The Dreamer's Song Page 7

  Truly, his life was no longer his own.

  Mansourah sat down and stretched his legs out. “I hope you kept yourself sufficiently busy tonight.”

  “Polishing your boots, of course,” Acair said, attempting a casual lean against the mantel. “Pedestrian labor, of course, but I’m nothing if not accommodating. How was the pretender tonight?”

  “As unpleasant as he usually is,” Mansourah said with a gusty sigh. “I’m surprised someone hasn’t poisoned him yet, but perhaps no one finds him worth the effort. His magic could certainly use a bit of propping up.”

  Acair agreed, of course, but that was probably best left unsaid. As for anything else, the things he knew about Simeon of Diarmailt’s desires for a substantial bit of additional magic would have given the rest of the world nightmares, he was sure.

  “Léirsinn, what did you think?” Mansourah asked.

  “I didn’t like him at all,” she said carefully. “His solar was not a place I would have cared to linger.” She paused. “I’m not sure why anyone would want to pay a visit there.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Acair said. “’Tis a bit overdone of late, if you ask me, particularly that new settee—”

  The chamber went rather silent. Acair supposed that was what happened when men with lesser wits were having things occur to them that required all their powers of concentration. He preferred a few gasps echoing in any given chamber before silence fell, but he was that sort of lad. Theatrics were his lifeblood.

  Now, if he could learn to curb his instinct to slander poorly appointed solars when the opportunity presented itself and keep his own bloody mouth shut instead, he might have something.

  Mansourah shifted in his chair and gaped at him. “You were in his solar tonight!”

  Acair decided there was no point in denying it. “Someone had to make certain you didn’t have too much wine.”

  “I am not Adhémar,” Mansourah growled.

  “I never said you were, old thing,” Acair said soothingly. He removed the book from where it resided halfway dug into his lower back and placed it carefully on the mantel. “I had business there of my own, so I thought I might as well pop round and see that you two were safe.”

  Mansourah pointed at the book. “What—and please don’t think I’m actually curious—is that?”

  “It is,” Acair said slowly and distinctly, “a book.”

  “I can see that!”

  “It never hurts to clarify these sorts of things for those with lesser minds.” He shrugged. “Trust me, Simeon will never notice what’s missing until we’re very far away from here—”

  A pounding on the door had him quickly revising his opinion of the king’s ability to sense when he’d been robbed. He tucked the book back into his belt, then rubbed his hands together.

  “Time to go.”

  “Time to go,” Mansourah repeated incredulously. “What do you mean—and what is that book?”

  “Best you not know,” Acair said promptly. “Now, if you would be so good as to do something about my lady’s clothes?”

  Léirsinn looked at Mansourah, startled. “My clothes?”

  Mansourah was, as Acair found himself forced to acknowledge with regularity, a gentleman. The prince shouted a demand for a moment to prepare himself to receive guests, then looked at Léirsinn.

  “My apologies in advance,” he said with a wince.

  She would no doubt have protested, but before she could apparently blurt anything out, the change was made. Her gown was gone, to be replaced by very fine traveling clothes, a sturdy but obviously warm cloak, and an exceptionally handsome pair of boots. Acair didn’t bother to ask if he might have a similar outfit. He suspected Mansourah would prefer to leave him standing there in his altogether just for the sport of it. He would simply make do with less.

  “I don’t suppose you’re going to bolt out the window,” Mansourah said grimly.

  “It seems preferable to attempting the same through the door,” Acair said. He looked at Léirsinn. “Are you afraid of heights?”

  “I love them,” she said through gritted teeth.

  A fine lie, he had to admit, from a truly sporting gel. He reached for her hand.

  “I’ve already been up and down a perfectly safe route tonight, so not to worry.” He looked at Mansourah. “I don’t suppose you’d be good enough to keep the rabble at bay for a few more minutes.”

  Mansourah glared at him. “For Léirsinn’s sake.”

  “Of course,” Acair agreed. “Let’s rendezvous at the barn. I believe I’ll make a little detour to my tailor, but that won’t take long.”

  At the rate the pounding was intensifying, he suspected that door wasn’t going to last long either, so he clapped Mansourah on the shoulder, avoided a fist headed toward his own very fine nose, then hastened with Léirsinn to the window. He climbed out, helped her out onto the ledge, then spared a brief moment to reflect on the fruits of his evening’s activities. He had the feeling he was about to pay a heavy price for having tampered with Simeon of Diarmailt’s most treasured book of spells, but it wasn’t as if he’d bothered to steal the whole thing—

  He paused, cursed his damnable propensity to always tell the absolute truth, then had to admit that while he should have only liberated a page or two, he had succumbed to temptation to take the whole bloody thing. He’d deposited another of the king’s books in its place, turned in a way that shouldn’t have left the man noticing the theft right off. Suspicious whoreson. If he’d been a bit more at his leisure, he would have sat down and penned a sharply worded complaint to the local monarch. Extremely bad form, that.

  He stood on the ledge just to the right of the chamber’s window and made himself a mental note to compliment Mansourah of Neroche on his ability to shout in the manner of an outraged nobleman missing out on his rest whilst holding the chamber door closed long enough to give his companions time to bolt out the window. It begged the question of whether or not the lad had done that sort of thing before, but perhaps that was something that could be investigated later.

