by Lisa Shearin
“Sounds like a good, wholesome family project,” Phaelan said from the open doorway. “Set him up and take him down, then we’ll let Mychael take him out. What do you think, Dad?”
Uncle Ryn’s teeth flashed white against his black beard. “I think I can carve out time in my schedule for such a noble cause.”
Phaelan came in the cabin, shut the door, and handed the deck prism to Mychael. Then he rubbed his hands together, a devilish gleam in his eyes. “So, where does Balmorlan get his funding?” he asked Markus.
“Some from the elven treasury; most he raises privately.”
“Just what I wanted to hear. Treasury money has to be accounted for. With private fund-raising there doesn’t have to be a paper trail.” My cousin’s grin turned gleefully malicious. “Unless someone creates one.”
I knew where he was going and I liked the destination.
Phaelan froze, stood ramrod straight, and sniffed the air twice. “Gold. Goblin imperial.” His hands were virtually twitching with unfulfilled avarice.
“In the bag, Phaelan.”
My cousin’s eyes locked on that leather satchel like it was his own little slice of heaven. “A couple hundred, at least.”
“Six, to be exact,” Uncle Ryn said.
One of Phaelan’s hands reached out to touch. I smacked that hand.
“Ow.”
“Not yours.”
Phaelan’s grin was seven times wicked. “Could it be?”
I told him where it’d come from.
My cousin nodded in approval. “You got to keep the gold and the mark. You do the family proud, cousin. But you didn’t answer my question. Can we keep it?”
“I have an idea or two that will earn us the best return on our investment,” Mychael said, his smile sly.
“Frame Balmorlan?” I asked.
Mychael nodded once. “I think it may prove fruitful. Unexplained goblin gold being found in Balmorlan’s possession would raise all kinds of uncomfortable questions.”
Phaelan’s expression was pained. “But we can take it back, right?”
I just looked at him. “Do you want to take out the evil son of a bitch or line your pockets?”
My cousin had to think about that one. “Can’t I do both?”
“No.”
Phaelan plopped down in his chair in disgust. Unrequited greed wasn’t a good look on my cousin. “Evil son of a bitch first.”
“That’s better.”
“Where do Balmorlan and his cronies keep their money?” Uncle Ryn asked Markus. “Not the small stuff they let the government accountants see. Where do they keep the real money they don’t want anyone to find?”
“Brenir.”
“Which bank?”
“First Bank of D’Mai.”
Phaelan smiled like the sun had come out. “Adequate security, but not adequate enough.”
“Mago?” I asked.
“None other.”
Markus looked from me to Phaelan, perplexed. Another expression I didn’t see on him often.
“How much does Balmorlan have?” I asked Markus.
“If he has access to Carnades’s sources of income, Taltek can lay his hands on more than is in Queen Lisara’s treasury.”
Phaelan whistled, then he slowly shook his head in disapproval. “No one needs that much money. It’s obscene.”
“Unless it’s in one of your accounts,” I noted.
“True.”
“Son, remind Mago to siphon slowly,” Uncle Ryn cautioned. “We wouldn’t want to make anyone suspicious.”
Mago didn’t need reminding. He was a Brenirian banker, respectable even as far as Brenirian bankers went. He’d elevated embezzlement to an art form. Professionally he was known as Mago Peronne. His real name wouldn’t exactly be welcome in banking circles.
Mago Benares. Uncle Ryn’s eldest. Phaelan’s brother. And one crafty and cunning weasel.
I could virtually see the nefarious little wheels turning in Phaelan’s head. “Though . . . if we’re going to set the bastard up, let’s do it right. Mago could set up an account in Sarad Nukpana’s name and siphon Balmorlan’s money into it,” Phaelan said. “That way no one except Mago would have access to the money. He even knows a forger who could put Nukpana’s signature on the documents authorizing the transfer, and pre-date it to before he got sucked into the Saghred.”
I smiled and leaned back in my chair. “And the next time Balmorlan went to bribe or buy off anyone . . .” I spread my hands. “No cash, no cohorts.”
