He handed the missive back to the king. “Interesting,” he said casually.
“This is a heavy favor he asks of me,” the king grumbled. “I would prefer to kill you.”
Acair imagined he would.
“There is also the fact that your woman almost set my barn on fire,” the king continued, “though knowing her love for horses, I must believe it was an accident. You need to teach her self-control.” He paused, then snorted a mighty snort. “You, self-control. I can hardly believe those words came out of my own mouth.”
Acair found himself in that same place more often of late than usual, but decided there was no point in admitting it.
“She’s senseless at the moment, which I suppose leaves my hall safe.”
Acair didn’t imagine she’d been felled by anything she’d found at the king’s table. Poison was not anything the man stooped to, and why would he? Uachdaran of Léige had a collection of spells and a reserve of power that any black mage worthy of the name would have happily investigated for as long as allowed.
He knew. He was that mage.
“I would say ’tis her magic that troubles her,” the king continued. “I don’t suppose I need to ask who succumbed to her foot-stomping and gave it to her, damn that weak-kneed lad from Cothromaiche. The only question is why she wanted the wretched stuff to begin with.”
“I believe it was to save me,” Acair said, finding it surprisingly difficult to say as much.
“You don’t deserve her,” the king said flatly.
Acair couldn’t have agreed more. Soilléir didn’t use his magic very often, or so rumor had it, so for him to have worked such a change in her was unprecedented. That Léirsinn had been willing to risk so much for his benefit alone was almost more than he could bring himself to think about.
Uachdaran pointed back toward his hall. “You’ll attend that feisty gel in her chamber. A guard will be waiting outside the door, though I doubt you’ll be much trouble in your current state.”
Considering how desperately he wanted to lie down on anything that didn’t slither about beneath him, he had to agree.
“I will apply myself to determining how I might slay you yet still keep that horse.”
“It is a very fine stallion,” Acair agreed.
“And you are not, so enjoy your breathing whilst it lasts.”
Acair thought that might be best. He followed the king back into the hall, wishing he had the strength to check the path they were taking against his memory of the insides of the palace. The best he could do was note that they were headed toward the more exclusive guest chambers, not that that said all that much given that Uachdaran had very few guest chambers of any stripe. The man wasn’t known for his willingness to entertain.
’Twas little wonder his middle daughter had wanted a life beyond the front gates.
The king stopped finally before a door, knocked, then stepped aside.
“My physick is inside with her. He is powerfully fierce, so keep that in mind if you think to escape.”
Acair knew the king’s physician and could say with certainty that the only thing Master Ollamh was equal to was clunking an intruder over the head with a bottle of tincture and hurrying off to hide behind a cabinet of herbs.
The door opened to reveal a well-appointed chamber with a large bed, an enormous hearth, and a table under the window that looked as if it might be holding up edible food. Acair found himself most relieved that Léirsinn was indeed safely tucked in.
Uachdaran nodded sagely toward the patient. “Such should be a warning to all who attempt essence changing, no matter the reason.”
“I believe that in this matter, Your Majesty, we are in perfect agreement.”
Uachdaran turned and started down the passageway. “Behave,” he threw over his shoulder.
Ah, but that could apply to so many things. Acair supposed there was no point in assuring the king of things he couldn’t whole-heartedly commit to, so he didn’t bother. He walked inside, shut the door behind him, then swiftly crossed the chamber to the bed.
He took Léirsinn’s hand in his own, hoping she would forgive him for his condition, and winced at the chill of her fingers. He had seen the results of essence changing a time or two and he had most definitely examined the remains of those who had surrendered their magic to his father—unwillingly, of course—but he wasn’t sure what to make of the woman in front of him. If he’d been the sort to pray, he might have indulged. He would have been far more likely to sit down at a gaming table with some powerful being or other and do what he did best in return for a healing concession of some kind, but he didn’t see any of those sorts of lads or lassies loitering in the vicinity.
The king’s physician, however, was standing not far away, looking as if he currently found himself locked in a dungeon with a nest of vipers. Acair attempted a reassuring smile.
“I have no magic.”
Master Ollamh considered. “None?”
“None that I can use,” Acair amended.
The physick pulled up a stool and sat down on the other side of Léirsinn’s sickbed. “One shouldn’t change one’s essence.”
“On this, my good Master Ollamh, we agree completely.”
“Have you ever seen the results of it?”
“My family tends to favor outright pilfering rather than messing about with alterations,” Acair said, “if you know what I mean.”
“I believe, my lord Acair, that I do.”
Acair watched Léirsinn for a few moments, then looked at the king’s healer. “Is there anything to be done?”
The man shook his head. “Time alone must do its goodly work.”
Acair nodded, though he didn’t agree at all. He’d seen what his father had left of mages whose power he’d taken and knew no amount of time would ever heal those lads.
That thought left him back where he’d been before, sitting in a dungeon and fretting over how quickly time was running out for him. There were mages at large with his death first on their to-do lists, he still had a damned spell dogging his steps with only one thing on its mind, and there was yet someone else roaming about the wide, vulnerable world whose goal seemed to be stealing all the souls he possibly could.
He himself was without the ability to use his magic, trapped in the hall of a monarch who wanted him dead, and the only thing standing between him and the gallows was the gift of a horse he was quite sure he would pay for down the road.
The single, faint ray of hope in the gloom had been a gloriously feisty, red-haired horse miss who could see things he couldn’t and had saddled herself with powers she couldn’t control to save his sorry arse.