  At the moment, he was busy congratulating himself on having come in that same window earlier in the evening. If he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have realized the best he would manage would be a ledge hardly wide enough to hold up a plump bird, never mind a man with escape on his mind.

  He looked to his right to find Léirsinn standing there—clinging to the side of the inn, actually—with her eyes closed, looking as if she might faint. He covered her closest hand with his.

  “Léirsinn,” he whispered, “there’s a roof a trio of paces to your right—”

  “Are you daft?” she asked tightly. “If I move, I’ll fall!”

  He decided against pointing out to her that the worst a fall might result in would be a broken bone or two. The woman didn’t care for heights, something she had let him know very clearly several times in the past.

  He didn’t share her fear. He couldn’t begin to count the number of times he had gleefully thrown himself off whatever castle wall, abbey spire, or rickety bridge he’d found himself atop, waiting until the very last moment possible before changing his shape into whatever came to mind at the time. The higher the perch, the longer the drop, the more time that passed before he gave himself the power of flight, the better.

  Being forced to move about as a mere mortal was extremely inconvenient.

  “If you can shift your feet just a bit at a time,” he said, trying to sound as encouraging as possible, “we’ll reach that little overhang in no time at all. After that, I’ll go first, then help you down.”

  “All the way to the ground?”

  “It won’t be much farther than getting off the back of any number of horses you’ve mastered,” he lied. “I’m sure.”

  “You’re not sure of a damned thing.”

  “I am sure of several things,
one of which is I can guarantee our pampered companion will be exiting the inn by way of the front door. Think on how you’ll then be able to taunt him with your exploits when he next vexes you.”

  “He doesn’t vex me,” she managed.

  “Then you can defend my abused honor,” he said. “Or you can instruct him in the proper way to attempt a duel. Were you not witness to that childish display in the garden earlier this afternoon? I was embarrassed to be a part of it. Now, if we could just ease to our right a bit, I imagine we’ll be able to hop right down to the ground. Perhaps we’ll take a moment or two and examine this afternoon’s battlefield, just to see how consistently our companion was forced to retreat.”

  He continued to babble in something just above a whisper, mostly in an effort to distract her. He stopped speaking when she glared at him, but perhaps that had been just the thing she needed. She took a deep breath, then inched her way over to that bit of something protruding from the side of the building that might have charitably been called an awning. It wasn’t that the overhang was poorly made, it simply wasn’t terribly large.

  “I am here alone I tell you!”

  Acair froze, grateful that he and Léirsinn were far enough away from where Mansourah was hanging out the window that they hopefully wouldn’t be seen. He breathed lightly, listening to that hapless prince of Neroche trying to talk his way out of getting himself thrown into the king’s dungeon.

  Acair rolled his eyes in despair. That one there was altogether too accustomed to waving his title about to get himself out of trouble. Obviously lessons were needed in the fine art of prevarication necessary to save one’s sorry arse when faced with guards carrying swords.

  Time crawled by. He didn’t dare move, particularly after he heard the innkeeper directly beneath him arguing with the lad who was seemingly the captain of the detail sent out to search for the thief who had broken into the king’s private solar and taken one of his treasures.

  Acair shook his head. Only one? Simeon was terrible at sums. He’d pinched at least three things earlier that night that he could bring to mind without effort, mostly in repayment for the way he’d caught the king looking at Léirsinn. Having perfected the art of peering over the backs of sofas whilst remaining unobserved himself had obviously been time well spent.

  More time passed more slowly than he would have liked, but the voices below finally faded as the innkeeper and his late-night visitor went back inside. He eased past Léirsinn, then tested the awning for sturdiness. He had definitely seen worse, so he left Léirsinn sitting on the edge before he swung down to the ground. The threat of death always tended to leave him feeling rather spry, so after congratulating himself on not landing on an upturned rake left lying where a pile of snow had covered it, he turned his mind to coaxing Léirsinn down from the roof.

  He couldn’t fault her for being cautious. He tended to rush forward into things because he enjoyed the looks of astonished dismay he generally received thanks to that sort of thing, but he’d always had magic to fall back on if things went awry.

  He was starting to understand why the average bloke spent such an inordinate amount of time down at the pub.

  “Just jump,” he said finally, trying not to sound as exasperated as he felt. Exasperated was better than alarmed, he supposed, and he was alarmed enough without any help.

  She jumped. He caught her—barely. If he held her in his arms perhaps a moment or two longer than necessary, well, who could fault him for it? The only thing he appreciated more than a finely wrought spell was a beautifully fashioned woman.

  “Let go of me, you lecher.”

  He patted her back, then released her from his embrace. “Just trying to keep you warm.”

  Her teeth were chattering. That might have come from fear, which he doubted, or the bitter cold, which seemed more likely. He rubbed her arms briskly, wishing he’d had the luxury of conjuring up a hot fire by which they could take their ease. Unfortunately, things were as they were and he had made do with much less in the past. He imagined Léirsinn had as well.

