Mansourah and Acair were still in front of her, but she could see both of them. See them, rather, as if she’d been privy to an endless collection of pieces from their souls and what they were made from—
A squeaking distracted her. It occurred to her that she was the one making that sound, but she wasn’t sure how to stop it. She blinked and the vision vanished, but Acair’s minder spell was sitting as far away from her as possible, curled up into itself. She looked out into the garden to find Acair and Mansourah gaping at her.
She would have pointed out that she’d done nothing except use a formidable imagination she hadn’t known she’d possessed, but apparently no explanation was necessary. They looked at each other in consternation, then seemed to remember what they’d been about but a moment before. The renewed ringing of their swords was a happy distraction from what she couldn’t possibly have seen.
She looked about herself for anything else to concentrate on and jumped at the sight of the innkeeper standing a few feet from her. Damnation, would the urge to run never end? She had no idea how long he’d been there, but perhaps not long enough to watch her acting like a fool. She stood up and looked at him coolly, trying to imitate Acair at his most snobbish.
“Aye?” she asked, hoping her tone would take his mind off what he might or might not have just seen.
“A messenger arrived from the king.” He held out a gilt-edged missive. “For His Highness, the prince of Neroche.”
She took the folded sheaf of paper and tried not to look as much like a stable hand as she currently felt. “The prince seems to be quite occupied with his work over there, so I’ll let him know when he finishes.”
The innkeeper didn’t move. “I host many powerful men here, my lady.” He looked terribly torn. “I must say, Prince Mansourah’s servant bears an amazing resemblance to someone else I know.”
“He has that sort of face,” she said without hesitation, though she held out absolutely no hope of putting the man off the scent. While Acair didn’t have a clue what to do with a pitchfork, he didn’t suffer the same problem with a sword. It was obvious he was no servant.
“He looks very much like Prince Gair, cousin to King Ehrne of Ainneamh,” the innkeeper continued relentlessly. He shot her a look. “Gair of Ceangail, as others might call him. A very elegant, powerful man, that one.”
“I’ve heard tales,” she said, though that perhaps wasn’t as true as she would have liked. She’d heard rumors about Gair’s evil, but she hadn’t wanted to delve more deeply into his tale lest she find something there she didn’t want to know. “I’m sure ’tis nothing more than a coincidence.”
The man looked at her carefully. “Lord Acair has been my guest here before, you know.”
She opened her mouth to attempt some other sort of diversion but found herself without a single thing to say to counteract that. She just looked at the innkeeper helplessly.
He smiled faintly. “Not to worry, my lady. I have a very exclusive list of lodgers and an ability to keep my mouth shut.”
“I’m sure those two out there appreciate both,” she managed.
The man glanced at the men hurling insults at each other, then smiled briefly at her. “They have both paid me handsomely for that discretion in the past. Not, I imagine, that either of them needs my aid.”
“You never know,” she said faintly.
The man lifted his eyebrows briefly, then inclined his head before he retreated slowly back inside.
Léirsinn waited until the doors had closed before she looked at the missive in her hand. She had never in her life seen anything so fine, but what did she know? She waved at the two exclusive lodgers still trying to kill each other, but they ignored her.
“I have a message from the king!” she finally shouted.
Acair caught the guard of Mansourah’s rapier with the tip of his blade and flung it up into the air. Léirsinn watched as it flipped hilt over blade several times, glinting in the last of the afternoon sunlight, before it clattered to the ground at her feet. She jumped to avoid having her toes sliced off through her boots, then watched Mansourah shove Acair out of his way before he crossed the garden to her.
Léirsinn jumped as the rapier in front of her simply disappeared. Acair seemingly lost his sword at the same time—and in the same manner—but he was obviously accustomed to that sort of thing. He only cursed at Mansourah and followed him across the garden to her. She held out the invitation to Mansourah.
“From the king,” she repeated. “Or so the innkeeper claimed.”
“Lovely,” Mansourah said, accepting it and popping the wax seal on one side.
“I’m not sure we have the time for supper at the palace,” Acair protested.
“Given that I doubt you were invited,” Mansourah said, “I’m not sure this is anything you need to worry about.” He glanced at the missive, then smiled. “Ah, a late, light tea in His Majesty’s private solar.” He looked at Acair. “No servants necessary.”
Acair snorted. “He is no longer the king, which you well know, so I’m not at all certain why you would want to humor him.”
“He believes he is still the king, which is enough for any courtesy I, as a member of the royal house of Neroche, might feel disposed to show him.” Mansourah shrugged. “For all we know, he might take a stab at another game of cards and have his crown back, so what’s the harm in it?”
Acair levelled a look at him. “The harm is what might happen to Léirsinn whilst you are burrowing into a plate of sweet cakes.”
“I’ll eat beforehand,” Mansourah assured him. “As for anything else, she will be perfectly safe whilst being escorted there by a man with magic.”
Léirsinn stepped between the two of them before she realized she’d moved and she supposed she was fortunate that she was facing Mansourah and not Acair. She didn’t imagine, based on the way Mansourah took a step backward, that she would have wanted to see the look on Acair’s face.
“Here I am with an invitation and not a thing to wear,” she said, blurting out the first thing that came to mind. She was fairly sure she’d heard more than one high-born lady exclaim that in similar tones of despair while shopping in Sàraichte, though she’d never understood it herself. She’d spent a lifetime wearing things worn by others before her. The only things she ever splashed out on were riding boots, but given that she’d only ever owned one pair at a time, there hadn’t been much call for worrying about making fashion choices.
As she’d said before, life was so much simpler in a barn.
“I’m sure a gown will be waiting for you in our chambers,” Mansourah said. “Master Acair, I’m assuming you can amuse yourself back here at the inn for a few hours?”
Acair let out a gusty sigh. “I’ll attempt the same.”