shrug, “if you’re interested in a hot fire and fairly serviceable chairs. My traveling companion is guarding a very lovely bottle of wine.”
“Is he another of our kind?” Ardan asked doubtfully.
“Nay,” Ruith said easily, “but a soul worthy of your best manners just the same. Follow or not, as you choose.”
And with that, he parted the pair and walked between them. He didn’t look over his shoulder to see if they would follow. Curiosity would be too much a temptation for Thoir. As for Ardan, perhaps just the hope of a decent cup of wine would bring him along.
He made his way without haste to the inn, then continued on up to his chamber. He suffered a moment of unease because, truth be told, he cared very much how Sarah was treated. Thoir would behave himself, but bore watching. It was possible that Ardan would be his usual self—relentlessly unpleasant and impossibly arrogant—but Ruith didn’t hold out much hope that he would keep all that arrogance to himself.
He looked at Ardan. “Watch yourself,” he said shortly.
“Ah,” Ardan asked, his eyes widening. “A lady of quality inside, is there? No wonder you’re trotting out your best courtly manners.”
Ruith ignored him, announced himself, then dissolved his spell as Sarah opened the door.
“Friends, not foes,” he said reassuringly.
Her expression didn’t lighten, but he understood that. He took the door and had to force himself not to slam it on the elves following him. He kept them behind him and entered slowly once he realized Sarah had the fragments of spell laid out on a table. She quickly scooped them into her hand and deposited them into a bowl she then set on a trunk under the window. She turned and looked at him, silent and wary.
“This is my cousin, Thoir of Tòrr Dòrainn,” he said, gesturing to the appropriate interloper. “And Ardan of Ainneamh, who is another cousin of sorts. Gentlemen, this is Sarah of Doìre.”
Thoir murmured something polite and complimentary. Ruith couldn’t blame him for that. Sarah was, as he would happily have told her endlessly, a very beautiful woman. A currently quite unsettled woman, but a beautiful one nonetheless.
“Doìre,” Ardan said doubtfully. “What is there in Doìre?”
“Sagebrush and criminals,” Sarah answered without hesitation. “For the most part.”
“Well, it produced one thing beyond compare,” Thoir said, taking a step forward.
He didn’t take another because Ruith put his hand out and stopped him. He shot his cousin a warning look, then saw Sarah seated comfortably in front of the fire. He looked for and found two more poor excuses for chairs, then happily relegated himself to an evening of standing in front of the fire, which would make it a very short evening indeed.
“Who was your mother?” Ardan asked, looking at Sarah down his very long, very aristocratic nose. “I don’t recognize you.”
Ruith wouldn’t have blamed Sarah if she’d glared at him for his part in bringing two elves home with him, as it were, but he also supposed she knew by now that he couldn’t stomach pompous fools any more than she could. He only watched her steadily, catching just the briefest glance from her before she looked at Ardan.
“My mother was the witchwoman Seleg,” she said calmly. “As to the identity of my father, your guess, Your Highness, is as good as mine.”
The reaction was predictable. Ardan spluttered for a moment or two, coming close to an animated case of the vapors. Thoir only smiled at Sarah, seemingly unfazed by her lack of pedigree.
“You are obviously her finest work.”
“Thank you,” Sarah said with a polite smile. She looked at Ardan. “Would you care for something to drink, Prince Ardan? To ease your suffering?”
Ardan looked for a moment torn between choking to death and accepting, but apparently his instinct for self-preservation was very strong because he accepted a cup of wine with only a small grimace of distaste. Ruith watched him for a moment, then turned to Thoir, who had said something to him he hadn’t marked.
“I’m sorry,” Ruith said. “I was distracted.”
“Understandable,” Thoir said with a nod at Sarah. “I had simply asked why you found yourself here in Slighe.”
Ruith shrugged. “Looking for companions we had a month or so ago, but seem to have missed. And you?”
Thoir shrugged as well. “I’ve heard rumors of things let loose in the world. Spells and that sort of rot.”
“Slighe seems a strange place to be looking for them,” Ruith offered. “Doesn’t it?”
Thoir shrugged. “As likely as any, I suppose. I’ve been other places