Wedding Bells, Magic Spells

by Lisa Shearin

  “The Khrynsani have been active for over a thousand years,” Tam told me. “They’ve always come back. They’re like rats. Kill a few and the rest will either disappear down holes or vanish into the walls. Lying low for a few years—a century even—is well within their capabilities. They’ve done it before.”

  “I was thinking roaches.”

  “Just as hard to exterminate, but it doesn’t mean we stop trying.” Tam flashed a grin complete with fangs. “And occasionally you get lucky and get a few under your boot.”

  “Speaking of which, have your parents found Sandrina Ghalfari?” Mychael asked.

  Sandrina Ghalfari was the mother of Sarad Nukpana, the late, not-lamented leader of the Khrynsani. The psychotic, rotten apple that had been Sarad hadn’t fallen far from his mother’s crazy tree. Sandrina had fatally poisoned Tam’s wife and had come close to killing Tam’s parents and his brother—and me. For a few hours, Sarad Nukpana had been the goblin king, with Sandrina as the power—and evil—behind the throne. Tam’s parents had led the goblin resistance. Tam’s mom was a mortekal, which in Goblin meant “noble taker of life” or “righteous executioner.” My translation was “badass assassin.” Before we’d returned to Mid from Regor, Tam’s folks said they’d be taking a second honeymoon/hunting trip, with Sandrina Ghalfari as the prey.

  “They haven’t found her,” Tam was saying. “And yes, they’re still looking. Mom doesn’t give up, especially when it’s personal. Sandrina Ghalfari is as personal as it gets.”

  Mychael raised his glass. “I wish them good hunting.”

  “Don’t we all?” I muttered. “As to the rest of the Khrynsani crawling back out of their collective hole in the ground, isn’t there anything—”

  “To keep them from coming back?” Tam finished for me. “When they do try to come home, they’ll find they don’t have a home to come to. Those sea dragons gave us a good head start on demolishing their temple.”

  A family of sea dragons had been living in the caverns beneath the Khrynsani temple. Sarad Nukpana had summoned them up into the temple itself to kill and eat the goblin resistance fighters who were putting a crimp in what was to have been his night of triumph. The dragons had come up through the floors, and in their enthusiasm had brought down a big part of the ceiling.

  “The stone used to build the temple is virtually indestructible,” Tam continued, “but no one told that to the sea dragons. We have our best engineers and stone masons working on a way to dump every last brick into the caverns and tunnels below the temple, then build something useful where it used to be, something the people can enjoy.”

  Imala smiled, complete with dimple. “I’m in favor of a city park.” Then the smile vanished. “Mychael, is there any theory on how the Rak’kari got inside that mirror? I thought that once two mirrors were linked, the way was sealed and nothing could get inside.”

  “It should be impossible, but obviously it isn’t. We’ve got several of the kingdoms’ top mirror researchers on the faculty here. Justinius has them working on it.”

  “If Khrynsani made it, couldn’t they have put it in the mirror?” I asked.

  Tam shook his head. “They prefer to travel by Gates.”

  Of course they did.

  A Gate is a tear in the fabric of reality. It’s not naturally occurring. Nothing about a Gate is natural—or legal or moral. Stepping through a Gate is like stepping through a doorway or a mirror. But unlike a doorway or mirror, it takes magic of the blackest kind to make one, magic fueled by terror, torture, despair, and death—the more the merrier.

  “And with their preference for Gates, I’ve never heard of Khrynsani doing much, if anything, by way of mirror research,” Tam continued. “That being said, I’ve been away from court for two years. Imala?”

  The director of the goblin secret service shook her head. Imala made it her job to know everything about her enemies, and the Khrynsani were at the top of her list.

  “If there was such a person, either Khrynsani or goblin mirror mage, we would have heard of them, or at least rumors of their existence and abilities. Elves, on the other hand, are known for expanding the boundaries of what is possible in mirror travel.”

  “The college’s faculty expert’s an elf,” Mychael said.

