{"product_id":"the-white-spell-isbn-9780425282205","title":"The White Spell","description":"\u003cb\u003eThe \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling Nine Kingdoms Saga continues in a land where light and dark magic vie, and where a reluctant hero and seemingly defenseless stable maid must join forces against an encroaching evil.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003e \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Acair of Ceangail, youngest bastard son of the worst black mage in history, has followed in his father’s footsteps, wreaking havoc throughout the world and leaving powerful enemies in his wake. After a year of reparation, he owes a final bit of penance: twelve months spent working in a barn without using his magic. \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Léirsinn of Sàraichte understands horses, stable work, and how to judge men’s hearts.  When she starts seeing shadows where there should only be light, she knows there is evil afoot. Unfortunately, it's something she can’t fight on her own.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Acair’s attempts to aid Léirsinn only draw the notice of dangerous mages against whom he is currently defenseless. With only each other to rely on, Acair and Léirsinn find themselves suddenly in a race to save the world before it’s consumed by darkness...\u003cb\u003ePraise for \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author Lynn Kurland\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “One of romance’s finest writers.”—\u003ci\u003eThe Oakland Press\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Both powerful and sensitive…A wonderfully rich and rewarding book.”—Susan Wiggs, #1 \u003ci\u003eNew York Times \u003c\/i\u003ebestselling author \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “An enchanting, vibrant story.”—\u003ci\u003eKirkus Reviews\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “A superbly crafted, sweetly romantic tale.”—\u003ci\u003eBooklist\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “[Kurland] weaves stories with a magic that could only be conjured from dreams.”—The Reading Cafe\u003cb\u003eLynn Kurland\u003c\/b\u003e is the \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eStars In Your Eyes\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eDreams of Lilacs\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eAll for You\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eOne Magic Moment\u003c\/i\u003e, and the Novels of the Nine Kingdoms, as well as numerous other novels and short stories.One\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The port town of Sàraichte was a locale with absolutely no        redeeming features.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The list of its flaws was long and well-examined. It wasn't as        large as Tòsan, nor as elegant as Taohb na Mara; it was a city        of unremarkable size that one tended to forget as quickly as        possible in order to erase the unfortunate memory of having        passed through it. Its harbor was endlessly needing a good        dredging whilst its inhabitants seemed to be perpetually needing        a good bath. The food was terrible, the accommodations        disgusting, and the scenery flat and uninspiring. There was only        one thing about the place that spared it from the need for a        good razing.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The stables of Briàghde.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Léirsinn of Sàraichte leaned against an outer wall of Briàghde's        labyrinth of stalls and considered the truth of that. She wasn't        one to be effusive with praise or stingy with censure, which        left her looking at the bare facts to judge them on merit alone.        And the simple fact was, the horses that came from the stables        in which she stood were absolutely beyond compare.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She knew this because she was responsible for it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e It wasn't something she thought about very often, actually, for        a variety of reasons that left her feeling rather uncomfortable        if she gave too much thought to them. But the weather was brisk,        the barn cats feisty, and the horses very full of themselves. If        that had infected her with a bit more spirit than she usually        dared allow herself, so be it. Besides, she was the only one        inside her head, so perhaps she could be permitted a bracing bit        of truth to enjoy privately.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e And the truth was, she was damned good at working horses. It was        in her blood, or so she understood, which she supposed helped        quite a bit. The rest of it was simply years of seeing horse        after horse come through Fuadain of Sàraichte's stables and        watching how they matured. She'd had the good sense to know        which horsemen to listen to in her youth and perhaps even better        sense to keep her mouth shut when it would have been easier to        call other men who thought they knew horses idiots.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She was growing rather tired of that last bit, actually.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e But biting her tongue allowed her to continue to watch what came        and went in Lord Fuadain's stables and, better still, quietly        have charge of their training. Of course she never spoke her        opinions aloud, but she and the stable master, Slaidear, had        come to an understanding a decade ago. He would stroke his chin        and consider the beast on display before him, glance her way to        see if she raised a single eyebrow or not, then take her opinion        as his own and offer an aye or nay as necessary.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Many fine animals were turned away as a result, left with no        choice but to find homes with lesser masters. Only the most        spectacular beasts were invited to stay to either be bred or        trained, sometimes both. The fees charged for either privilege        were so high, Léirsinn was frankly amazed anyone managed to pay        them. But they seemed to, and gladly.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Of course, she saw no share of that gold, but she couldn't have        realistically expected anything else. Fuadain was her uncle, as        it happened, but she was one of his much lesser relations by        marriage. She was fortunate to have a roof over her head and        enough to eat. She had incomparable horses to train, though,        which made up for quite a bit.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e As did the sea, which was perhaps the one redeeming feature of        Sàraichte. She could see the faint sparkle of it from where she        stood. If she'd had money enough, she would have built a house        near it, with an enormous barn and a path that led to the shore        where she could have ridden a different horse each day along the        edge of the water. She would have had peace and quiet and the        freedom to think whatever thoughts she cared to without having        to guard her expressions.