Well, perhaps it didn’t matter what the book had contained given that it was now safely tucked behind an impenetrable wall of his own spells, spells apparently he couldn’t unlock for at least a year. He would have pointed out that fact to Rùnach—it was Rùnach’s book, after all—but he’d been too damn distracted to.
A year without magic. Absolutely preposterous.
And all because he’d simply attempted a rather substantial theft of the world’s magic and failed spectacularly. If that hadn’t been enough, he’d taken a blade to the chest and almost lost his life. Rùnach had been the one to heal him with some damned elvish rot that Acair was convinced had left something untoward behind where the wound had been. He’d been suffering ever since from foul dreams and the like. Add that to the sad truth
