The Prince of Souls by Kurland Lynn

Author:Kurland, Lynn [Kurland, Lynn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy, Romance, Mystery, Adventure, Science Fiction
ISBN: 9781734120714
Amazon: B0828C7C1S
Goodreads: 49086681
Publisher: Kurland Book Productions
Published: 2019-12-02T08:00:00+00:00

Thirteen

Acair dragged his sleeve across his forehead and sneezed. He wasn’t one for tidying with his own hands when magic could do it for him, but his current project of digging about in a trunk he’d found stashed behind a winerack in his cellar seemed to suggest that was the proper way to go about it. The whole damned thing reeked of something foul.

Dust, definitely. Magic, possibly.

He’d thought it best to proceed gingerly.

Or so he had when he’d first found the trunk, which for a change hadn’t been just after dawn. He’d managed to sleep well past sunrise, thankfully, but he’d woken with a pounding headache for his trouble. A finger or two of whisky hadn’t done anything but make him short tempered.

Léirsinn had promised him she wouldn’t apologize again for thinking him capable of slaying her family, which he’d begged her through his haze of pain and irritation not to do, then given him a wide berth.

Left to himself and firmly caught between regret for his reputation and fury that the thought of attempting to recapture the vileness of the same going forward left him feeling slightly uncomfortable, he’d donned the proverbial hairshirt and decided he would do things he didn’t particularly feel like doing.

Digging through the garden shed was one and that had gone about as he’d suspected it would, leaving him muddy and cross.

Rummaging about in the cellar had been but another slide down into a pit of misery and frustration. He could remember with unfortunate clarity the precise conversation he’d had with his very mortal master craftsmen whilst they had been about the noble labor of building his home.

What of this trunk, my lord?

Leave it, I’ll attend to it later.

So said every cavalier lad who hoped later meant several hundred years in the future when the bloody thing will have disintegrated.

He straightened, groaned at the ache in his lower back, and wished that he hadn’t started in the other end of his very large house. If he’d come straight to the cellar—yet another in a long series of lessons learned—he would have found the trunk before he’d wasted half the day looking for things he’d imagined he wouldn’t want to see. And what had he found at the very end of his tedious morning?

Horseshoes.

He knew he shouldn’t have been surprised. Those damned nags were going to be the death of him.

The trunk was full of all sorts of other things he supposed might have been useful in a barn. A record book listing the incomings and outgoings of necessities, several useful pieces of tack, and, as he’d already noted to himself, half a dozen horseshoes that he suspected not even Léirsinn would want.

He retrieved one just the same, slammed the trunk shut, then kept himself warm and happy with a few choice words as he climbed back up the stairs to the kitchen. He dropped the horseshoe on the table, glared at his horse-turned-useless-puss who was currently snoozing comfortably on the hearth rug, then took himself off to rid his clothes and person of dust and cobwebs.

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