Armed & Magical rb-2

by Lisa Shearin

I was bejeweled, my hair was up, and I was dressed—at least from the front.

  Riston’s wife had bought a gown for me, but what she didn’t get was an extra pair of hands to lace the thing up. The gown laced up the back, starting near the base of my spine and ending just below my shoulder blades. All I saw when I looked over my shoulder were open silk laces and a lot of exposed skin.

  Crap.

  Vegard’s duties were about to expand to include dresser.

  I went to the door and yanked it open. Mychael was standing there in his steel gray formal uniform, his fist raised to knock.

  I loved a man in uniform. I especially loved seeing this particular man in that uniform. Mychael’s auburn hair was damp from a recent bath—and those sea blue eyes were tracing every velvety curve of my gown. I smiled at him. A girl does like to feel appreciated.

  “You were actually going to knock this time,” I said. “No kicking or blasting.”

  Mychael met my eyes. “I knocked last time. When you didn’t answer, then I kicked and blasted. May I come in?”

  I stepped aside so he could.

  Mychael closed the door behind him. “Riston’s wife wasn’t sure what you’d like, so I—”

  “Told her what you would like?” I finished suggestively.

  A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I thought you would agree with my choice.”

  “I do. Do you like it?”

  “Very much so,” he murmured. “And the pearls match your eyes.”

  My hand went to the choker at my throat. “Phaelan brought them to me.”

  “Legal purchase or illegal acquisition?”

  I let out a short laugh. “Guess. However, he did say they’ve cooled off enough to wear in public.”

  The gown slipped off my shoulder. I quickly pulled it back up, and clutched the front of my bodice with the other hand.

  Mychael stepped back toward the door. “I can see you’re not finished dressing. I’ll wait in—”

  “No, no. I need your hands.”

  “My what?”

  I half turned so Mychael could see my predicament. “I can’t go like this.”

  I heard a muffled noise and looked over my shoulder at him. He was laughing silently.

  “No, you definitely shouldn’t go anywhere like that.” Mychael’s smile had reached his eyes. He was looking at my bare back, but making no move to do anything about making it less bare.

  “If you lace me up, we can go.” I turned my back to him. I waited and nothing happened. “You’ve never done this before, have you?” I glanced over my shoulder at him.

  Mychael was grinning like a little boy. “I can honestly say that you’re my first.”

  I felt my face getting warm, and quickly turned away. “It’s easy. You just start at the bottom and work your way up.”

  A moment later, I felt his fingers on the base of my spine. His touch was like a shock. I let out a little gasp before I could stop it.

  He paused. “I’m sorry.”

  “Fine,” I managed. “I’m fine. I must be a little ticklish down there. Go on.”

  He did and I bit my lip against the incredible sensations running up and down my spine and spreading to other places. It was all I could do to stand still. I was glad my back was to him and he couldn’t see my face.

  “I think I threaded the laces evenly before I put it on.” My mouth was suddenly dry. “So all you should have to do is tighten them.”

  Mychael hesitated, his hands on my waist. “How tight do you like it?”

  Oh my.

  “Breathing’s good,” I told him. “I need air.” And I could use some more of it right now.

  I felt four tugs in sharp succession. If he kept that up, I was going to have to hold on to the bedpost.

  “How’s that?” His voice had turned husky.

  “That’s good.” And then some. “Wait a minute. Let me…” I squirmed a little in the bodice, took a good breath, then put my hands on my waist and pushed the fabric toward the back. “There. That should work even better.”

  Mychael’s hands were warm against my bare back as he worked at the laces, and he was standing so close that I could feel the heat from the rest of him.

  Talk, Raine. Talking will help.

  “Vegard said you and Justinius went to the elven embassy. You didn’t bring any embassy guards with you, so I assume that I’m still a free woman, and Piaras isn’t under protective custody.”

  Mychael gave the laces a sharp tug and I bit back a squeak.

