Magic Lost,Trouble Found

by Lisa Shearin

  The pale cream parchment felt smooth beneath my fingers. I had my suspicions regarding its origin, and looked up at Mychael. His lips were pressed into a tight line. So much for his distaste. I was pretty sure I knew what kind of skin the parchment was made from. I steeled myself and took out a small dagger to use on the seal. Just because I had to open it didn’t mean that I couldn’t touch it as little as possible. I needed to read the message, and that would be difficult to do with the letter in the fireplace and me cringing in the opposite corner of the room. I could tell myself that the elf or human whose skin had been used for Sarad Nukpana’s personal stationery was long dead. It didn’t make it any better, just almost bearable.

  I broke the seal. Nothing happened. No doubt Nukpana was saving all of his unpleasant surprises for a more personal encounter. The letter was written in goblin, which wasn’t a problem for me. His choice of ink was another matter altogether. I had a big problem with that. It was blood, and it had to have been fresh. Focus on the message, I told myself, not the ink source.

  I read it. I didn’t want to focus on the message either. I felt more than a little lightheaded at the words scratched on that parchment. Sarad Nukpana wrote them to terrify me now, so I wouldn’t be able to fight him later. He wanted Piaras at our meeting. If he wasn’t, the deal was off, Saghred or no Saghred. He went on to assure me that killing a spellsinger so young and gifted would be a waste and was the last thing on his mind. Then he told me exactly what was on his mind, in calm, clinical detail. I clenched my jaw, sending my rage back to the hard knot in the pit of my stomach where it had come from. I wasn’t going to keep it penned up for long. Venting would come later, when I had Sarad Nukpana’s throat between my hands.

  “What is it?” Mychael asked.

  I handed the letter to him. “He’s getting greedy. Do you read goblin?”

  “I do.”

  “Good.” I wasn’t about to read it to him, not with Piaras in the room, or even with Piaras out of the room. I didn’t want to give life of any kind to the goblin’s twisted words.

  Mychael scanned the page. From the expressions that flowed across his face, his reaction was much the same as my own. The Guardian just went up a couple of more notches in my estimation. Protective instincts in a man could sometimes be more of a hindrance than a help, but considering who and what Sarad Nukpana was, I’d take all the protective instincts from others that I could get, especially if that someone was a Guardian paladin.

  “What is it?” Piaras was on his feet, and walking toward Mychael. “What does it say?”

  I blocked his way. “No!”

  My vehemence shocked even me. It froze Piaras in his tracks. From the look on his face, you’d have thought I had slapped him.

  “I’m sorry, but you don’t need to read that.” My volume backed off, but not the intensity.

  I had taught Piaras to read goblin myself. But I had taught him for mixing herbs for medicines, not to read the perverse ravings of a monster.

  The young elf’s expression hardened. “Why not? If it’s about Grandma—”

  “The only mention of your grandmother is to set up the trade.”

  That wasn’t entirely true, but I didn’t want to tell Piaras that either. Sarad Nukpana had made another reference to Tarsilia, detailing precisely what would happen to her should we not promptly comply with his wishes. Then at the point of her death, he would use what remained of Tarsilia’s life to fuel another Gate to come and get Piaras and me himself. Piaras was not going to read that.

  “The trade for you?” Piaras asked quietly.

  “Yes.” I told myself a half truth was better than none at all.

  Piaras didn’t respond immediately. He just looked at me. He knew there was more, and he didn’t need any magical talent to tell him. If I had reacted that strongly, chances were he really didn’t want to know. But he felt he should. And as much as I didn’t want to admit it, I wasn’t all that sure he was wrong. The world was full of ugliness. Piaras was going to have to find out about it sooner or later. I just didn’t want it to be now, and like this.

  “What else is in it?” he asked. His voice was quiet, but firm. He wasn’t going to back down. Part of me was glad.

