself over things.”
He nodded, then paused once more. “One last thing that should be noted is that I am here under protest. If I had to make a list of places I didn’t want to go, this would be the very last.”
“Dead last?”
He seemed to consider. “Let’s put it near the bottom—or the top, depending on your perspective. There are places I wouldn’t set foot in again if my life depended on it, which is a different list entirely. Places where I could go but really don’t want to go? My grandmother’s house is somewhere on that list, very near the top. Her hall is dangerous, but not necessarily lethal.” He paused, then looked at her. “Of course, that list was made with a pen dipped in a pot of magic, if you follow.”
She had to admit to herself that she did, unfortunately. “Isn’t she Mistress Cailleach’s sister?”
“You would think that would benefit us here, but I fear not. They are sisters, but there’s a reason my great-auntie is as far south as she can take herself without getting soggy. Well, that and my great-aunt is in Sàraichte because she thinks she might find someone with whom to have a—how shall we term it—ah, yes, a bit of a romance.”
“Mistress Cailleach,” Léirsinn managed.
“The very same.”
“A romance,” she repeated.
“The mind boggles, doesn’t it?”
She smiled in spite of herself. “It does.”
He didn’t move. “Should something happen to me, I want you to get yourself to her solar. I may or may not have taken a spell and slipped it into a crack on the underside of her favorite chair.”
“A spell?” she asked. “Written down?”
He shook his head. “One like what I couldn’t find in Odhran’s workroom. It will work, as that one would have, without any aid from me.”
She nodded absently, because she wasn’t sure she had the stomach to talk any longer about things she wanted to avoid, then it occurred to her just what he had said. She looked at him and had to make an effort to keep her mouth from falling open.
“You could use it, then,” she said in surprise.
“In theory.”
“And live.”
“One could hope,” he agreed.
“No wonder you wanted that other spell.”