“The notion does have appeal,” Uncle Ryn agreed. “Markus, since you’re supposed to be dead, it might be best if you stay with us for a while. You’ll be safe, comfortable, and have all the goblin port you care to drink.”
“And while we drink, we can plot,” Phaelan added. “We know people.”
Mychael had set his recording gem next to the deck prism. With a few murmured words, we all watched as Mychael and I, glamoured as Morrell and Orla, struck a deal with Karl Cradock, and best of all, we got to see and hear him admit to the crime that Tam was sitting in a cell for committing.
Phaelan whistled. “Damn, cousin, is that you?”
“Yeah, it’s me. Roll your tongue back up in your head.”
“Who is she?”
“Maire Orla. Kidnapper and assassin.”
“I think I’m in love.”
“I think you’re a sick man.”
Phaelan shrugged, never taking his eyes off of Maire Orla’s bounty. “I never claimed to be anything else.”
I squeezed my eyes shut and pinched the bridge of my nose. Exhaustion had caught up with me and was pounding on my head with a vengeance. “So Sarad Nukpana is regenerating himself and turning powerful and influential elves into beef jerky. Any chance we can sic him on Taltek Balmorlan?”
“I’m sure Balmorlan is aware he’s on Nukpana’s list,” Mychael said.
Markus solemnly studied my face for a moment and then Mychael’s. “There is something else of which Taltek Balmorlan is aware. It concerns the two of you and Tamnais Nathrach.”
My heart pounded in my chest, but I kept my expression neutral—at least, I tried.
Our umi’atsu bond. The fact that Tam could now tap the power of the Saghred, and Mychael and I could tap each other. Extreme caution was called for here. “What about it?”
Markus’s eyes darted briefly to Phaelan and Uncle Ryn. My silence told him that no, they didn’t know; and no, I didn’t want them to. I couldn’t protect my family from much, but I would protect them from this.
Do you only want to protect them, Raine? Or do you just not want them to know?
“Commodore and Captain Benares,” Markus said, never taking his dark eyes from mine. “I wouldn’t want to ask you to leave your own cabin, but is there a place where I may speak privately with Raine and Mychael?”
Uncle Ryn made no move to leave. “Is that what you want, Spitfire?”
What I wanted was to wrap my family around me like a blanket, but that’d just get them killed or worse right along with me.
“Raine, we’re in this.” Phaelan knew me too well; he knew exactly what I was thinking. “We’re with you. We’re not backing down, and we sure as hell aren’t running.”
“If you’re in more danger than we’ve already heard about, I want to know,” Uncle Ryn rumbled. “Any enemy of yours is prey of mine.”
“Thank you,” I said softly, my throat tight. There wasn’t much more a woman could ask for than a family she could count on to kill the people who wanted to kill her.
I glanced at Mychael. He nodded once.
“I want my family with me, Markus.”
“Very well. I know about the umi’atsu bond between the three of you.” Markus wasn’t one to mince words. “Carnades told me when I arrived on the island, and Balmorlan not only knows, but he also plans to use it—and the three of you.”
“We know they want to expose us, but to get us out of the way.”
“It goes fur
ther than that.”
I remembered Balmorlan saying he was building prison cells, and suddenly my dinner wasn’t sitting too well.
Phaelan stood motionless. “Wait a minute—what’s this umi’atsu bond?”
I forced the contents of my stomach to stay put, and quickly filled them in on all the details.
“And only death can separate the three of you now?” Uncle Ryn asked when I’d finished.
Mychael answered him before I could. “It is the only way we know at this time. If there is another way, we will find it.”
“And Balmorlan has a reason for not wanting you to find a cure.”
I looked at Markus. “Apparently.”
“The three of you in an umi’atsu bond proves that the Saghred’s power can be distributed between more than one person at a time,” Markus said. “Mychael, I have to ask: have you experienced any side effects from being linked even tenuously to the Saghred?”
“None whatsoever.”
“Which is precisely what Balmorlan is hoping for. He believes that the more people the Saghred’s power is divided among, the less chance for mental instability.”