  “It wasn’t for lack of trying on their part.” All signs of playful were gone. “Giles Keril argued that since you’re a subject of the elven king, you should be in their custody, not ours. I reminded him that the Isle of Mid is neutral and that any person, regardless of their race or kingdom of birth— unless convicted of a crime in an open court—is granted political asylum for as long as they desire it.”

  As he talked, his hands became firm and sure on the laces. “So I have to officially ask you.” His voice was low and close to my ear. “Do you desire it?”

  I froze. “Desire it?”

  “Political asylum.”

  Oh, that. “Yes, I desire it very much.”

  “Good. There’s a document in my office you’ll need to sign. Piaras will need to do the same. I’ll take it from there.”

  “So that will just delay things until the Khrynsani and Balmorlan can get this into open court.”

  “Time was something we were running out of. This will buy us some more. I will find a solution.”

  I wondered if my father had heard the same promise from his paladin before he was forced to take the Saghred and run. Or in my case, just run. Time to change the subject.

  “I sent a message to Sedge Rinker. I linked with—”

  “I know. Sedge was here when I got back. There are only a few places on the island that we know of with cells like you described. I have some men checking them out now.”

  Mychael put his hands firmly around my waist, lifted me a scant inch or two off the floor, turned me so I was facing the door, and set me back down. “I need more light,” he explained. “The fireplace is over here.”

  Of course.

  “Did Sedge know if the kidnapped boy is a spellsinger?” I asked.

  Mychael resumed tugging and tightening. “His name is Gustin Sorenson, and he graduated two years ago. He’s a spellsinger in one of the nightclubs.”

  “Mychael, three spellsingers are no coincidence,” I said.

  “I agree.”

  “And Banan Ryce has yet to do anything with them or to them. That tells me he’s probably not finished collecting. When I was in the tub, Sarad Nukpana said I should look to my own people for who’s behind the kidnappings. I’m ashamed to say it, but Taltek Balmorlan is an elf. That means he’s ‘my people.’ Banan and his boys don’t come cheap, and the agency has some very deep pockets. Carnades has me in his sights, but today he and Balmorlan went after Piaras with a vengeance, and they almost got him. And in less than two hours, Ronan’s best spellsingers— including Piaras—will be on Sirens’s stage.”

  Mychael finished my lacing with one last tug. “Yes, I know. I’ve already requested that the recital be canceled, or at least postponed.”

  “And?”

  “Justinius said no.”

  I turned and stared at him in disbelief. “Justinius said no? The Twelve I could understand, but Justinius? His granddaughter is singing tonight. He can’t possibly want her there. Students are missing, Mychael. They’re all spellsingers. I’ve linked with them and they’re together.”

  “I believe you. But the recital is in less than two hours. As archmagus, Justinius would need nothing short of a signed confession from Banan Ryce himself to stop it now. His official stance is that three kidnapped students, regardless of them all being spellsingers, doesn’t necessarily constitute a conspiracy. Justinius said that warding the dressing-room mirrors at Sirens and posting guards at the exits will be adequate to preve
nt any incident.”

  I was dumbfounded. “Is this the same Justinius who chewed out the Twelve this afternoon?”

  Mychael took a breath and let it out. “Yes. He didn’t doubt what I told him; he just knew the ramifications of canceling the recital.”

  “I can tell him what the ramifications will be if he doesn’t.”

  “Raine, it’s political.” Mychael said it like it left a foul taste in his mouth. “The Twelve would outvote him, and after the dressing-down he gave most of them after we left, they’d do just that, for spite if nothing else. He can’t afford to jeopardize alumni goodwill on anything less than cold, hard facts.”

  “Can’t afford?”

  “The office of archmagus is an elected position.”

  I blinked. “He’s afraid of losing his job?”

  “Yes, he’s afraid of losing his job because he knows what will happen if he does. Carnades Silvanus has enough support on the Twelve and enough influence with the wealthier alumni to get himself elected if Justinius loses the support base he has. After what nearly happened to you and Piaras this afternoon, I don’t have to tell you what the Isle of Mid would be like with Carnades as archmagus.”

