by Lisa Shearin
Diplomats may have some redeeming qualities after all—at least this one did.
“I’ve heard enough,” Aeron Corantine said. “You will lead these sheep to their slaughter, but Nebia will have no part of it.”
“And this gathering has heard enough of your cowardly ranting,” said a familiar voice from the now open doorway. “In a time of war, an ambassador puts the safety of their people first, not themselves.”
Markus Sevelien was out of bed.
The director of elven intelligence was dressed from head to toe in his customary black. His dark hair was swept back from a high and pale forehead that was even paler than usual from being out of bed entirely too soon. I didn’t blame him for wanting to be here, though; I would have done the same. I’d seen Markus look better, I’d also seen him look worse, but rarely had I seen him this angry. Dalis was standing just behind Markus at his right shoulder, and Brina was at his left side. Both women looked even angrier than Markus, if that was possible, and all of it was directed at Aeron Corantine. They knew who was to blame for Markus’s insistence on coming here.
The Caesolian ambassador was closest to the door, and quickly found a chair for Markus. The man may have had a questionable backbone, but he did have a heart.
“Thank you, Bastien,” Markus said quietly, “but I have spent enough time in bed. And from what I have just overheard—I stayed there too long.” He walked forward, his steps unsteady, Dalis and Brina by his side. “I was one of Sandrina Ghalfari’s first targets,” he told the ambassadors. “I was attacked by a Rak’kari while traveling here by mirror from Silvanlar. I died in the Void. Had it not been for the bravery of Paladin Eiliesor and Raine Benares risking their lives to free me, I would not be here. Then the paladin’s astounding healing skills brought me back to life. And I would not have survived the first few hours without the paladin and the gifted healer and dear lady next to me.”
“Why weren’t we told of this?” the Caesolian ambassador asked.
“To avoid precisely what is happening now,” Markus replied. “Blaming the present goblin government for the actions of Sandrina Ghalfari, the Khrynsani, and their allies that remain hidden among us, which is exactly what they wanted you to do. I refused to play into their hands, so I asked Paladin Eiliesor not to reveal the true cause of my absence.” The elf turned to Mychael. “I take it the rift revealed the worst?”
“It did. There’s an army massing on the plains of Astava. Their banner flies over the city as does that of the Khrynsani.” Mychael turned to Eamaliel. “Was the banner the same?”
“Unfortunately, yes. So was the battle dragon.”
I tensed. How my father knew what he knew wasn’t something we had planned to explain. The ambassadors needed to know what we were up against, but at the same time, we didn’t want to shout my father’s identity from the rooftops. Not to mention, who would believe that he was over nine hundred years old?
“What do you mean by ‘was the banner the same’?” the Majafan ambassador asked.
I gave an inward cringe. Here we go.
“In addition to being an expert on rifts,” Mychael said, “Professor Anguis is a military historian. Professor, would you briefly explain what you told me and the archmagus?”
Smooth. Not a lie, but not the whole truth.
“The world of Timurus was invaded approximately seven hundred years ago,” Eamaliel said. “Few records exist detailing the war, but the invaders were not from Timurus. For one, the invaders had battle dragons, and Timurus had no dragons of any size. As you just saw, this army also has battle dragons and they match the historical description. The insignia on the flag we just saw was the same as the invaders from seven hundred years ago. It was unknown why they originally came to Timurus and what it was that they wanted, so it is also unknown as to why they have returned. The people of Timurus had mages and magic, and while they were not to our level of ability, they were by no means helpless. The invaders, on the other hand, were said to have magic different from anything that has ever been recorded.” My father paused. “When scholars revisited Timurus years later, no human life remained.”
Even Aeron Corantine had nothing to say to that.
“Bastien, I will now accept your offer of a chair,” Markus said. The chair was brought and Markus eased himself into it with Dalis’s assistance. “Mychael, do you believe any of our kingdoms separately stand a chance to defeat or turn back this invader?”
