“I refuse to admit to it.”
He refused in part because he’d failed but mostly because he didn’t want any eavesdropping guardsmen to remind the king about his true offenses.
He looked at her, looked at her hand that was so close to his but so completely out of reach, then leaned his head closer to her.
“I believe I need to teach you some spells,” he whispered.
“What if I destroy the underpinnings of the palace?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time someone had tried,” he muttered, but he supposed clarifying that wasn’t the best thing to do at the moment either.
He also imagined he could refrain from pointing out that Uachdaran of Léige wasn’t as much of a purist as he might have wanted the rest of the world to know. That one knew spells . . . well, Acair wasn’t one to recoil at much of anything save a poorly cooked plate of roast potatoes, but the dwarf king’s spells—
Well, they were almost as vile as the ale he brewed, and that was saying something.
He looked at her seriously. “I had hoped we wouldn’t find ourselves in such straits.”
“I’ll muck out a few stalls in the morning,” she said. “Perhaps that will be enough.”
He didn’t hold out any hope for that. The truth was, he could only see one path in front of him and it wasn’t one he particularly wanted to walk. He was going to die, Léirsinn was full of magic she couldn’t control, and the fate of several no doubt critically important social events was in a total shambles.
Never mind the world and the chance to watch it continued to turn.
He was faintly surprised by how desperately he wanted to be a part of that. Unfortunately, he couldn’t see how that was going to be possible unless something miraculous occurred.
He looked down at Léirsinn’s hand on the other side of that invisible spell that locked him in the dungeon, then realized if he put his hand just so, it almost looked as if their hands were touching.
“It’s very dark here,” she said quietly.
“I’ll give you a spell for werelight,” he said with a sigh. “If you are determined to beat it out of me, I might tell you how to add a few things to it that scatter shadows of rodents about, just for the sheer sport of it.” He met her eyes. “If you like.”
“You are a very bad mage.”
“I am a very good mage at bad magic,” he said, wishing he’d been better at it. “But I’ll only teach you virtuous and lovely spells, if that would ease your mind.”
“I think I might like the one laced with rodent shadows.”
He smiled in spite of himself. Murder, mayhem, mischief. He knew Léirsinn would never embrace any of them fully, more particularly the murder part unless she entertained thoughts of the same with regard to Soilléir of Cothromaiche, but she might be willing to get her hands a bit dirty for the good of the cause.
“Are the king’s spells here strong?” she asked.
Ah, and there was the sticking point. He sighed deeply, then leaned his head back against the absolutely icy stone. “Unfortunately.”
“Then we’re going to die.”
“Possibly.”
“Are you honestly giving up this easily?”
He considered, then felt a bit of his old vim return. Léige was a terrible place to find oneself trapped underground, but he had extricated himself from worse places before. He might not have his magic available at the moment, but he had his wits, his fearlessness, and a horse miss who might likely burn the whole place to the ground before she found the means to apologize for starting the fire.
He looked at Léirsinn. “This might be a bit messy.”
“A bit?”
“Very,” he corrected. “But I’m going to teach you a few spells.”
She looked like she might have preferred to be learning the location of the nearest cesspit so she could begin shoveling, but the woman was nothing if not courageous. He’d seen that for himself before.
He thought he just might love her for it.
Well, that, and a few other reasons.
“Acair, are you daydreaming?”
He looked at her seriously. “Actually, I was wondering where to go after we’re free of this place. I believe it should be somewhere so drenched with romance that you’ll be in the proper frame of mind to listen to me offer up a few maudlin sentiments.”
Her mouth had fallen open, but she shut it with an audible snap. “You’re daft.”
“Besotted, as I said before.”
“Mad,” she corrected. “Absolutely barking. I don’t want any maudlin sentiments, I want spells.”
“And later?”
“I’ll think about other things later.”
He couldn’t argue with that. He preferred not to think about what might come later, though he had the feeling it wouldn’t be pleasant.
Léirsinn was full of magic she couldn’t control and would likely pay a very steep price for, he was minus his very handy spell of un-noticing and definitely worse for the wear of his recent attempt to use even the most innocent piece of his own power, and they were both sitting in a dungeon completely impervious to any sort of digging. He knew that because he’d made a visit or two there in times past to taunt and annoy inmates who had run afoul of the king’s sensibilities and found that the only exit was up the stairs.
It was, in a word, hopeless.
But hopeless was his fourth favorite thing, mostly because when he managed what was slathered in that sort of business, it made the rest of his accomplishments all the more glorious.
He looked at Léirsinn and smiled.
“Let’s begin.”