  “So the old man picks his battles carefully and watches his back.”

  Mychael nodded. “And tonight he’s depending on me to do the watching. And he’s told me to protect those children as best as I can. According to Sedge Rinker’s report, even though Gustin Sorensen is a spellsinger, he’s no longer a student. And he wasn’t abducted through a mirror. There were witnesses, and they can’t say whether the kidnappers were human or elven.”

  “But I’ve seen him. He’s there with those two girls. They were guarded by Nightshades.”

  Mychael’s silence told me more than I needed to know.

  “No one other than you and Justinius is going to believe the word of a Benares whose soul has been ‘contaminated by dark forces.’ ”

  “Unfortunately, they’re not. Carnades doesn’t even believe you’ve linked with the students. He’s demanding a test of your abilities—that is, after you’re in elven intelligence custody.”

  I swore. “It’s not my seeking abilities he wants tested.” I resisted the urge to pace. “Mychael, it’s just a recital.”

  “I know it’s just a recital. But to the Twelve and the department deans, it’s the college’s most profitable alumni fundraiser.”

  I was incredulous. “This is about money? Tell me you’re joking.”

  Mychael’s lips were a thin, angry line. “Some of the college’s biggest financial supporters have traveled a great distance for this event. If it were up to me, I’d tell them all to go home. But it’s not up to me.”

  “Meanwhile, you’re told to protect and defend. And if anything happens to those spellsingers tonight, it’s your ass.”

  “It won’t be the first time it’s been on the line. Unfortunately, my job is as much about politics as protecting the citizens of this island.”

  “Then why do you do it? No, let me rephrase that. How can you do it?”

  “Because I know I’m better at it than anyone else,” he said with an intensity and conviction that was almost frightening. “And if I didn’t do it, mages like Carnades would reduce the Guardians to ceremonial guards—or personal enforcers. It has happened before, and I will fight to my last breath to keep it from ever happening again.”

  I nodded in grim approval. “Not on your watch.”

  Mychael eyes were like blue steel. “Not on my watch.”

  “If elven intelligence wants to get their collective hands on me, it’s not because of who I am or what they say I’ve done,” I told him. “As to me being dangerous, they don’t fear that; they want it for themselves. Most of all, they want it before the goblins can get it.”

  I stopped talking. What I’d read in the tub clicked into place with what I’d just said.

  “What is it?” Mychael asked.

  “Rudra Muralin said in his journal that his bond with the Saghred was so strong that he could use it from anywhere to do whatever he wanted. Distance didn’t matter. The stone only had to be two things—awake and fed—and it didn’t have to be anywhere near him. He claimed that he and the Saghred were one and the same.” More pieces fell into place. “Mychael, no one’s actually tried to steal the Saghred, but the Khrynsani and elven intelligence want me really bad. When Sarad Nukpana came to me in the tub, he said that the Saghred was conserving power. In his journal, Rudra Muralin wrote that before he did anything big and deadly with the Saghred, he had to sacrifice souls to it— magically gifted souls were preferred.”

  It all came together, and I realized with dawning horror what had happened and what was going to happen.

  “Was my father a spellsinger?”

  Mychael was puzzled. “He was. Why?”

  “What about Sarad Nukpana?”

  Mychael’s blue eyes widened in realization. “Before he became the Khrynsani grand shaman, yes, he was a spellsinger.”

  “When Piaras sang the Saghred to sleep, Nukpana told me that the Saghred hasn’t had such a treat in years. Then he said those with the sweetest magic are the most delicious. Does that mean what I think it means?”

  Mychael stood utterly still. “Spellsinging is known as the ‘sweet magic.’ ”

  Sarad Nukpana had told me that I was doing the Saghred’s will and I hadn’t believed him.

  “Mychael, we’ve just brought the Saghred back to the biggest buffet in the seven kingdoms, and Banan Ryce has been gathering dinner. Tonight he’s going after dessert.”

  Phaelan knocked as he opened my door. “You decent, cousin?”

  I scowled. “And I’m dressed, too.”

