He held it up to the light, that sparkling thing that resembled a delicate piece of filigreed gold. It was as perfect as the day he’d fashioned it, which he knew shouldn’t have surprised him. He had intended it to last for several centuries.
He could remember the afternoon of its creation with perfect clarity simply because he’d been at his own home that he rarely visited, sitting in his own private solar in front of the fire, and contemplating the vicissitudes of life. It had occurred to him that finding oneself in a tight spot now and again wasn’t an experience limited to mages who were fools. He had never intended to be without magic, but he’d also been very cognizant that the world could be a dodgy place. His mother had muttered on more than one occasion something about a pinch of prevention is worth more than a handful of faery wings or rot of that sort. He’d never seen his mother caught unawares and he’d been fairly certain that even Ruamharaiche’s well hadn’t caught his father entirely flat-footed, so hiding the odd spell in places where he wouldn’t find himself without absolutely dire need had seemed like a prudent idea at the time.
That he needed the like at the moment was absolutely appalling.
He came back to himself to realize Léirsinn had crossed the solar and come to a stop next to him. She was looking at the spell between his fingers with an expression on her face that he couldn’t quite identify, but perhaps she was seeing things he couldn’t. He’d seen that sort of look blossom into a bout of screaming—and indulged in the same himself, truth be told—so he quickly reached out and put his hand on her arm.
“’Tis only a spell,” he whispered.
She shook her head as if she attempted to shake off the effects of drink that had been too strong. She looked at him in shock.
“It’s beautiful,” she managed.
“Well,” he said, wondering if he should be offended or not, “I’m not completely without the odd redeeming attribute.”
“Did you make that?” she asked in surprise.
He should definitely have been offended, he decided, but he just couldn’t muster up the effort. He settled for a scowl. “Is that so unthinkable?”
She looked at him in a way that reminded him so much of Soilléir of Cothromaiche, he flinched.
“You made that,” she said, as if she simply couldn’t believe it of him.
“Shocking, isn’t it?”
She shook her head, waving aside his words in frustration. “Nay, not that the spell isn’t beautiful, because it is. I mean . . .” She looked at him as if she’d never seen him before. “You did that. Rather, you’re able to do that.”
“A trifle,” he said dismissively, deciding abruptly it was less unsettling to be offended than it was to realize he was on the verge of coloring discreetly. “But feel free to heap more accolades upon my deserving head. I’ve had a rough go of things over the past few months.”
“I don’t think your arrogance needs anything added to it.”
He was a bloody braggart, true. He looked at her knowingly. “I believe you might swoon.”
“At the moment, I believe you might be right.”
He tucked the spell into the purse at his belt, then looked at her. “We should go whilst we still are able to. I have everything I need.”
She looked at him once more in consternation, then extinguished her candle and set it on the mantel. He took her hand, led her toward the door, then came to an abrupt and rather ungainly halt.
Damn, and so close to being gone.
He felt Léirsinn press herself close to his left side whilst that damned minder spell cowered behind him to his right. Léirsinn leaned up to whisper to him.
“I’m afraid to ask.”
“Wise,” he said, not because he was particularly spare with words, but because he knew what he was facing there.
His spell made no comment, but he hadn’t expected anything else.
Every light in the damned solar suddenly blazed to life with a crispness that didn’t surprise him in the slightest. He might have been tempted to do the same thing in their place, which he wasn’t entirely sure he wouldn’t be doing—and sooner rather than later.
“And here I thought we were going to escape death,” Léirsinn murmured.
Acair had hoped so as well, but apparently not. Death was waiting there by the doorway, dressed in a perfectly pressed, starched-collared gown and boots that buttoned up the side. He knew about that preferred style of boot because he’d had ample opportunity to examine several pairs of them over the years as they’d kicked him in the arse on his way through the front gates.
At least he could say, with the exception of that one trip over the back garden wall where he’d made such a hash of his trousers, he’d managed to be ejected out the front gates.
He had the feeling the only place he was going to see this time around was the insides of his grandmother’s dungeon.
He cleared his throat and prepared to make introductions.
Fifteen
Léirsinn wasn’t sure what she expected Acair’s grandmother to look like, but the woman at the doorway wasn’t it.
Cruihniche of Fàs was slight, elegant, and dressed so perfectly that Léirsinn felt as if she had weeks’ worth of dung on her boots, not just a bit of dirt she’d done her best to leave behind just outside the back door. It had seemed a bit odd to her at first how the house itself had seemed on edge, as if it feared someone might walk through and find something out of place. At the moment, she understood completely.
She could hardly believe it, but if rumor had it aright, that delicate woman there was the sister of Cailleach of Cael and the mother of Fionne of Fàs. Léirsinn had no idea how the branches of their family tree twisted themselves around, but something definitely had taken a radical turn somewhere.
Acair stepped up and discreetly drew her behind him. “Grandmother,” he said, making her a low bow.
“You odious little rodent,” Cruihniche said crisply. “How dare you show your visage, no matter how handsome it might be, at my door!”
Acair cleared his throat. “If we’re going to be entirely accurate, Grandmother, I’m not at your door—”
“You’re in my private solar,” she shouted, “which you well know. I refuse, Acair, to indulge your penchant for semantics.” She motioned him sharply aside. “Let me see who you have hiding behind your sorry self.”
“Ah, Grandmother,” Acair began.
“Now, Acair.”
He sighed, then looked over his shoulder. “Sorry,” he mouthed.
Léirsinn shook her head in answer. Either both of them were going to escape their current locale, or neither of them would.
Acair sighed, then took a step to his right. “May I present my trusted companion, Léirsinn of Sàraichte. Léirsinn, my beloved and esteemed grandmother, Cruihniche of Fàs.”
Léirsinn watched Cruihniche sweep her from head to toe with an assessing glance, then freeze. She looked as if she’d recently taken a hearty bite of a lemon, then her jaw suddenly went slack.
“Oh . . . I see.”