“I won’t need a spell to help me shove my dagger into your chest!”
Acair tsk-tsked him. “Lower your voice, lad. This is a place of study.”
Mansourah looked as if he might benefit from either some fresh air or a strong glass of port—perhaps both—so Acair didn’t waste any time urging Léirsinn around that choking piece of royalty and forging on ahead out of the stacks. He imagined Mansourah wouldn’t resort to murder in such a place, but he wasn’t at all sure that would last once they reached the outside.
Slipping out a back door he had used more than once in the past was accomplished easily enough and without any unwantedadditions to their number. He continued on with his companions through the press of souls about their morning business, stopping only when he felt they’d gained enough distance from the library to be safe.
Mansourah shoved him aside. “Léirsinn, let us be away,” he said crisply. “We’ll retreat to our lodgings and share a bottle of wine in front of the fire whilst I decide how best to inflict a well-deserved and long-overdue death upon my servant.”
Acair didn’t waste breath arguing. He would absolutely prefer that Léirsinn be safely behind heavy doors whilst he spent the afternoon roaming the streets, keeping his eye peeled for any trouble he might have stirred up.
He walked behind the prince and a woman who would surely never lower herself to wed that same prince back to the most exclusive and, admittedly, expensive lodgings in town. If there were a pair of rough-looking lads leaning negligently near the very unassuming door that led to a much less unassuming courtyard, so much the better. Léirsinn would be safe, Mansourah would likely fall asleep in his ale, and he himself might manage to do a bit of nosing about.
He wasn’t above playing the part of a servant as they were again shown upstairs to that fabulously appointed sitting room. He found himself complimenting the prince of Neroche on his good taste before he could stop himself.
Mansourah glared at him. “Don’t plan on staying in here. I believe they have a spot by the coal bin downstairs that will be more fitting for your station.”
Acair hadn’t planned on anything, actually, though he couldn’t stop himself from eyeing a rather comfortable looking settee. He watched Léirsinn stumble over to it, sit, then lean over. She was asleep before she managed to even remove herboots. He did the honors for her, had a barely audiblethank youas a reward, then covered her with a luxurious blanket that had been tossed over one of the armrests for just such a need. He straightened and turned to assess the lay of the land, as it were.
Mansourah was watching him. Acair didn’t suppose he wanted to know what was intended by that look, so he put on a polite smile and rubbed his hands together purposefully.
“I think I’ll go for a walk.”
Mansourah tossed his cloak over the back of one of the chairs in front of the fire. “I suggest a visit to the garden instead. No time like the present for a bit of swordplay.”
Acair snorted. “If you think I’ll lower myself to brawl with you—”
He stopped speaking abruptly for the simple reason that he became distracted by the rather fine rapier Mansourah had simply drawn out of thin air, then tossed at him. It arrived hilt-first, which he supposed was something of a concession. He examined the blade and found that it was very sharp indeed. He considered, then lifted an eyebrow.
“I thought you confined yourself to shooting little arrows into things.”
Mansourah looked at him coolly. “I believe you’ll find that I can do far more than that.” He nodded sharply toward the door. “Outside.”
“Is that an invitation?”
“Would you prefer that I prod you along with a spell of death?” Mansourah growled.
“Don’t you lads from Neroche have a prohibition about that sort of thing?” Acair asked politely.
“Aye, ’tis called honor, which is why I’ll take great pleasurein killing you in the usual way, with a sword through your chest, not your back.”
Acair supposed that was fair enough, though he had no intention of dying that day. Humoring his half-sister’s husband’s brother—he didn’t like to think about how that left him related to the grumbling prince currently exiting the chamber—seemed the very least he could do, however. Perhaps the lad could be prevailed upon to produce funds for a decent supper if he’d been taken out and exercised properly for a bit.
Acair made certain Léirsinn was still sleeping comfortably before he left the chamber and pulled the door shut behind him. He thanked Mansourah politely for the discreet spell of protection he dropped over the door, then followed him down the stairs to the inn’s great room. He made good use of the time by reminding himself of a few things he hadn’t particularly wanted to think about before.
He was on, he thought he could say without too much of a twitch, a Noble Quest.
He wasn’t one for those sorts of things, as it happened, being much more inclined to sit by the fire with a hearty mug of tasty ale and indulge in ribald mocking of those who embarked on the same. It was truly an indication of how far his life had gotten away from him that he had become the one trotting off into the Deepening Gloom.
His father would have had an attack of the vapors if he’d known.
But damnation, what else had there been to do? Someone was cluttering up the world with disturbing spots of shadow that left anyone who walked through them adversely affected. There seemed to be no one else with the stomach to take up the trail,which had left him forgoing the impulse to bolt to more elegant surroundings to instead hoist the proverbial sword in the world’s defense. If Léirsinn’s grandfather needed a rescue from the clutches of her dastardly uncle, and Léirsinn herself needed protection from that same unsavory relative, well, all the more reason to lay hold of whatever nobler instincts he could dredge up and be about his business.
That was made substantially more difficult by an injunction that he not use even a smidgen of his formidable magic, a vexing charge of which Acair found himself endlessly reminded thanks to that damned spell of death that threatened to fall on him at the first sign of even a casually muttered spell.
Finding the rogue who had sent that spell to dog his heels was, he had to admit, very high on his list of things to do whilst questing.
He shook his head wearily. His task was daunting, his resources scarce, and his survival depended on nothing much past his formidable wits. Those lads from heroic tales could scarce lay claim to anything much more noteworthy than that.
