“You terrify me.”
Mistress Fionne looked terribly pleased. “I do my best, as always. Now that we’ve sorted Acair—the annoying little git—let’s move on to you. You said yestereve that you had no magic.”
Léirsinn wondered if perhaps blisteringly swift changes of subject were usual fare with the woman sitting next to her, but decided she would learn the truth of it without having to ask. “Thankfully, nay.”
“Can’t say I haven’t shared your opinion from time to time, though it comes in handy.”
“I’ve never had it to miss,” Léirsinn said carefully, “and to be honest, I didn’t believe it existed until quite a while after I met your son.” She paused. “I’m not entirely sure I’m not still imagining things.”
“Understandable, dearie, but foolish.” She leveled a look at Léirsinn. “Who is your father?”
“Saoradh of Sàraichte,” Léirsinn said, then she wondered if perhaps she shouldn’t have been so forthcoming so quickly.
Mistress Fionne pulled a book from her pocket and drew a pencil forth from where she’d obviously stowed it behind her ear. She considered, then made a note in her book. “Your mother?”
“Muireall of An Caol,” Léirsinn said. She’d already put her foot to the path, so perhaps there was no sense in not continuing on. “’Tis near An Cèin, or so I’m told.”
Acair’s mother nodding knowingly. “Horse lovers, that lot. Afew clutches of elves in An Cèin, but they keep to themselves, so you likely wouldn’t have encountered them.” She considered, then jotted down a few things before she snapped her book shut and put it back in her pocket.
“Does that mean anything?” Léirsinn asked, because that seemed like a reasonable question to ask.
Mistress Fionne shrugged. “I’ll have to investigate a bit before I can say anything. I don’t know much about your father’s family save that his brother, your uncle, is not a pleasant sort.”
“I would have to agree.”
“I’m sure you would, gel. I would suspect, apart from anything else, that your suspicions about your lack of magic are correct. The truth is, I wouldn’t mourn it if I were you. Look what became of Gair. Black magery is a dodgy business. Acair had best watch what he steps in, wouldn’t you agree?”
What Léirsinn thought she could agree about was that Fionne of Fàs was either too damned observant for anyone’s peace of mind or she had magic Léirsinn didn’t want to know about. She looked at Acair’s mother and took note of the knowing look there.
“About stepping in things,” she began slowly, “I have some experience with that.”
“I’ll just bet you do,” Mistress Fionne said with a snort, “but we won’t talk about barn delights. Tell me more about places you’ve put your foot that you didn’t intend to.”
Léirsinn wasn’t sure what she should or shouldn’t say, but she already started down that path of madness so perhaps there was no reason not to keep on with it.
“I was standing in the king’s garden at Tor Neroche when I stepped backward into a particular sort of shadow.” She took an unsteady breath. “Now I can see things.”
Mistress Fionne studied her for a moment or two. “What sorts of things?”
Léirsinn suppressed the urge to shift. “I can see things about people,” she admitted, wishing she had anything but that to discuss. “I’m beginning to think I’m losing my mind.”
“Keeping company with my son will do that to a gel,” she said without hesitation, “but I likely shouldn’t tell you that. As for anything else, your sight might be merely a sharpening of ordinary horse sense, or it might not. What do you see about me?”
“I’m afraid to look.”
Mistress Fionne laughed, a sound that was reminiscent of Mistress Cailleach’s booming fishwife’s voice. “Can’t say I blame you, but not to worry. I won’t turn you into a shrubbery if I don’t like what I hear. Again, I’m sure I’ve heard worse.”
Léirsinn wasn’t going to lay odds on that because it was a bet she didn’t want to lose, but it didn’t look as if Acair’s mother was going anywhere until she’d been properly looked at.
It was true that she hadn’t seen anything unusual since that terrible moment in the garden at Tor Neroche, not even in Eòlas, which was a bit strange. She didn’t fancy looking about presently for a pool of shadow to step in to rekindle her unwholesome ability, but she supposed if she were going to try something absolutely daft, there was no better place to try it.
“Well?” Fionne prompted.
“I’m not sure how to make the attempt,” Léirsinn admitted.
“Just look,” Fionne said with a shrug. “Unless you want me to make my own pool of shadow for you.”
Léirsinn didn’t want to think about where that might lead, so she shook her head before Acair’s dam trotted off with that idea. She wasn’t entirely sure she wasn’t still imagining it all, but perhaps that could be debated later. She had, after all, watched thewoman in front of her drop magic on Mansourah of Neroche’s arm and restore it to its original perfection. Hard not to suspect other things were possible in her presence.
