Cruihniche leveled a look at him. “Do you truly want to brawl with me in front of my own hearth, child?”
“Nay, but I would endlessly sing your praises if you’d just let me make one more brief, casual study of this marvelous, one-of-a-kind foray into perfection on my way out the door.”
“If I let you near the door, you’ll just bolt.”
He nodded. “I might, but at least then you would see me fleeing and know where to direct your thugs. Perhaps I don’t need to point out that I could have simply turned myself into a discreet little breeze—”
“If you think, grandson, that I don’t have the magic to keep you firmly trapped in your own current shape,” she said mildly, “think again. If you further think I haven’t the stomach to do worse, well, you’re a disappointment and nothing but.”
Acair blinked. “Could you? Or, more to the point, would you?”
Léirsinn found Acair’s grandmother looking at her. “This is your doing, isn’t it? This newfound politeness on his part?”
Léirsinn hardly knew where to begin denying anything to do with Acair’s current condition. “Ah—”
“I sense a gentler edge to his general ruthlessness, which I find alarming. Did you do that?”
Léirsinn shook her head and pointed behind her at the spell that she didn’t have to look for any longer. If it wasn’t two paces behind Acair, it was lingering at her elbow.
Cruihniche looked at the spell, then lifted an eyebrow. “Interesting bit of business, that,” she said slowly.
“Any suggestions on how to rid myself of it?” Acair asked quickly. “It is greatly hampering my ability to make mischief, and we both know how that grieves you.”
His grandmother turned her attention back to him and her expression darkened. “I almost forgot about you in the excitement of encountering something that wants you dead. And to answer your surprisingly astute query, aye, I damned well could keep you in your own blasted shape and I don’t need any spells of essence changing to do so.”
“Your sister,” he ventured, “Cailleach—”
“I only have one sister, dolt! You needn’t remind me of my connection to her or her name.”
Léirsinn would have smiled, but she didn’t imagine that would improve matters any. She decided that perhaps it was best to just apply herself to her tea and stay out of the fray. She wasn’t as adept at reading humans as she was horses, but she would have laid money on that woman there having a soft spot for her grandson. A very small one, true, but perhaps enough to get them back out the door while they were still breathing.
“Your sister who admires you to the very depths of her being said ours was the power I should be seeking,” Acair said carefully, “not my father’s.”
“Bah, Gair is a spoilt little boy,” Cruihniche said dismissively. “Why my daughter thought him to be such a prize I don’t know, but who listens to their mothers in matters of the heart?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Acair ventured.
“I imagine you don’t listen to her about anything, which is a mistake,” Cruihniche said. She considered him then frowned again. “What do you want from that book?”
“I’m looking for a small list of mages who are up to no good.”
“Small?” Cruihniche snorted. “Wishful thinking there, my lad. Perhaps you would do better to narrow things down. What do these mages do besides wreak your sort of havoc?”
Acair took a deep breath. “They steal souls.”
Léirsinn looked at his grandmother and was surprised to watch her go suddenly quite still. If the woman was breathing, she would have been surprised.
“Léirsinn, hand me your writing things.”
Léirsinn didn’t argue. She pulled out the notebook and pencil Fionne of Fàs had given her, then navigated the teapot and a set of stacked trays containing sweets she hadn’t dared taste to hand Mistress Cruihniche both. The woman studied Acair for a moment or two, then jotted down a few things. She kept at it long enough that Léirsinn felt safe looking at Acair. He was rather green, something she could see quite well thanks to all the light from candles, lamps, and a roaring fire.
A fire that seemed to have a voice.
She shifted and looked at the flames, listening until she felt as if she were no longer at Cruihniche of Fàs’s tea table. She was lost in a fire that sang something that tugged at her soul in a way she couldn’t identify properly. Longing, or perhaps a need for something she couldn’t name.
She felt as if she were being pulled into a dream.
The sensation alarmed her profoundly. It was one thing to watch otherworldly things happening to Acair and their horse; it was another thing entirely to have those sorts of things happen to her. She clutched the edges of the table and dragged herself back from a place she wasn’t sure she wanted to go.
It was then that she realized that matters at the table had not improved any. Acair and his grandmother were glaring at each other, apparently engaging in last-minute negotiations about things Léirsinn wasn’t sure she wanted to know about.
Cruihniche suddenly handed Léirsinn back her pencil, then threw the small book at her grandson.
“Be grateful.”
Acair opened the book, then he froze. He lifted his head and looked at his grandmother in surprise. Léirsinn had rarely seen him not have at least something to say, but at the moment he seemed speechless.
Cruihniche laughed in a manner that was so reminiscent of Mistress Cailleach that Léirsinn could finally accept the familial connection. The woman nodded.
“That ought to keep you out of my private things for a few days at least. I’ve given you a few spells that might or might not turn on you and destroy you, along with a wee map that might lead you places you’ll definitely regret having gone.” She shrugged. “All the same to me.” She looked at Léirsinn. “What can I do for you?”
“Ah,” Léirsinn said, scrambling for something useful to say, “let us go free?”
Cruihniche laughed in a voice that was definitely reminiscent of Mistress Cailleach. “I will, if only to watch things chase your would-be lover there over the walls.” She studied Léirsinn for a moment or two. “I believe, little one, that you might want to consider trying to acquire a few things that make you uncomfortable. Don’t let Fear dissuade you, no matter how loudly he bellows. I tend to favor a different companion—let’s call her Revenge—but that’s just me.”
Léirsinn could only gape at her.
Cruihniche laughed again. “Two souls rendered mute in one evening. It isn’t a record for me, of course, but satisfying nonetheless.” She pointed a long, bony, ring-encrusted finger toward the door. “Out, before I change my mind and slay you both.”
Léirsinn supposed it would be rude as well as a bit dangerous to bolt without Acair, so she waited as he made certain everyone was politely helped up from the tea table. If he then wasted no time heading for the doorway and she followed hard on his heels, she didn’t imagine anyone would fault them for it.
They weren’t quick enough. His grandmother caught them both before Acair could open the solar door.