My voice came out thin. “Power without paying the price.”
Markus nodded. “Balmorlan has recruited some of his favorite agency mages. They have been arriving on Mid for the past week. He appealed to their racial pride to make the sacrifice. Balmorlan plans to keep presenting mages to the Saghred until it selects those he deems suitable for his purpose.”
“What do you mean ‘presenting mages to the Saghred’? The thing’s locked up in the citadel.”
Phaelan stiffened. “What purpose?”
“The Saghred wants to be wielded,” Markus said. “Balmorlan wants to use that power against the goblins.”
Horror and panic choked my words. “There’s no way in hell anyone else is joining our bond.”
“Did the Saghred ask you when it bonded you with Tamnais Nathrach?” Markus asked. “Or Mychael?”
I felt sick. “No.”
The Saghred had bonded Tam and me when we’d joined forces to save kidnapped spellsinging students. The rock had taken Mychael when he’d linked with me to attempt to slow the progression of my bond with Tam.
“Proximity and magic are all that’s needed,” came Mychael’s voice inside my head.
“There’s no way we’re getting anywhere near Balmorlan’s pet mages.”
“You’ve heard about the cells Balmorlan is constructing in the elven embassy,” Markus said quietly.
“I’ve heard.”
“Level Twelve wards, detainment spells layered for strength, and magic-depleting manacles bolted to the walls.”
I knew what that meant. Suddenly there wasn’t enough air in the cabin.
If Taltek Balmorlan got me in that cell, he could throw anyone he wanted in with me. Mychael’s touch had been enough for the Saghred to bond him to me. I wasn’t letting any of Balmorlan’s mages touch me. Suddenly I wanted to run and keep running. Chained to a wall with magic-depleting manacles, I wouldn’t have a choice. I’d been locked in those kinds of manacles before; they were used to keep mages from using their powers. The Saghred would still be free to act.
I would be helpless to stop either it or Balmorlan’s pet mages.
I didn’t know which would be worse: to be slowly drained of life by Sarad Nukpana or helpless to stop the Saghred from bonding mages to me that would wield it.
And when they used the Saghred, they’d be using me.
I felt Mychael’s strong hands on my shoulders.
“Raine, it won’t happen. I won’t allow it.”
My breath was coming quick and ragged. Slow down, Raine. You’re going to pass out. Balmorlan wants you terrified. You will not give him what he wants. I took a deep breath and let it out. It only trembled a little. “Markus, is Taltek Balmorlan reporting to anyone right now?”
“No.”
“Is he working with anyone?”
“Yes.”
“Are they vital to his operation?”
“At this point, very much so.”
“I want names.”
“Raine, I—”
“I want names,” I snapped. It took every bit of self-control I had not to scream those words.
I think Markus knew that. He listed three names. One had a title; two had military ranks.
All three had just become a Benares family project—along with their boss.
“Raine, I can help,” Mychael said.
I stood. “This isn’t within the law, Mychael. Your Guardians can’t help me.”
“I wasn’t referring to my Guardians.” His blue eyes were glacier cold.
“You know people?” Phaelan asked him.
“I do. Me.”
Chapter 17
The sun was coming up, birds were singing, and the breeze from the harbor didn’t stink yet. Most people would consider this to be the start of a good day.
I wasn’t most people, but I was determined to make today go my way for a change. I’d crammed my terror of elven prison cells into a dark corner of my mind. We were about to free Tam, and Markus was still on my side. Those two things, plus the vision of a financially and professionally ruined Taltek Balmorlan, were enough to put a smile on my face. It was probably a smile that most people would run from, but for a Benares, it meant we were happy.
“Thinking violently vindictive thoughts?” Mychael asked from beside me.
“I am.” I inhaled the harbor air as if it were a bouquet of flowers. “And enjoying myself while doing it.”
Mychael smiled slowly, a dangerous sparkle in his eyes. “You’re a bad girl, Raine Benares.”
“I do what I can.”