  Tam shifted uneasily in his chair. “Carnades wasn’t the only mirror mage in his family. He wasn’t even the best. The Silvanus family is known for producing highly gifted mirror mages. Legendary, even.” He paused meaningfully. “A family full of expert mirror mages who blame us for Carnades’s death.”

  “Sarad Nukpana killed Carnades,” I said. “If Carnades hadn’t kept trying to frame the three of us and have us executed, chances are we never would have had to go to Regor in the first place. But once we got there, he betrayed us, partnered with Nukpana, and then was stupid and suicidal enough to betray him. His death was his own fault.”

  “To his family, Carnades could do no wrong,” Mychael said. “Everything he did was to reach his goal of ‘purifying’ the elven race. I know for a fact that they agreed with his views and supported any act he had to commit to achieve it.”

  “Just what the Seven Kingdoms needs, an entire family of bigoted, sadistic sickos.”

  “Don’t forget powerful and influential—at least they were. It’s not only Carnades’s death they would want revenge for. It’s the shame brought on the Silvanus name. Like most noble families, they take a great deal of pride in their honor, actual or perceived. The Silvanus family is ruined—financially, politically, and socially.”

  “And I was the one who dug up the dirt,” I said. “I would do it again, I don’t care who it would bring down on my head. Though if I hadn’t kept trying to ‘do the right thing’ and save his hide every time someone or something tried to kill him, half our problems would’ve solved themselves.” I thought for a moment. “Would a Silvanus be too proud to ally with the Khrynsani? Though Carnades wasn’t too proud to buddy up to Sarad Nukpana.”

  “They wouldn’t like it,” Mychael said, “but they’d do it. Carnades came way too close to securing the ultimate power for himself, and by association, his family. Everything a Silvanus does is for the advancement of the family. You may have found the ledger that put the final nail in Carnades’s coffin, but it was Markus who used it to bring him down.”

  “And I gave it to him.”

  “You did the right thing—the only thing. Exposing Carnades’s treason was Markus’s job, and I know for a fact that bringing down Carnades and his allies was the most enjoyable act of Markus’s entire career.”

  “And it almost killed him.”

  “How much do we know about specific Silvanus family members?” Imala asked. “In terms of mirror talent.”

  “Carnades has a younger brother and an older sister,” Mychael said. “He had a younger sister who died nearly twenty years ago—was killed, actually. Rumor has it the family did it themselves. An honor killing.”

  I blinked. “Honor?”

  “She refused to marry the husband that had been chosen for her. She was in love with another.”

  “And they killed her?”

  Mychael nodded once. “Carnades’s older sister is said to be the best mirror mage in the family. However, they also believe in keeping their actual levels of talent secret, so their true powers are essentially unknown.”

  “So any of them could be capable of shoving a Rak’kari into a mirror.”

  “Now that we know it’s possible, a Silvanus would be a viable suspect.”

  “We can safely assume that the Khrynsani were responsible for conjuring the Rak’kari,” Imala told us. “I think it would be in our best interests to keep that information to ourselves. I could see the Khrynsani wanting to disrupt the peace talks, and killing Markus Sevelien and making it look like goblin work would be an effective first step. To many of the delegates, there’s not any difference between a Khrynsani and the goblin government—they see them as one and the same. During his reign, Sathrik did all th
at he could to encourage that view. It intimidated his people, his enemies, and the other races. We want and need trust now, not intimidation and fear.”

  “Who is protecting Chigaru and Mirabai while the two of you are here?” Mychael asked.

  “Kesyn Badru and my grandmother are with them,” Imala said. “And between me and Tam, we’ve provided enough qualified guards.”

  “They’re as safe as they can be,” Tam added. “Their food tasters have tasters.”

  “What about Talon?” I asked him.

  “Safe with Kesyn, and considering what may be happening here, I want him to stay there.”

  “I take it that Markus will fully recover?” Imala asked.

  Mychael nodded. “Once he wakes up, he could be back on his feet within three or four days. I’d prefer longer.”

  Imala’s mouth curved in a bemused smile. “I imagine he’ll let you know what he thinks about your bed rest prescription.”

  “I’m sure he will.”

