“I’m looking for a small list of mages who are up to no good.”
“Small?” Cruihniche snorted. “Wishful thinking there, my lad. Perhaps you would do better to narrow things down. What do these mages do besides wreak your sort of havoc?”
Acair took a deep breath. “They steal souls.”
Léirsinn looked at his grandmother and was surprised towatch her go suddenly quite still. If the woman was breathing, she would have been surprised.
“Léirsinn, hand me your writing things.”
Léirsinn didn’t argue. She pulled out the notebook and pencil Fionne of Fàs had given her, then navigated the teapot and a set of stacked trays containing sweets she hadn’t dared taste to hand Mistress Cruihniche both. The woman studied Acair for a moment or two, then jotted down a few things. She kept at it long enough that Léirsinn felt safe looking at Acair. He was rather green, something she could see quite well thanks to all the light from candles, lamps, and a roaring fire.
A fire that seemed to have a voice.
She shifted and looked at the flames, listening until she felt as if she were no longer at Cruihniche of Fàs’s tea table. She was lost in a fire that sang something that tugged at her soul in a way she couldn’t identify properly. Longing, or perhaps a need for something she couldn’t name.
She felt as if she were being pulled into a dream.
The sensation alarmed her profoundly. It was one thing to watch otherworldly things happening to Acair and their horse; it was another thing entirely to have those sorts of things happen to her. She clutched the edges of the table and dragged herself back from a place she wasn’t sure she wanted to go.
It was then that she realized that matters at the table had not improved any. Acair and his grandmother were glaring at each other, apparently engaging in last-minute negotiations about things Léirsinn wasn’t sure she wanted to know about.
Cruihniche suddenly handed Léirsinn back her pencil, then threw the small book at her grandson.
“Be grateful.”
Acair opened the book, then he froze. He lifted his head and looked at his grandmother in surprise. Léirsinn had rarely seen him not have at least something to say, but at the moment he seemed speechless.
Cruihniche laughed in a manner that was so reminiscent of Mistress Cailleach that Léirsinn could finally accept the familial connection. The woman nodded.
“That ought to keep you out of my private things for a few days at least. I’ve given you a few spells that might or might not turn on you and destroy you, along with a wee map that might lead you places you’ll definitely regret having gone.” She shrugged. “All the same to me.” She looked at Léirsinn. “What can I do for you?”
“Ah,” Léirsinn said, scrambling for something useful to say, “let us go free?”
Cruihniche laughed in a voice that was definitely reminiscent of Mistress Cailleach. “I will, if only to watch things chase your would-be lover there over the walls.” She studied Léirsinn for a moment or two. “I believe, little one, that you might want to consider trying to acquire a few things that make you uncomfortable. Don’t let Fear dissuade you, no matter how loudly he bellows. I tend to favor a different companion—let’s call her Revenge—but that’s just me.”
Léirsinn could only gape at her.
Cruihniche laughed again. “Two souls rendered mute in one evening. It isn’t a record for me, of course, but satisfying nonetheless.” She pointed a long, bony, ring-encrusted finger toward the door. “Out, before I change my mind and slay you both.”
Léirsinn supposed it would be rude as well as a bit dangerous to bolt without Acair, so she waited as he made certain everyonewas politely helped up from the tea table. If he then wasted no time heading for the doorway and she followed hard on his heels, she didn’t imagine anyone would fault them for it.
They weren’t quick enough. His grandmother caught them both before Acair could open the solar door.
“Something slipped my mind,” she said.
“Grandmother,” Acair said carefully, turning and making her a very low bow, “I’m not sure how to thank you—”
“Aren’t you?” Cruihniche asked smoothly. “I think you know exactly what will appease me.”
Léirsinn had absolutely no desire to find out what that might be, but Acair apparently wasn’t one to shy away from the difficult. He sighed deeply.
“I’ll find a way,” he said.
“You’d best succeed.”
He hesitated. “If I might make an observation, they are, as you know, simply little tatted bits of—”
“They’remydamned doilies!”
