What the bloody hell did you just do?” Acair snarled.
Nay, he didn’t snarl. That didn’t begin to describe the place of agony he’d spoken from. If he’d had any soul left to shred, he would have been crying out from a place in the midst of the tatters. He held a senseless Léirsinn of Sàraichte in his arms and wasn’t entirely sure she would survive what she’d just done.
She was still breathing, which he supposed was something, but she was as pale as death. Acair looked at her, then at the trees on fire around them, then glared at Soilléir of Cothromaiche, that empty-headed wielder of ridiculous magic.
“Put out the fire,” he snapped.
The trees returned to their unscorched state without even a single word being spoken, something that galled Acair to his very depths.
He was also exceedingly annoyed by the fire that appeared from nothing fifty paces in front of him in a clearing that also hadn’t been there before. He growled at his spell to follow him, shot Soilléir a look that should have had him scampering back to hide behind his grandfather’s ermine-trimmed skirts, then carefully carried Léirsinn over to warmth and what he could only hope was a bit of safety. He looked over his shoulder, but the glade in the distance was empty from what he could tell.
Empty of that mage, empty also of Mansourah of Neroche.
Worst of all, though, was the seemingly lifeless woman he held on to. He sat down on a stump, cradled her in his arms, and tried not to weep.
“She asked me to give her magic,” Soilléir said quietly.
Acair looked at the man who had sat down across the flames from him and wished he had the means to slay him, but then that would definitely end any hope of restoring Léirsinn to her proper state. He would slay him later, when he’d forced the damned worker of essence changes to put things to rights.
“You should have ignored her,” Acair said bitterly.
Soilléir looked at him. “As you’ve managed to do?”
Acair felt his mouth working, but could find nothing in his extensive collection of slurs dire, disgusting, or damning enough to use in cursing the man sitting across the fire from him.
That Soilléir didn’t mock him for it was even more alarming.
“I hate you,” Acair managed finally.
“I know.”
He supposed the bastard also knew that Acair never wept, ever. He couldn’t bring to mind a single moment in the whole of his ninety-and-eight years of moving from one piece of mischief to the next where he had so much as troubled himself with a sniffle of emotion.
That tears were streaming down his cheeks at the moment was quite possibly the most—
Nay. Nay, that wasn’t the truth. The most devastating moment of his life had been regaining his senses in time to watch the whoreson sitting across from him weaving one of his absolutely vile spells of essence changing over a red-haired gel who couldn’t possibly have understood what she was asking for.
That she had done it for him was the single worst thing he’d ever heard in a lifetime of hearing terrible things.
He gathered what was left of his wits and looked at Soilléir.
“I will slay you,” he said flatly.
“Do what you must.”
Acair suspected that if he spluttered any more, his tongue would simply fling itself out of his mouth to spare itself any more frustration.
“When I have my magic back to hand,” he said, “I will steep my worst spells in a mixture of loathing and bitterness until perfection is reached, then I will unleash the whole on you at a time and location when and where you cannot defend yourself. You will die a lingering, horrific death and I will stand over you the entire time and watch until the light fades from your eyes and you breathe your last.”
“I look forward to it—”
“Shut up!” Acair shouted. “Have you no idea of what you’ve done to her?”
“I’m well aware of it,” Soilléir said quietly. “And I’m sorry for it.”
“Then why did you—never mind,” Acair finished bitterly. “Because she asked you to.”
“Because she loves you.”
“Ye gads, what absolute rot,” Acair spluttered. He gathered Léirsinn a bit closer to him because he was afraid he would drop her, not because he was unsettled.
If he clutched her to him with a desperation that frightened him, well, who was to know? He wasn’t altogether certain she didn’t squeak, but that could have been that damned spell he couldn’t seem to shake, leaning over his shoulder and peering down into her face. He flicked it away, looked at the woman in his arms that he lo—er, was fond of, rather—and watched her eyelids flutter.
That could have been from his tears dripping onto her face, but he wasn’t going to investigate that any further.
She opened her eyes and looked at him. “You’re shouting,” she said hoarsely.
“’Tis better than weeping,” he muttered. He glared at Soilléir just so the man wouldn’t forget where his doom was sitting, then looked at Léirsinn. “I’m angry.”
“Why?”
Where to start? He looked at her seriously. “Let’s discuss it when I’m less angry and the focus of my ire has flapped away to seek safety behind the walls of the schools of wizardry.” Not that he couldn’t have tracked Soilléir down there and slain him on his way to the buttery, but that was perhaps not a useful thing to say at the moment.
Léirsinn sat up with more of his help than he supposed would be polite to mention. He situated her next to him on his perch, but kept his arm around her just in case. If she looked at Soilléir with a mixture of awe and horror, she was justified.
All he knew was that he wasn’t at all ready to have the conversation with her he would need to about magic and magery of any stripe, so he continued to keep her close and turned back to his own business of wondering how best to put that damned prince across the fire from him to death.
“How has your journey been so far?” Soilléir asked politely.
Acair swore at him. It was the very least of all the things he wanted to do, so limiting himself to calling the crown prince of Cothromaiche’s son names seemed like it could possibly qualify for his good deed for the day.
“Perhaps it would be more interesting to discuss instead where you’ve been so far,” Soilléir suggested.
“Haven’t you been watching?” Acair asked shortly.
“I try to leave people their privacy.”
Acair gaped at him. “How do you say those kinds of things without your tongue catching on fire?”
Soilléir smiled. “Centuries of practice, my friend.”
Acair realized Léirsinn was shivering. He would have given her his cloak, but he remembered having left it behind in his grandmother’s gates. He jumped a little as a lovely thing came flying his way, but it had been that sort of day so far. It was a gentleman’s garment, but it would certainly serve Léirsinn well enough. He grunted a thanks in the direction of its maker, then wrapped the damned thing around his lady.