  “If you hadn’t been there…” She didn’t finish. She didn’t need to. We all knew that the peace talks would have suffered irreparable damage before they’d even started. Markus Sevelien was respected throughout the kingdoms as a man of integrity. But Imala had meant more than that. We all not only admired Markus, but considered him a close and good friend. Whoever was responsible for the attack was going to pay dearly.

  “Have you taken any steps to suspend mirror travel to the island?” Imala continued.

  “Only in the citadel,” Mychael replied. “We haven’t heard of any other incidences. Our expert is working on a way to safely test the mirror the two of you were going to use to see if it’s infested.”

  “Infested is a good description,” Tam said. “To produce a web of the thickness Raine described would make that Rak’kari, from the tip of a front leg to the tip of a back one…about as long as Raine is tall.”

  I shivered from head to toe and didn’t even try to stop it. I knew what kind of nightmare I’d be having tonight. That is, if I managed to get to sleep.

  Mychael didn’t bat an eye. “All the more reason to keep this quiet until we know whether there’s a danger outside the citadel. I don’t want to incite a panic, especially when there might not be grounds for it. There was only one attack. I have people listening for news of any other incidents. If there’s another one, then I’ll have to act, but the quieter we can keep this for now, the better.”

  “Then all of the delegates are here.”

  “All that made it here alive,” I said. “Markus wasn’t the only target. The ship carrying the elven ambassador and his staff were attacked by a Caesolian-registered ship last night. A pirate. The kind of vermin that gives my family a bad name. The ambassador, his two guards, the ship’s telepath, and the crew were killed. His staff was taken captive. Phaelan happened to be in the area and rescued them.”

  “I take it the ambassador’s second will be stepping in to fill the position.”

  “She will.”

  Imala smiled and arched a brow. “She? How delightful.”

  “Mychael’s not thrilled.”

  Delighted turned to confused. “And why would that be?”

  “The acting elven ambassador is my sister, Isibel.”

  “And you’re having protective feelings.” Imala didn’t ask that as a question. Mychael’s feelings—and the nature of those feelings—were obvious.

  “I quite understand your concern,” Imala continued, “but at the same time, you must be very proud that she has risen so high in the foreign service.”

  “I am, though the timing could have been better.”

  “In any government service, be it foreign or secret, good timing is a luxury we seldom receive.”

  “According to Phaelan,” I said, “the pirates that attacked the ambassador’s ship were paid in goblin gold in bags carrying the royal Mal’Salin seal.”

  Tam hissed a few choice words under his breath. In Goblin. When any quality swearing needed to be done, Goblin was the way to go.

  “Has there been a theft of an army outpost payroll or unauthorized transfer of funds from the royal treasury to a foreign bank?” Mychael asked him.

  Tam leaned back in his chair, suddenly looking about ten years older. “Yes and yes. The transition from Sathrik’s rule to Sarad’s regency to Chigaru’s reign has been far from smooth. Apparently Sathrik’s royal treasurer kept himself in much better condition than he did the account books. There isn’t any place royal treasury gold could be found that would surprise me. The elves have nothing to worry about from any goblin for at least the next ten years—with or without a treaty. Our courtiers and bureaucrats are going to be too busy trying to kill each other to even notice what’s happening outside of Regor. We’re doing everything we can to get the government under our control. One of the biggest problems we’re facing now is that our people are sharply divided—the haves and the have-nots. And I’m not referring to simply money. It’s about title and rank, family and purity of bloodline, social influence, political affiliations, and magical talent. The people are tired of waiting for their voices to be heard and their rights recognized. Many goblins—those in power and those without—have little trust in elven promises. They see any attempt to negotiate a peace with a race they believe wouldn’t hesitate to wipe them out as evidence of weakness, regardless of Chigaru’s assurances of change. Thanks to Sathrik, many of those occupying government positions are corrupt, self-serving, or both.”

  “Sounds like what Justinius is dealing with here with the Conclave and the Seat of Twelve,” Mychael noted. “Cleaning house has left him with barely enough people to run the island—and he’s not even close to being finished.”