“Based on what I saw and what I know of Timurus’s fate the last time this army was there…No single kingdom could hope to defeat them.”
“And if we fought together?”
“The invaders’ exact numbers, armaments, and magical powers are unknown, as is how they will get such a large army onto our world.”
Markus smiled slightly. “It seems they have overcome that difficulty by getting to Timurus not once, but twice.”
“Unfortunately, true.”
“In your military opinion, Paladin Eiliesor, the only way we would stand a chance of avoiding Timurus’s fate of total annihilation would be to form an alliance and combine our armies, yes?”
“That is my opinion and belief.”
Markus sat back. “Then you will have Pengor’s army at your command. I will have to obtain my queen’s approval, but considering the circumstances, I am certain I will encounter no difficulty getting it. The elves will stand with you and your Guardians.”
“You didn’t even see through that rift,” Aeron Corantine objected, “yet you would—”
“And I do not need to,” Markus replied, each word sharp and distinct. “If Paladin Mychael Eiliesor tells me that we have an invader on our world’s doorstep, I believe him without question. There is no one—elf, goblin, or human—whose word I trust or whose expertise I respect more than his. If you wish to believe otherwise, Ambassador Corantine, I do not have the strength or patience to expend attempting to convince you otherwise. None of us has the time. You and your people will help defend this world, or you are a liability. At this critical point, your opinion and willful divisiveness matters very little to me, and is a waste of all of our valuable time.” Markus paused and took a shaky breath. “My fellow ambassadors, we can draw up the documents later, but for the sake of expediency, I would like to request a show of hands…”
Tam stepped forward. “No hands necessary, Markus. I too must confer with my king, but I am certain that the goblin army will gladly and eagerly meet the Khrynsani and their new allies on the field of battle.”
“The warriors of Mylora’s clans will be honored to fight beside you,” Herryk Geirleif said.
One by one, the ambassadors pledged their kingdoms and armies to meet the invaders and defend our world.
Except Nebia.
Aeron Corantine turned on his heel and, without a word, left the room.
“In the vernacular of my people,” Herryk Geirleif said after the Nebian ambassador, “fu’qut yiu.”
I turned to Vegard. “What does that mean?” I whispered.
“Exactly what you think it does.” He grinned. “I told you my people get to the point.”
Chapter 30
Mychael and I were to be married tomorrow morning.
For the past few weeks, I had been thinking of tonight as the make-or-break event between myself and my future in-laws.
However, nothing puts things in perspective like an impending invasion.
Impending, not immediate.
Magic makes noise. It doesn’t matter what kind. The sound of a spell being woven is less noisy than an incantation to create a magical construct. However, tearing a rift big enough for one of those battle dragons to fit through would deafen every magic sensitive within a hundred miles.
Tam and the Caesolian ambassador had proposed a theory that sounded more plausible with every passing hour. There was an uninhabited continent to the west of Rheskilia and Caesolia across the Sea of Kenyon. Explorers from both kingdoms had visited it over the centuries and found it to be
dry, barren, and inhospitable—which was why no one had ever bothered to claim it. No one wanted to live there, but for an off-world invader looking for a base of operations from which to launch attacks on the Seven Kingdoms, it would be perfect. The Khrynsani would know about it, and a rift opened there would be far enough away that it wouldn’t be heard.
Perfect for an invader; better for us because it would give us time. Not much, but it was something.
Mychael and I had decided that unless the invaders were pounding on the citadel’s gates tomorrow morning, we weren’t putting off our wedding again. We’d get married and then prepare for war. All of us were overdue for a night off. Brant and Edythe Eiliesor had met me—now it was time for them to meet my family.