  I didn’t answer immediately. It wasn’t a comfortable silence for anyone, but most of all for me. “I would rather you didn’t see what he wrote,” I said at last. “It’s the product of a sadistic mind, and you won’t gain anything by knowing what’s in it. I don’t even want you to touch the letter. Just trust me this once, and don’t insist.”

  “Is some of it about me?”

  I hesitated only briefly before answering. “Yes.”

  “He wants to hurt me, doesn’t he?” Piaras knew the answer to that question as well as Mychael and I.

  “Yes, he does.”

  My response sank in, and full realization came close on its heels. Piaras handled it well.

  “He wants both of us,” he said.

  “Wanting doesn’t make it happen,” I told him.

  “We’re going to do everything within our power to keep both you and Raine safe,” Mychael said. “And get your grandmother back alive.”

  Piaras carefully considered his words before he spoke. “Then I don’t need to know the details of the letter. But if there’s anything in it that I need to know before tonight, please tell me.”

  I was confused. It was a welcome change of emotion. “Before tonight?”

  “When we rescue Grandma. If there’s anything that I should—”

  “We? No, no. There’s no ‘we.’ You’re staying here.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “Actually Raine, it’s best that he go with us,” Mychael said.

  “What?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. If all went well, I was going to be strangling Sarad Nukpana in a few hours, but there was a real possibility I was going to do the same to Mychael Eiliesor right now.

  “To retrieve the Saghred and go up against the Khrynsani is going to take every Guardian I brought with me,” Mychael said. “The safest place for Piaras is with us.”

  I couldn’t fault his logic, but that didn’t mean I agreed with him. I had protective instincts of my own, and those instincts wanted to take hold of Piaras and not let go. My more practical side knew that wasn’t possible. At the very least, I’d have to let go of him to kill Sarad Nukpana. My second set of options involved locking Piaras in the deepest cellar in the city, or have Phaelan set sail with him immediately for the center of the closest ocean. Appealing, but hardly practical. And neither would put Piaras beyond the reach of a creature who could rip a Gate to anywhere he wanted.

  So I just met Mychael with stony silence. Sometimes I hated it when I was right, but I always hated it when someone else was. Especially when their being right made me wrong. I’m irrational that way. It’s something I’m working on.

  Chapter 19

  Sarad Nukpana wanted the exchange to happen at midnight in the temple ruins near the Mal’Salin family compound. The Saghred was in the mausoleum on the embassy grounds. It sounded simple enough. Go to the party, take home one soul-stealing rock as a party favor, and while we were in the neighborhood rescue Tarsilia. Simple. Right.

  Things were getting entirely too complex. Mychael’s plan for sneaking us unnoticed into the embassy involved wearing what I considered to be entirely too noticeable clothes.

  King Sathrik Mal’Salin’s theme of choice for his debut in Mermeia was a masked costume ball. The masked and disguised part I could understand and completely agree with. Walking into the goblin embassy with a mask on appealed to me on many levels, and all of them involved my continued survival. But the fancy costume part went a couple of big leaps too far. I knew that highborn goblins and elves alike were jumping at any chance to attend and outdo each other in extravagance and drama, but that didn’t mean I had to join them.

  Mychael said I did.

  “So you propose we all just stroll in thro
ugh the front door?” I asked.

  “That’s the preferred way to enter when you have invitations.”

  “Uh, Mychael, don’t those invitations have your name on them? Being Justinius Valerian’s official representative and all?”

  I might have seen the beginnings of a sly grin. “They do. Which is why we won’t be using them. One of my men will be posing as me for the evening.”

  “Does he know what he’ll be walking into? Aside from me and Piaras, you’re probably next on Nukpana’s most-likely-to die list.”

  “He knows. He volunteered. Three more of my men will be accompanying him.”

  “Then whose invitations are we using?”

  “In addition to his home, the count is graciously allowing me to assume his identity for the evening. Gavril and I are cousins, so we’re similar enough in build and coloring. Add a mask and costume to that, and no one will know that I’m not him. Gavril, his bride, and four guests have invitations. They were due to arrive back this morning, but I sent word last week that considering the state of affairs here, he and his new wife might want to extend their honeymoon a few more days. They thought it was a wonderful idea.”