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e With any luck she would have that, though perhaps not as quickly        as she would have liked. She looked down at the coins she held        in her hand. It was her se'nnight's pay, those three coins that        would scarce buy her a decent meal at the worst pub in town. But        she would add them to the rest of what she had, as usual, and        continue on as she always did.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She pushed away from the wall and walked into the stables,        noting the condition of the floors between rows of stalls-one        might eat off them if one were so inclined-and the condition of        the horses housed inside those stalls-one might ride them to the        ends of the earth if one were so inclined. She tried not to        think about that possibility very often, lest the temptation        prove to be more than she could bear.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The stables were less populated by lads than usual, but perhaps        they'd snuck off for a bit of rest. She couldn't blame them. The        work was endless and they didn't have the privilege of riding        any of the horses they tended. The work was endless for her as        well, but she was at least allowed to ride what she tended. If        she generally limited herself to riding the finest horses in the        barn, who could blame her?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She made her way without undue haste to her private tack room.        In truth, the damned place was no larger than her uncle's        smallest wardrobe, but it was hers alone and there was a lock on        her door. She was fortunate to have that much and she knew it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She entered, then closed the door behind her purposefully, as if        she indeed had many important things to do. She lit a lantern,        then kept herself busy doing absolutely nothing for another few        minutes until she was as certain as she could be that she        wouldn't be interrupted.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She carefully removed a stack of dusty, ancient saddle pads to        reveal a very worn box full of half-used bottles of horse        liniment. She looked at the nastiest of the lot but didn't        disturb it until she had made certain it hadn't been moved by        someone else. Finding everything to be as it should have been,        she lifted the bottle and looked at what lay underneath it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e A key.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e That key opened a lock that was found on a box that wasn't found        on her uncle's property, a scheme that had been casually        suggested to her a handful of years earlier by someone in town.        She'd agreed just as casually that such seemed like a fine idea.        The box in question, tended by that same trustworthy soul in        town, was full of more silver than gold, but the modest        collection of coins was hers, ruthlessly saved against a time        when she might find it useful. She didn't want to admit that she        couldn't imagine when such a day might come, but it had seemed a        bit like having a loft stacked with a winter's worth of hay.        Security was nothing to be sneered at.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She deposited her trio of coins next to the key, then replaced        everything in a way that left no indication that it had been        moved. She sat down on a stool that still rocked despite the        attempts she'd made over the years to file the legs to the same        length. Her pay would be safe enough until she was able to get        to town and put the coins where they needed to go. She took a        deep breath, then let herself think thoughts that seemed so        dangerous, she rarely entertained them. But since it had been        that sort of day so far, she continued on with the anarchy.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She was going to get herself and her grandfather out of        Sàraichte.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The truth was, she didn't need a house by the sea. She wasn't        even sure she needed a house. All she needed was enough money to        collect her grandfather from her uncle's manor and spirit them        both away to somewhere safe. Her grandfather's frail condition        demanded a place where she could find work and he could be cared        for, but that was done easily enough. A town with a decent barn        and a fair supply of women skilled in the arts of physicking        would serve. Perhaps in time she might even find someone willing        to try to heal him, for enough gold. She seriously doubted she        would find anyone to do it out of the goodness of his heart-\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e A knock startled her so badly, she almost fell off her stool.        She took a deep, steadying breath, then rose and opened the        door. \"Aye?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Her head groomsman, Doghail, stood there. \"Thought you should        know that Fuadain's in a temper,\" he said in a low voice.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"When is he not?\" she asked lightly.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Aye, well, he seems to be in a particularly difficult mood        today. You might want to keep that in mind.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Léirsinn didn't even consider arguing with that assessment.        Doghail was a short, thin man who had spent the bulk of his life        racing horses for this lord or that. He was wiry, malnourished,        and canny as hell. The horses did his bidding without        hesitation. She understood that. When he pulled her up with a        pinky finger on her reins, she never hesitated to pause. If he        said her uncle was in a temper, she was going to keep her ears        forward-\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She shook her head. Perhaps she had spent too much time in the        company of horses. She was starting to think like one.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I sense something afoot,\" Doghail added. \"He's sacked half the        lads for imagined slights.\" He paused. \"I just wanted you to        know what was blowing your way so you'd be prepared.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She stepped outside her closet and pulled the door shut behind        her. \"Where is he now?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Entertaining up at the house, but one of the kitchen lads        scampered down to tell me that they're almost finished with        their port.