  He looked from me to Mychael. “Something I should know about?”

  “The kidnapped students are all spellsingers, the Saghred likes spellsingers as sacrifices, and tonight Sirens is hosting the cream of Ronan’s crop.”

  “That’s a trap waiting to happen. So just cancel the damned thing and lock down your spellsingers.”

  “The Twelve won’t cancel the recital,” I told him. “It’s political.”

  “Sounds like you need to get yourself a new Twelve,” Phaelan told Mychael. “Just get me the names of the ones you don’t want to keep.” He glanced back over his shoulder for eavesdroppers and lowered his voice. “I know people.”

  Mychael’s smile was more like a baring of teeth. “I just might take you up on that.” He looked down at Phaelan’s rapier and sighed. “I really hate to tell you this, but I can only allow Guardians to have swords in Sirens this evening.”

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Even now?”

  “Especially now.”

  “And especially considering who he is,” I shot back.

  “Raine, I can’t make any exceptions.”

  Phaelan shrugged, unbuckled his sword belt, and tossed it on my bed. “As a guest here, I humbly comply with my host’s wishes.”

  Mychael just looked at him. “You’re bristling with daggers, aren’t you?”

  “ ‘Bristling’ is such a negative term, I prefer ‘amply armed.’ ” My cousin turned to me. “Speaking of ample, there’s no room in that bodice for anything other than you. You wearing a thigh sheath?”

  I linked my arm through Mychael’s. “Now what would be the sense of wearing just one? I have two thighs.” I glanced up at Mychael. “Welcome to a night on the town with the Benares family.”

  Chapter 18

  It’s tough to go against your upbringing. Most times I try. From now on I wasn’t even going to bother.

  I was a Benares. As far as Taltek Balmorlan was concerned, I was also one of the most powerful mages in Sirens. Yes, my power came from an evil rock locked in the Guardians’ basement, and I had no intention of using that power, but no one knew that and I wasn’t going to tell them.

  I was going to keep them guessing and shaking in their designer robes.

  But if anyone so much as laid one finger on Ro
nan’s spellsingers, all bets were off.

  Mychael had taken every precaution to protect those kids. He’d ordered all of Sirens’s mirrors bespelled to prevent their use by mirror mages. Mirror mages needed a crisp, clear image to do their thing. Mychael’s spells distorted whatever was reflected in the mirror as an undulating wave, its pattern constantly changing. Try putting on makeup, doing your hair, or getting dressed in front of an undulating wave. Some people it’d make sick; most people it’d just make ugly. All the dressing rooms at Sirens had big, full-length mirrors. If any of Ronan’s spellsingers wanted to admire themselves, they’d better have done it before they got here.

  Seeing someone or something step out of my reflection was one of the reasons why I owned only one mirror and it was just big enough to see my face in. Anything that popped out through that mirror would be small enough for me to stomp on.

  Ronan had gathered his students and Mychael told them that, due to the recent student abductions through mirrors, Sirens’s mirrors had been warded as a safety precaution. That didn’t go over well, especially with Countess Sanura Mal’Salin. Mychael ignored the goblin girl’s outburst and proceeded to lay down the law for the evening: no going out the stage door into the alley, and if they needed to leave the dressing-room area during the recital, they would have to do so in the company of a Guardian escort. He didn’t want to scare the kids, just make them aware of the safety precautions being taken and that he expected nothing less than their full and complete cooperation.

  Mychael’s talk left out the words “Saghred” and “sacrifice.” Like he’d said, until we had irrefutable proof— meaning from a source other than me—we had to keep our private suspicions from becoming public allegations.

  I had all the irrefutable proof I needed. I had told Piaras everything—and made sure he had enough steel on him to discourage any takers.

  When Mychael finished talking, every last one of Ronan’s students still insisted on singing. The show would go on. Dammit.

  I was backstage looking out into the rapidly filling theatre. I wanted to know who was here and where they were. Phaelan was standing next to me looking cool and confident, even without his rapier. He noted my glance at his side and chuckled.