  I heard only one thing. “We’re posing as newlyweds?”

  “Yes.”

  For one of the few times in my life, words failed me.

  “The new countess is from Rina,” he said, mistaking the source of my concern entirely. “No one here has ever seen her, so no one will know that you’re not her.”

  “Except Sarad Nukpana.”

  “You’ll be masked.”

  “I’ll be wearing the beacon.”

  “You’ll be with me,” he said. “And we’ll be surrounded by my men.”

  I couldn’t argue with that. Mychael already had two wins in his column against the goblin grand shaman.

  “You and I, in addition to Piaras and Garadin, will be using four of the count’s invitations,” Mychael said. “Vegard and Riston will be using the other two. My men without invitations will get onto the grounds another way.”

  “How many men?”

  “All of them.”

  Finally, something I could agree with.

  Though Mychael could have emptied out the Guardian citadel on Mid, and I wouldn’t have felt secure. The Guardians might be able to protect me from Sarad Nukpana, but there wasn’t a thing they could do about the Saghred. That was my adversary to face, and when it came down to it, I’d be going it alone, just me and the Soul Thief. Not my idea of a fun date.

  That made me remember something else. Prince Chigaru Mal’Salin wanted the Saghred almost as badly as he wanted to kill his brother. When you’ve been feeding a hate as long as Chigaru and Sathrik, you get good at it. Nothing like a potential reunion between homicidal brothers to add spice to the evening.

  “I don’t think we’ll be the only ones using someone else’s invitations,” I told Mychael. “I can’t see Prince Chigaru being in town and sitting this one out. He seems to think any opportunity to get his hands around big brother’s throat is one worth taking.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if he were there.”

  I wouldn’t be surprised either. Concerned, yes. Surprised? Definitely not.

  “Though for a distraction, there’s nothing like a nice, public assassination attempt,” Garadin said from the doorway. He walked a couple of steps into the room and executed a slow spin. “How’s this?”

  My godfather looked like he had just stepped out of a Nebian pasha’s throne room. His long, sapphire silk tunic flowed over full matching trousers. Both were completely encrusted with silver embroidery. The tunic was fastened down the front with a profusion of silver and pearl buttons. It was topped with a wrapped-silk turban with a jeweled pin at the front. It was a bit overdone, but on the whole tasteful and suited Garadin perfectly.

  I wish I could say the same about my chosen ensemble for the evening. When I say chosen, I don’t mean by me. I would never have selected the extravagance of bronze velvet, ivory Pengorian silk, gold embroidery, and jewels that spilled across the chair beside me as either my first or last choice. Mychael had picked our costumes personally. I was pretty sure I could trust the Guardian paladin with my life, but I knew now that I couldn’t trust him with my wardrobe choices. If Mychael said that fancy dress was necessary, I’d go along, but only to a point. I had to draw the line somewhere.

  “Can I at least wear black?”

  “No,” he told me point blank.

  “Why not?”

  “It says so on the invitation, along with the no weapons request. Only Mal’Salin royal guard and retainers will be wearing black. Not having any guests in black cuts down on any confusion or misunderstandings. As to weapons, we’ll carry, but they’ll have to be small.”

  I didn’t want another misunderstanding with a Mal’Salin guard, but I did want to blend in with the woodwork. With the attention that gown was guaranteed to attract, I’d have trouble not being the center of attention.

  Costumed balls were a staple of the wealthier classes in Mermeia, so the trunks and armoires of the count’s palazzo yielded a bumper crop of what Mychael deemed appropriate attire for the evening.

  I looked at the costume again. Judging from the feathered mask and golden hooked beak, I think I was supposed to be a hawk. There were worse things I could be, and a bird of prey was oddly appropriate for the evening’s activities.