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"But 'tis barely noon,\" she said in surprise. \"Into their cups        so early?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Aye,\" he said grimly, \"and if that doesn't give you pause, I        don't know what will.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She shook her head less in surprise than resignation. Her uncle        was very fond of his drink. If he'd already been in a temper        that morning, she almost hesitated to think what he would be in        by the time he and his luncheon companion stumbled through her        doors. She looked at Doghail.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Where's Slaidear?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"At Himself's elbow,\" Doghail said in disgust. \"Where else?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Where, indeed? Why Fuadain had ever made Slaidear his stable        master-nay, there was no point in revisiting that piece of        stupidity because she knew exactly why her uncle had done the        like. Master Slaidear might have known next to nothing about        horses, but the man knew how to flatter a lord with mercurial        moods.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She had complained about Slaidear's lack of knowledge to a        stable hand when she'd first arrived in Sàraichte-once. That        lad, who had long since laid himself down in a mouldering grave,        had put her some deep knowledge, as he would have said, and told        her to keep her bloody mouth shut and her eyes and ears open.        And she, a poor shivering, sniveling child of eleven summers,        had had the wit to listen.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e That had been almost a score of years ago and she had never once        regretted forming that habit.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e As it happened, in time she had managed to gain Slaidear's        trust. If he used her taste in ponies to secure his own place,        so much the better. She was free to train what she liked whilst        someone else was paying for it. There was a certain beauty in        that, which likely said something about her that she didn't want        to examine too closely.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She looked at Doghail. \"Any ideas what he'll want to see?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"His companion is a genteel gentleman,\" Doghail said knowingly.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She laughed a little in spite of herself. \"No money but quite a        title, is that what you're getting at?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Exactly.\" He squinted back down the way. \"I imagine we'll have        word from Slaidear at any moment on which horses to prepare.        Somehow, I suspect they might be the same ones you would think        of.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Funny thing, that,\" she said. \"Very well, let's settle on a        simple beast who wouldn't mind a life in modest surroundings. If        we flank him with a less desirable pair of nags, he'll shine        well enough.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Tell me which ones and I'll ready them.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She considered, named a trio of horses she thought might suit,        then watched Doghail walk off to do what he did best.        Unfortunately that left her with nothing to do but linger in the        passageway and wait.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She wandered down toward the entry to the barn, leaned back        against a handy wall, and contented herself with yet another        recalculating of her funds.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Would that it took more time than it did.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She straightened immediately at the sight of her uncle marching        purposely toward the barn, his guest in tow. She waited without        shifting until he arrived, then strove not to flinch as he        stopped in front of her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"What are you doing lazing about?\" he demanded.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She made him a small bow. \"I was simply waiting here to attend        your pleasure, as always, and await Master Slaidear's        instructions.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I should think so,\" Fuadain huffed. He looked at his companion.        \"Come, Lord Aidan, and we'll endure a bit of dust to see what        Slaidear has produced.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Léirsinn held back as her uncle and his obviously inebriated        companion walked rather unsteadily into the barn. Slaidear        looked at her quickly as he hung back behind the pair. She        nodded ever so slightly and he continued on, obviously        reassured.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She suppressed the urge to sigh. Her uncle was at least a bit        lordly looking, his unsavory self aside. He was tall, with        silver hair and a noble brow. Slaidear, on the other hand, was a        short, round little fellow who looked as if he belonged on the        edges of a tale about hard-working dwarves, not up to his ears        in the demanding labor of overseeing a large barn full of        extremely valuable horses.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Then again, he knew what to say and when to say it. Perhaps that        made up for his lack of wit.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She realized with a start that there were no stable hands        rushing to go hold the horses Doghail had surely selected. There        was only Doghail, standing at the gate to the arena, waiting for        her with only one horse in tow. She cursed under her breath and        walked swiftly down the aisle to meet him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"No lads?\" she asked, feeling a little breathless.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Later,\" he said, handing her the reins. \"I'll go tack up the        other two. Save the best for last, aye?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She nodded, put her questions aside, then led a perfectly        serviceable but hardly spectacular gelding into the arena. A lad        came skidding through the dirt to hand her the pair of gloves        she'd apparently dropped in her haste, then backed away at a        curse from Slaidear. If that one avoided a right proper sacking,        she would be surprised. She consigned him to whatever fate        awaited him without hesitation and turned her attentions to her        own business.","brand":"Berkley","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46303992021221,"sku":"NP9780425282205","price":22.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780425282205.jpg?v=1767742197","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/the-white-spell-isbn-9780425282205","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}