He was made for sneers. It was his burden to bear, to be sure.
“I never said you lit the fire,” the king said curtly, “though I’m guessing yours was the spell that was used.”
“I don’t imagine—”
“Shut up,” the king said, turning away. “We’ll go have a closer look and decide then. Follow me.”
Acair didn’t dare not, though it was rather a more dodgy business than he was comfortable with. He stumbled along behind the king, accompanied by a decent collection of palace guards, and tried not to dwell on the fact that he was within bolting distance of the gates. He also ignored the fact that at any other time he would have found the number of obstacles in his path toward freedom to be exhilarating not exhausting. At the moment, it was all he could not to weep with gratitude when the king stopped and turned to glare at him.
“Your lass, Léirsinn, said this morning that she wanted to do a bit of horse work. I agreed, because I thought it would keep her from trying to burn my house to the ground again.”
Acair refrained from commenting on that. He’d heard all about that rather fiery adventure from the woman herself. It had been unsurprising, actually. She had recently acquired a bit of magic—something he still hadn’t quite come to terms with—and her first act had been to set half a forest on fire. Red hair equaled a bit of a temper or so he’d heard, but he suspected that mentioning the same to her would only result in her turning her incendiary sights on him.
So many conversational topics to avoid. ’Twas enough to leave a man of quality reaching for ink and parchment in order to jot them down for reference.
“This,” the king continued coolly, “is what your wee horse miss did earlier this morning after I refused to bring you upstairs.”
“I can’t imagine she would have burned a stable full of horses to the ground over that,” Acair said slowly.
“She was aiming for me!” The king blew out his breath, accompanied by a curse or two. “My stables bore the brunt of her fury, though my own person is not without damage as well.”
Acair thought it wise not to comment on the condition of the king’s long, glorious beard, though that was where discretion ended. He considered, then gave his all to drawing himself up in his best imitation of a very dangerous black mage on the verge of dire deeds.
“You said my lady was well, but I have no proof.” He gestured toward the stables. “That isn’t proof.”
The king’s expression was enough to leave Acair wondering if the man was capable of sheering off parts of his mine with his glares alone.
“I do not harm women,” Uachdaran said frostily. “Mistress Léirsinn is recovering from her exertions, as I said. I’m still considering whether or not I’ll allow you to see her before I send you off to your well-deserved reward in Hell. You’ll improve your chances by remaining silent.”
Acair nodded, silently. He would have pled for a moment to enjoy his relief that Léirsinn was indeed safe, but dwarvish swords being loosened in finely tooled dwarvish sheaths were a chorus of reasons why he was better off not making any requests. He followed the king into his stables without comment and hoped for the best.
The truth was, the barn had only sustained minor damage and even that was only on the outside where Acair suspected the horses didn’t find themselves troubled by it. He shuffled past pristine stalls until the monarch paused. He glanced to his left and was only marginally surprised to find his own horse housed there.
Sianach, that damned nag, had his nose buried in a bucket of something that smelled so much better than anything Acair had choked down over the last few days that he had to clutch the edge of the stall door to keep from swooning. He wondered briefly if his blasted horse would bite him if he tried to steal his breakfast. Sianach lifted his head, bared his teeth briefly, then went back to his grain.
The king grunted and continued on.
Acair walked until he simply couldn’t go any farther. He grasped a post when it presented itself as something to be used in remaining upright, then blinked in surprise at the sight of a different horse sticking its rather distinctive nose over a stall door.
“Is that an Angesand steed I see in yon kingly accommodations?” he asked faintly.
“It is,” the king said grimly.
“Lord Hearn is a good friend to send you such a valuable beast,” he ventured, wondering why the dwarf-king seemed less than pleased with the gift.
“It isn’t a gesture of friendship,” Uachdaran said shortly, “’tis a bribe.” He reached out and stroked the horse’s nose. “And a tempting bribe it is. Hearn knows all too well that I’ve coveted this lad for quite some time.”
The horse whickered in pleasure, then snuffled the king’s hair. And damn Uachdaran of Léige if he didn’t chortle a bit himself, looking as if he were a lad of ten summers facing his first decent mount and feeling the thrill of possessing the same.
“You have excellent taste in horseflesh, Your Majesty,” Acair said. It was hard to go wrong with an Angesand pony, but they were equally hard to come by. That Hearn should relinquish one without a king’s ransom being surrendered in return was unusual, indeed.
Uachdaran shot him a dark look. “Damned right I do.” He pursed his lips, considered, then pulled a missive from out of a pocket. He looked as if he were considering chucking the thing into the nearest pile of manure, if such a thing could be found in such immaculate stables, then thrust it out without comment.
Acair had gained a healthy dislike for the written word over the past several months and suspected the current offering would be no more welcome than any of the others. But he was no coward, so he took it. Reluctantly, but there it was. He fully expected to find anything from additional questing tasks to pointed threats on his life scribbled there for his pleasure. He steeled himself for the worst, then unfolded the sheaf.
I need the bastard alive
Well, at least he didn’t have to ask who had penned those words with such an aggressive scrawl. He half expected to see that the note had been sealed with manure and stamped with a horseshoe, but perhaps Hearn was trying to impress. He was vastly relieved to learn that the good lord of Angesand wanted him still on the job, as well as being enormously flattered that the man valued his services to the tune of a very fine horse.
Then again, perhaps that shouldn’t have come as a surprise. Hearn had bluntly asked for aid in healing his son, Tùr. As had become habit of late, his own damnable propensity to spread joy everywhere he went had risen up like last night’s bad beef to choke him and he’d agreed to add that to his list of Good Deeds To Do, a list that seemed to lengthen with every powerful soul he met.
The gods help him, he was going to finish his present business, retreat to his house on the edge of the sea, and lock himself in his study for at least a decade. He would never have any peace otherwise.