  The gown’s flowing skirt and short train were bronze velvet, with an elaborate feather pattern painstakingly embroidered in gold thread, and sprinkled the entire length with tiny, golden jewels. The skirt was slit in the front to reveal the same treatment in ivory Pengorian silk, with what looked to be diamonds. The tight sleeves were similarly done in ivory with embroidered bronze velvet oversleeves attached at the shoulders and falling to the floor to represent wings. The bodice was ivory leather and intricately tooled with gold to resemble smaller feathers. I approved of the leather and even the corset I’d have to wear underneath. I wouldn’t be comfortable, but at least I’d have marginal protection against pointy steel objects that went stab in the night.

  While I had to admit it was beautiful, the gown wasn’t appropriate for anything I had planned this evening. For one, I liked breathing. Between the corset and the gown’s low-cut bodice, air would be the only thing that wasn’t ample. Second, my legs needed to be free for life-extending activities like fighting and running—neither of which I have ever been able to do in a gown. And from the looks of things, the bronze oversleeves almost brushed the ground. First whiff I got of trouble, those sleeves were history. Though if worse came to worse, I could slash my bodice laces if I needed more air, and hike up my skirts if I needed to run away from something.

  I sighed in resignation. Mychael took that as a yes.

  “Sarad Nukpana knows I’m a woman.” It was my last line of defense, but I’d take it. “That’s what he’ll be looking for. Can’t I at least wear trousers?”

  “There will be plenty of women there in all manner of dress,” Mychael assured me.

  “And probably undress,” Garadin added. “I’ve heard the Nebians are sending a delegation with the pasha’s son. He’s brought at least ten of his wives with him. I can’t imagine them staying at home tonight.”

  “And the count’s new bride would hardly wear trousers to her first public appearance in her new home city,” Mychael said. “Trust me, you won’t attract undue attention. Unless, of course, you do something to draw attention to yourself.”

  “I’ll be on my best behavior,” I promised. Like I had a choice in that dress.

  For some reason, I don’t think he believed me.

  In addition to the mask, there was a hat. I picked up the bronze velvet concoction with its sweep of plumes. I think it was supposed to look like the hats noble women of fashion had taken to wearing while hunting. I didn’t want to think about all the birds that had given their tail feathers, along with their dignity, so that some Mermeian noble could scare away game, or make a
grand entrance. I just hefted the hat and looked at Mychael. If push came to shove, I could always use it as a club.

  “Something has to hide your hair, even after you put it up,” he said. “It is an unusual color.”

  Mychael Eiliesor. Guardian paladin, sacred protector, master spellsinger, fashion consultant.

  I felt a smug little grin coming on. I wasn’t going to admit defeat. Not yet. I had an idea. An idea that wouldn’t get me out of going to the ball, but it would get me out of wearing that gown. “What about the beacon?”

  “What about it?”

  “It’s on a chain. This gown has a low bodice.” I glanced at the gown again and swallowed. “A very low bodice. Everybody’s going to see that chain. A few are going to know what’s attached to it. Plus, the chain’s silver; all the jewels on this gown are set in gold. That’ll make it even more noticeable. The only thing worse than wearing a plain silver chain at a royal ball is wearing a plain silver chain that clashes with one’s outfit.”

  Mychael didn’t just match my grin, he raised me a smirk—and a rope of sparkling diamonds dangling from his hand.

  I stifled an unladylike word. The Benares in me made a small sound and reached for the strand. Maybe the gown wasn’t so bad after all.

  I pulled my hand back. “But I can’t take the beacon off.”

  Mychael moved behind me with the diamonds. “You don’t have to. If I may?”

  I swept my hair up and away from my neck. I didn’t know what he was doing, but he seemed to, and since what he was doing involved the most diamonds I’d ever worn in my life, I decided to give him the benefit of a doubt.

  “Pull the beacon out of your shirt,” he said.

  I did.

  “Hold it against your chest and remove the chain.”

  I turned my head and looked at him. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. It’ll be fine.”