We gave any patrols and early risers the slip, and arrived unseen at Mychael’s basement hideaway. He didn’t mind his men seeing him, at least not once he was back in uniform and not wearing something a highwayman would be apprehended in. I was beginning to wonder if the real Mychael Eiliesor was someone in between.
Mychael closed the door behind us. I waited until he’d locked it.
“The only thing better than a ruined Taltek Balmorlan would be you telling me how you can help make him that way and be the paladin at the same time. I don’t see you tossing the law aside, even if it means getting Balmorlan.”
“I won’t be tossing the law aside; it has always dictated my actions.”
“Like your actions last night? The man I was with wasn’t the upright, law-abiding, and proper paladin. You handled Karl Cradock like a pro, and I don’t mean a Guardian.” I tossed my cloak on the bed. “Listen, your life is your own, so you don’t owe me an explanation, but I’d—”
“I want to give you one.” Mychael hesitated, his eyes focused on the closed door. “I protect those who need it by arresting or taking down those who deserve it. That is the intent of the law.”
“But not the letter of the law.”
“Sometimes the two aren’t the same,” he agreed.
“Don’t get me wrong—I approve completely of what you did last night. Hell, even I was impressed and I’ve seen some slick con men at work.” I took a deep breath and pushed on. “I’m going to need all the help I can get—legal and otherwise. But I’d never thought that someone who went to the Conclave college, became a Guardian cadet, then raced up through the ranks to paladin could be an ‘otherwise’ kind of man.”
“I didn’t go to school here; I’ve never been a cadet, so I didn’t race up through the ranks.”
I just stood there in stupefied silence. “What?” I finally managed.
“I didn’t—”
“I heard what you said. I just—”
“Assumed.”
“Apparently a hell of a lot.”
“Raine, I’ve never lied to you. You never asked.”
“How long have you been paladin?”
“Almost four years.”
“And you weren’t a Guardian before then?”
“No.”
T
he consummate Guardian, the proper paladin, had never even been one before. My thoughts ran around in confused circles, bumping into each other and getting nowhere fast.
“Doesn’t the paladin have to at least have been a Guardian at some point?”
“It’s the way it’s always been done—but not in my case.”
“But you said you were a student of Ronan Cayle.”
“Ronan sees a lot of already trained spellsingers. It helps our voices stay in shape.”
“Then who taught you?”
Mychael watched me in silence. “Is that what you really want to know?” he asked quietly.
I stood there, looking up into those sea blue eyes. Eyes that met mine unwaveringly. They were the eyes of an honest man, or so I thought.
“I want to know who you are.”
“Mychael Eiliesor.”
“A name doesn’t tell me who you are.” I stood there, looking up at him, trying to see beneath the surface. I was bonded to the man and I still didn’t know who he was. I had seen the avenging angel that he was inside. But the armor hadn’t gleamed and his robes hadn’t been white—maybe they had been that way at one time, but they weren’t anymore. They were singed, dirty, and bloodstained. Mychael Eiliesor had fought a lot of battles against others—maybe even against himself.
And in every last one of them, he’d done what he had to do.
An hour ago on the Red Hawk, he’d promised to do the same thing.
For me.
“Mychael, you’ve said that I can trust you with my life. I can do that—and I have done that.” I paused. “But I need you to be willing to trust me with yours.”
He crossed the small room to an armoire in the corner, opened it, and pulled out an exact copy of his paladin uniform. He began unbuttoning his leather doublet. “Justinius contacted me about four years ago and said he needed me as paladin.”
“ ‘Contacted’? Sounds like one of Markus’s agency terms.”
“I’ve never worked for the agency.”
“Who, then?”
Mychael took off the doublet and tossed it on the bed next to my cloak, quickly followed by his shirt. He half turned toward me. His arms and chest were sculpted with muscle, his shoulders broad. I knew this; I had seen the man virtually naked just a few days ago. Hell, I’d been in bed with him. But I still looked and couldn’t look away, and the urge to close the distance between us and let my fingers explore that smoothly muscled expanse was almost too much to resist.