  “The Conclave here, the Khrynsani at home,” Imala said. “Under Sarad’s influence, the Khrynsani spread like a cancer until it had worked its way into the entire government body. We could try to remove it all, but the patient might not survive.”

  I whistled. “In comparison, coming here must be like a vacation.”

  Tam nodded. “It’s early afternoon, and no one has tried to kill me yet. Well, with the exception of our sprint through the Passages. Though by comparison, even that was refreshing.”

  Imala snorted. “Says you.”

  “So the Khrynsani have the elven ambassador killed and try to do the same to the director of elven intelligence,” I said. “And now we have a monster created by Khrynsani black magic and possibly put inside a mirror tunnel by an elf mage. If that turns out to be the case, the elf and goblin bad guys have stopped trying to kill each other—and are working together to kill us.”

  “And they’re framing us as masterminding the entire thing,” Imala replied. “No trust. No treaty. No peace.”

  Chapter 7

  “Your sister is safe,” I told Mychael. Again. “From everyone. Including Phaelan. Especially Phaelan.”

  Short sentences worked better right now. I was yelling. Not because I was mad at Mychael, but because we were airborne.

  Having a conversation on a sky dragon was one of life’s great challenges. At least this time, I was riding on Kalinpar’s saddle behind Mychael, his broad shoulders blocking my views of what I still saw as a quick and messy death, a death I had narrowly avoided the last time I rode on a sky dragon.

  I had to admit that clinging to a sky dragon saddle was a highly effective method of waking up. I’d slept last night; that is, if you could call tossing and turning and waking up every hour sleeping.

  Tam and Imala had spent the night at the goblin embassy, and would join us at the citadel later to meet with Cuinn Aviniel, the expert mirror mage.

  The Fortune and Red Hawk had been spotted shortly after sunrise five miles off the coast, and Mychael had dispatched two Guardian gunships and four armored sky dragons as escort. He’d also had Ben notify the telepath on the Fortune to be expecting them so as to avoid any violent misunderstandings.

  Both the Fortune and the Red Hawk had crews who liked nothing better than a
good fight. Taking only one pirate schooner had quelled Phaelan’s crew’s battle urges about as well as spitting on a bonfire. The boys were spoiling for more, and any ship that got too close had a captain with a death wish.

  Mychael wasn’t in the mood to take chances, and considering what’d happened to Markus, and had happened—and could have happened—to Mychael’s sister, I understood only too well. The closest thing I had to a younger sibling was Piaras, and I knew without thinking about it that I’d have done the same. Not only to protect him, but to warn anyone who had any ideas about harming one curly hair on his head not to even think about it.

  The Isle of Mid’s harbor had docks and piers for guests and merchants and others reserved for Guardian use only. Mychael landed Kalinpar at the heavily reinforced dragon landing pad at the end of a Guardian pier. A nimble gunboat was waiting there to take us out to the Fortune. I half expected Mychael to fly out over Phaelan’s ship and drop a rope down to the deck.

  I kept that thought to myself. Mychael clearly wasn’t in a joking mood. In fact, after my initial reassurances, I didn’t say a word all the way out to where the Fortune had dropped anchor.

  The ships in Mid’s harbor were either docked or moored. Smaller vessels with shallower drafts were in slips at the docks, while larger ships anchored toward the middle of the harbor. The Fortune and the Red Hawk were moored not merely because of their size, but their masters’ desire for security as well.

  My cousin, Phaelan Benares, was captain of the Fortune, and his father—my uncle, Ryn Benares—commanded the Red Hawk. The two vessels shared the honors as flagships of the Benares fleet. However, Phaelan was a captain, while Uncle Ryn was a commodore. Phaelan operated independently of his dad, but if he stepped out of line, my cousin knew who he’d be answering to. Despite being pirates, Uncle Ryn had standards of behavior, and Phaelan crossed that line at his peril. That I knew of, he never had, which was due more to Phaelan being a chip off the old mainmast than any fear of his father. Uncle Ryn had Phaelan’s respect, so fear never had to put in an appearance.