“I’m surprised by that as well,” he said honestly. “I think there might be, but the trouble is I’ve yet to encounter anyone from that very long line whose first instinct was to stab me with a pitchfork. I might have to look further afield.”
She smiled and he had to remind himself quite sharply not to fall into those limpid leaf-green pools she called eyes.
“You might,” she agreed.
He reached for her hand and tucked it under his elbow before he dropped to his knees right there on that carpet of fallen pine needles and spewed out a maudlin sentiment or two. Her fingers were freezing and that in spite of the winter clothing—completely black, of course—his mother had so thoughtfully provided for them. If he and Léirsinn looked a bit like a pair of ne’er-do-wells out for a bit of burgling, well, his mother was nothing if not practical.
Mansourah, of course, would need to travel a few more leagues out of Fionne of Fàs’s sights before he dared discard the lovely ermine-trimmed cloak and boots he was sporting. At least the man had managed to escape without committing to wed either of the twins he’d left sobbing into their porridge.
Love was a complicated business.
But so was the rubbish he was currently embroiled in, so he set aside those flowery thoughts for examination at another time and tried not to wonder if his mother might have sent him on an errand that would prove to be fatal, just for the sport of it.
He honestly wouldn’t have been surprised.
He jumped a bit when Mansourah materialized next to him, then he glared at their companion.
“Magic?” he demanded.
“Skill,” Mansourah said distinctly. “I could teach you, if you like.”
When hell freezes over, was half out of his mouth before he thought better of it. He didn’t imagine Mansourah of Neroche had anything useful to teach him, but he was in reduced circumstances. At the moment, he was open to quite a few things he would have otherwise dismissed.
“Did you see anything?”
Mansourah shook his head. “No spells, no animals, no one inside. Are you sure about this?”
“My mother claims I should be.”
“Your mother also thinks I should wed one of your cousins.”
“You could do worse,” Acair said with a shrug.
Mansourah shut his mouth around whatever he’d intended to say and apparently settled for a look of consternation. “Miach would kill me.”
“I’d be more worried what Queen Mhorghain would do to you, but that’s just me.” Acair looked at Léirsinn. “I think you should remain—”
“Nay.”
He sighed. He wasn’t sure what else he could offer her in the way of protection, not that she would have accepted it. He had a dagger down the side of his boot and a very large collection ofinsults at the ready to hurl in her defense. Perhaps that was the best they could hope for at the moment.
He nodded, then looked at Mansourah. “I must admit that I don’t know exactly what I’m looking for,” he began.
“Sometimes that’s the best way to find it,” Mansourah said easily. “Let’s see what’s inside.”
Acair didn’t want to feel a twinge of anything that couldn’t be comfortably placed in theReasons to Murder a Prince of Nerochesaddlebag he’d dedicated to that middle-ish child of the terrifying Queen Desdhemar of Neroche, but again, there it was. His life could hardly be called his own at the moment. All the more reason to see if there was anything to what his mother had advised him to do. He nodded to his companions, then led the way forward.
The house in front of them turned out to be nothing more than a rustic little place that had obviously not been lived in for years. Spells hung in tatters over doorways and alongside windows. He opened the door, somewhat surprised to find it unlocked, then pushed it fully open. He ignored the shiver that went through him—exhilaration, naturally, not fear—and was more grateful than he should have been that a spell of something foul didn’t immediately fall upon him as he walked inside.
A thick layer of dust blanketed everything, something he thought best not to disturb overmuch. There was unfortunately nothing to be done about footprints on the floor.
“There’s something on the tea table,” Mansourah said quietly. “An open book.”
Acair didn’t dare speculate, so he simply walked over to the table set there before the hearth and looked down. He wasn’t sure there was any point in trying to read the damned thing, but his curiosity, as it usually did, got the better of him. He brushedaside the dust that obscured the top page and found a date written there.
“Almost twenty years ago,” Léirsinn said in surprise. “Has the place been empty for that long, do you think?”
“I haven’t been here in far longer than that,” Acair said slowly. “I wonder—”
