The White Spell by Lynn Kurland

Author:Lynn Kurland
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2016-08-01T09:11:34+00:00

Fourteen

Acair had honestly believed he’d seen it all. He had enjoyed spectacular sunsets and the occasional lovely sunrise—he was not an early riser by nature—priceless treasures, gilded halls with thrones he’d lounged on whenever possible, and magic that was nothing short of breathtaking. He had reveled in everything the world had had to offer and then quite a bit more that he’d taken without invitation.

He had never in his long life thought he would ever see the granddaughter of the wizardess Nimheil standing in a dungeon dressed all in black, come to rescue him.

“Um,” he managed.

Eulasaid only laughed softly. “And so the journey is repaid tenfold.” She put her hand briefly on his arm, then turned to Léirsinn. “And you are Léirsinn of Sàraichte.”

Léirsinn looked at her in astonishment. “How did you know?”

“Your pony told me.” She smiled. “He’s a lovely little fellow. Very chatty.”

Acair glanced at Léirsinn to see how she was taking that. She looked past surprise, which he supposed was understandable. For a gel who had fainted at the sight of wings on her horse, she had shown a remarkably strong stomach over the course of the past several hours, facing all sorts of things he was certain she hadn’t wanted to believe.

“Of course,” Léirsinn said faintly. “I don’t suppose that if you’re rescuing us, you could point me toward the barn so I can liberate that chatty pony, could you? I can’t leave without him.”

“Oh, not to worry, love.” Eulasaid patted her pocket. “I have him right here. You might want to take him to Hearn to investigate his genealogy properly, but in my brief conversation with him, we identified at least one of his noble dams who had magic. I suggested a pair of shapes he might try and he took to the smallest without any trouble.”

“Shapes,” Léirsinn echoed, but the word was more of a choked whisper than anything.

“You might be surprised by what lies inside those you love.” Eulasaid smiled. “You see, I’m a gardener by trade and I like to see the possibilities in things. Seeds, horses, grandsons.”

Acair was still trying to find his tongue, but if he’d had a better grasp on his traitorous form, he would have disabused Léirsinn of the notion she might be getting from that diminutive granny standing there that said granny had never done anything more serious than turn a spade of soft earth. That one . . . he shook his head. The tales of Eulasaid’s exploits were the stuff of legends. She had faced off with black mages, renegade wizards, and all types of other nasty things without so much as a light sigh of exertion. She was older than Soilléir, canny as hell, and had likely forgotten more spells than Acair had ever known.

And she was, as he had said before, his grandmother.

He had never presented himself at her table, of course, because he was who he was and she was who she was and he hadn’t wanted to interrupt any of her dinner parties.

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