I had been dreading this moment since Mychael had asked me to marry him. Now, I was kind of looking forward to it in a finally-getting-it-over-with kind of way. I wanted everyone to like each other, or at least pretend they could get along, but there were more important things in my life right now, and at the tip-top of that list was Mychael Eiliesor—the man I loved, the man who loved me, and the man who was going to become my husband tomorrow morning. That made me unspeakably happy, and how my family and in-laws did or did not like each other no longer mattered. I couldn’t control it, I couldn’t change it, so I wasn’t going to concern myself with it any longer.
We’d be having a reception after the ceremony tomorrow for those attending the wedding, which meant our families and closest friends. Tonight’s party was to have been more of a political necessity. Mychael was paladin of the Conclave Guardians, sacred protector of the archmagus, the Seat of Twelve, and the Conclave of Sorcerers. I loved the archmagus, I adored half of the new Seat of Twelve, but the senior members of the Conclave who I’d met so far weren’t what anyone would call sociable. I told Mychael that if he could tolerate them for a few hours, so could I.
We had also extended invitations to the peace talks delegates. This morning, the Seven Kingdoms’ ambassadors had gotten a good look through that rift at what was coming for us. Between that and the peace talks, they deserved some fun. The delegations had accepted our invitation with the exception of the Nebians. No surprise there. The rest of the delegates actually seemed to be becoming friends. The threat of annihilation had turned antagonists into allies. The drugged ink had helped the Caesolian ambassador find his courage. The later realization that he’d gotten into a heated debate with Tamnais Nathrach and survived had helped him keep it. Though the first thing he’d done on arrival this evening was to apologize to Tam for his uncalled-for behavior. Tam had apologized in turn for any of his words that might have caused offense. Each graciously accepted the other’s apology—mostly because, thanks to the drug, neither remembered anything they’d said.
One thing we hadn’t bothered with tonight was a “no weapons” declaration. Asking any of my family to go anywhere without weapons would be like asking them to show up naked. Phaelan wouldn’t have minded—the naked part, not being weaponless—but the rest of my relatives wouldn’t have been amused.
Tonight was about celebrating a marriage, not laying down a bunch of hopefully unnecessary rules. Considering that these were mostly our family and friends, no one should be drawing steel on anyone else.
There were at least a hundred people gathered in the closest thing the citadel had to a ballroom. We’d told our families and friends what we had seen this morning through that rift and what it meant. We also warned them that Sandrina Ghalfari and her shapeshifter could still be on the island. Of the guests, fourteen belonged to the Benares family, all of whom could and would kill with steel. Then there was my adoptive family, all of whom could and would kill with spells—and of course, Tam who would gladly drop a hopeful assassin with one word. Rounding out our party guests were some of the most powerful mages in the Seven Kingdoms, and enough Guardians to make me feel warm and fuzzy. Vegard was close by and keeping watch, but not so close as to impose on any conversation.
Tonight I was wearing one of several gowns Alix had made for me. I was about to become the paladin’s wife, and there would be occasions that required—or at least strongly suggested—formal attire. I’d wear gowns for those events, and Alix had made them to my specifications. I’d had the Guardians’ armorer make an armored bodice for me that would fit under any of Alix’s creations. Sometimes a girl felt safer wearing a little steel between herself and a potentially hostile outside world. Considering that we were on the verge of an invasion, tonight was one of those times. In addition, the present fashion of long, voluminous skirts left all kinds of options open. For the foreseeable future, my idea of formalwear would involve form-fitting trousers under detachable skirts. Yes, you heard me. Detachable. My life was worth more to me than any snooty mage or professor’s idea of propriety. Not to mention, as far as I was concerned, my body was absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. For confirmation on that opinion, I’d gone straight to the top. I’d asked the paladin himself. He’d wholeheartedly agreed that I could shuck my skirts anytime I wanted to, and would look good before, during, and after I’d done it.
The particular gown I was wearing this evening didn’t have the detachable skirt option, but it did have room for my armored bodice, and pockets in the side of the skirt that would let me access the daggers strapped to my thighs. The gown itself was a stunning shade of peacock blue, my hair was up in an intricate twist, and for the first time in a long time, I felt gorgeous. Mychael came up behind me and nuzzled my neck. Again, the paladin wholeheartedly agreed.
