“I didn’t realize you’d done the handwork yourself,” he ventured.
She leveled a look at him that Léirsinn was rather happy wasn’t aimed at her.
“I stole them from your grandfather’s mistress, you idiot,” she said shortly. She tugged on her collar, then smoothed down the front of her dress. “They have great sentimental value to me.”
“As in, the thought of their being missed is something to chortle over during tea?” he asked.
“Perhaps,” she said archly, “or perhaps not. I’m too well-mannered to admit to anything. You just concern yourself with fetching my damned doilies, you little rotter.”
“Of course, Grandmother.”
She reached out and poked him in the chest. “I want the one in Uachdaran of Léige’s throne room.”
“I didn’t,” Acair began, then he sighed. “Very well, I did.”
“He keeps his bloody mugs of that undrinkable sludge he gulps down atop it, and don’t think I haven’t watched him do it.”
“Scrying his private audiences?” Acair asked sourly.
“One amuses oneself from time to time with the doings of lesser souls,” she said with a shrug. She looked at Léirsinn. “Remember what I said.”
“I don’t think I could forget it if I wanted to,” Léirsinn said honestly.
Cruihniche reached out and opened the door. “I’m counting to one hundred before I set things upon you. Best trot on off into the Deepening Gloom quickly, don’t you think?” She held out her hand toward Acair. “Kiss.”
He did. Léirsinn supposed she shouldn’t, so she patted Cruihniche’s hand, then didn’t protest when Acair grabbed for hers and pulled her out of the solar.
“How fast can you run?” he asked.
“Faster than you can, I’ll warrant.”
He smiled briefly. “No doubt. Stuff this into your satchel, will you?”
She took the notebook his grandmother had scribbled in and shoved it back into her bag. She looked at him. “Now what?”
“Pray she counts slowly.”
Léirsinn supposed there was nothing else to hope for. She was happy that Acair knew where he was going because she was hopelessly lost.
She was also without a single sighting of any stray pieces of Acair’s soul, but perhaps he’d left none of it behind, in spite of allthe rather questionable things he’d done in his grandmother’s house.
He paused at the entrance to some enormous hallway or other, swore enthusiastically, then reached again for her hand.
“Front door,” he said with another curse.
“Why—oh, never mind,” she said, because she could see what he saw. There were bright-eyed, sword-bearing creatures blocking every path except the one that led straight ahead. She didn’t bother asking if Acair thought that would end badly for them because she suspected she already knew the answer.
“She must want that ale-saturated piece of lace very much,” he groused.
“And this is her parting shot of good cheer?”
He pursed his lips. “I think you two might get on quite well if I weren’t involved. Aye, I imagine this is just what that is.” He took a deep breath, then looked at her. “Ready?”
She didn’t suppose there was any alternative, so she nodded and darted across the polished marble with him.
What she assumed was the front entrance certainly was worthy of the name. She had never in her life seen doors so large or fine and she honestly couldn’t remember the last time doors opened for her without anyone manning them. That she only shuddered as she hopped across the threshold instead of remaining rooted to the spot was perhaps less surprising than it should have been. The last place she wanted to linger was the grand house at Fàs.
She bolted with Acair down the path through a palatial front garden, along a tree-lined path that would have hosted at least half a dozen horses riding abreast, then through an enormous metal gate that started to close as they approached.