  “Where to now?” she whispered. “I’m assuming we’re not going back to our chamber.”

  “I’m actually planning a quick visit to my tailor, if you don’t mind.”

  She looked at him as if she couldn’t decide between complimenting him or stabbing him. He wasn’t unaccustomed to that sort of look, though, so he carried on with getting them out of the garden by way of a gate disguising itself as part of a shrubbery. He pulled it shut behind them, then looked at her.

  “Stay right with me,” he advised.

  “And miss out on more of this glorious adventure if I don’t?” she said, looking as if she might rather be doing exactly that. “You must be mad.”

  He smiled briefly, because she was spectacular and full of good cheer even under adverse conditions. She was also shivering so badly, he was half tempted to strip off his cloak and put it on her. Because he knew that would leave any stray females walking the streets so late swooning at the sight, he decided they would simply have to resort to a hasty trot along back alleyways. He took Léirsinn’s icy hand in his and concentrated on not getting them captured.

  Running was, he supposed after a half-hours’ worth of the same through places he might have hesitated to go alone but necessity left him with no choice but to pass through with an innocent horse miss in tow, at least a decent way to warm up. He found an empty doorway and pulled Léirsinn into it. He wrapped his arms around her—an altruistic and definitely not self-serving gesture—and waited until a burly night watchman had passed them by before he allowed himself to breathe easily.

  “Was that a palace guard?” she whispered.

  He shook his head. “Just a regular lad making the rounds of his neighborhood, doubtless keeping his eyes peeled for black mages and their fire-breathing companions.”

  She might have huffed a bit of a laugh or she might have simply been wheezing from the cold. The weather was typical for that time of year and location but not terribly pleasant when one was enjoying it not from a choice spot in front of a roaring fire.

  “Why did they send guards after us—after you, rather—or do I need to ask?”

  He shifted so he could keep his eyes peeled for miscreants while still keeping Léirsinn shielded from as much of the icy breath of wind as possible.

  “’Tis possible that my activities earlier this evening included liberating a collection of kingly scribblings and stuffing them into the waistband of my trousers,” he whispered. “I refuse to admit to anything else which may or may not have happened as an intended insult to someone I might or might not have, as my mother is wont to say, done dirty in the past.”

  She sighed deeply. “You’re incorrigible.”

  “Your confidence in my ability to stir up trouble is gratifying,” he said. “There is more to the tale, of course, but I’m not sure now is the proper place to relate the particulars. Let’s just say that Simeon and I made a bargain last year and there were a few loose ends remaining.”

  “And those loose ends were to be found in his solar?”

  “One of them, aye.” He patted her back. “I’m as surprised as you are to find he doesn’t hide his treasures in a more secure location, but not my worry.”

  She snorted. “I would think he would be coming after you then, not Mansourah.”

  Acair shrugged lightly. “’Tis possible I left Simeon a note telling him that his spells needed more protection than a lock that even Mansourah of Neroche could pick.”

  “You didn’t,” she breathed.

  “I hadn’t intended that he find it right off, which is why I placed it inside the book that I substituted for the one I now have.”

  “Did you lock the case back up?”

  He patted her. “Of course, and your appreciation for my altruism does you credit. I will admit that Simeon is no fool,” he continued. “
He likely put the proverbial two and two together and realized that perhaps Mansourah might be keeping company with those far above his station in a magical sense. I had hoped it would take him longer to come to that conclusion, but there you have it. Mansourah has the chance to act indignant and you and I have the glorious opportunity to make a run for it.” He smiled. “I promised you danger and peril, didn’t I?”

  “I should have taken you more at your word.” She looked at him seriously. “Someday you’re going to poke at the wrong hornet’s nest.”

  He didn’t want to mention that he suspected he already had, mostly because she knew he already had. He hadn’t been entirely forthcoming about his desire to see what a visit to Diarmailt stirred up, but he supposed she knew that already as well.

  There were strange things afoot in his life.

  He stood with her until the street was as free of guards as it was going to be, then nodded up the way. “Let’s slither through the shadows as best we can.”

  “We aren’t really going to visit your tailor, are we?”

  “He has things I need.”

  “If you tell me we are here for cravats, I will bloody your nose.”

  He smiled. “Nothing so pedestrian, actually.”

  “Will he be awake?”

  “He keeps rather unusual hours,” Acair conceded, “but better still is his uncanny ability to keep an ear to the ground for all sorts of unusual arrivals. I also might have sent a lad with a message to him earlier.”

  She looked at him in surprise. “Do you think he told the king you were here?”

  “Never,” Acair said confidently. “I likely don’t need to mention that we have a particular understanding.”

  “He keeps his mouth shut and you let him live?”

  He stopped and looked at her in surprise. “I’m not sure if I should be flattered or alarmed.”

  She only smiled briefly. “It was a guess.”

  “A good one,” he said frankly, “but in this case, my reputation for dishing out the odd bit of retribution doesn’t serve me. The simple truth is, I aided him many years ago in what for me was a profoundly uncharacteristic display of good will and he’s repaid me with the finest couture in all the Nine Kingdoms ever since. That and he keeps a thing or two for me under very tidy piles of superior neckwear.”