“So far, so good,” he murmured against my neck.
“At least there hasn’t been any bloodshed.”
“And there won’t be any. I think it’s going exceptionally well.”
I had to agree.
We’d started Mychael’s parents out light by introducing them to Garadin and Tarsilia. That had gone well, so we moved on to Eamaliel. He’d utterly charmed both of them, so we’d thrown caution to the wind and introduced them to my Uncle Ryn and Aunt Deira, and then to Phaelan and his brothers and sisters. However, as long as the peace talks were underway, we couldn’t introduce Mago as a Benares. Isibel introduced him to her parents as elven diplomatic attaché, Mago Nuallan, and the last I’d had seen, he was working his magic on them both.
Mychael stole another kiss, then sighed. “We don’t want any of our guests to feel neglected, so we need to try to speak to as many as we can. I’ll go to the right, you go to the left, and we’ll meet at the bar. How does that sound?”
“It sounds like a plan. I have to do some small talk, but there’s a reward at the end.”
“Me?”
“And a stiff drink.”
I started on my rounds. Markus was here and feeling much better than this morning. The director of elven intelligence had two dates this evening—Brina and Dalis—and neither was about to let him out of their sight.
Thanks to the Rak’kari infesting the Void, Brina Daesage had only had the clothes on her back, so I’d given her access to my wardrobe, and she’d chosen an outfit of head-to-toe black. Leather. We were about the same size, but let’s just say that Markus’s bodyguard was more abundant in certain areas than I was. So while my leathers fit, we’d had to adjust the lacings. The results had not gone unnoticed—especially by Phaelan, who’d just come up beside me.
“Who is that?”
“Brina Daesage, Markus’s chief of security, and the woman who will run you through if you so much as look at him wrong.”
Phaelan flashed a quick, wicked grin. “What if I look at her right?”
“She’ll probably run you through twice.”
Phaelan’s eyes glittered in unspoken challenge.
“Uh, what about Isibel?” I asked.
My cousin’s eyes stayed on Brina as his brain tried to process what I was asking—and who I was talking about. His brow creased with the effort. Phaelan was a brilliant tactician, a cunning strategist, and you did not want to play cards with him, but when he saw a woman he w
as interested in…Well, his mind didn’t cease to function; but all his cunning and brilliance was rerouted to below his sword belt.
Phaelan looked at me, his dark eyes surprisingly lucid. “I’m a pirate. It’s all I know how to do, and I’m good at it.”
“Very good,” I agreed, a little confused as to where this was going.
“Isibel Eiliesor is an ambassador. It’s what she’s always wanted to do.” Phaelan glanced over to where Isibel and Mago were laughing at something the Caesolian ambassador had just said. “And she’s good at it,” he added quietly. My cousin’s smile was wistful. “Could you in all honesty see the two of us together?”
I smiled fondly and tucked my arm through his. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but no.”
Phaelan nodded toward his older brother. “I could see Isibel and Mago together.”
I considered the possibility for a moment. “Me, too.”
My cousin lowered his voice. “He told me that if Markus’s offer is still good, he’ll turn in his resignation at the bank.”
“Really? I knew he was thinking about it. He’s ‘thought’ about changing careers before, but it’s never gone any further.”
Mago and Isibel were making their way through the crowd, and my cousin’s hand was on the small of Isibel’s back.
My smile broadened.
It appeared my cousin the banker wouldn’t be a banker for much longer. The threat of war made you realize what was important, and sitting in a corner office playing with other people’s money wasn’t it. Mago could do a lot of good working for Markus. I stifled a chuckle. I could only imagine what the possibility of another Benares with another Eiliesor would do to Edythe.
Phaelan straightened his doublet. “I should pay my respects to Markus.”
