Magic Lost, Trouble Found rb-1

by Lisa Shearin

  As we made our way up the black marble staircase, I hoped that we didn’t draw too much attention clumped together as we were. We were supposed to be the Count of Eilde and his new bride just home from their wedding and honeymoon in Rina. Accompanying them were her younger brother, Tamas, his tutor, and a pair of bodyguards. Fortunately there were others who were similarly grouped. I guess when most of your guests are from the aristocracy of various kingdoms, there will be more than your fair share of burly types looking uncomfortable in unaccustomed finery. That being the case, Vegard and Riston didn’t look in the least bit out of place fidgeting with their embroidered collars.

  Once on the landing, I saw that the portion of the window not taken up with the serpent crest was clear glass and gave me a good view of the gardens behind the embassy. The moon was on the wane, but still provided ample light. On the edge of the trees was a stone wall approximately head height.

  Mychael paused next to me. “That’s the outer wall of the temple ruins. The mausoleum is at the center.”

  The beacon thrummed against my chest, as if sensing an impending reunion, a little thrill of excitement to add to its happiness. As a result, my stomach experienced a similar sensation, though it was neither thrilling nor happy. My hand went to my stomach again. The wave of nausea wasn’t a remnant from the gondola ride.

  “Ocnus was right. That’s the place.”

  Mychael was right, too. There were plenty of elaborately be-gowned and bejeweled ladies to keep me company. Next to some of them, my gown was downright plain. And those were just the guests waiting in the corridor to be announced.

  That brought up another problem I had.

  Protocol demanded that we be announced to the other guests before we entered the ballroom. For the duration of that announcement, every eye in the room would be fixed on us—and most of those eyes didn’t belong to friendlies. Some of them belonged to goblins who had seen me and Piaras two nights ago. Not nearly enough time for us to have faded from their memory.

  I was masked, hatted, and garbed in yards of velvet and silk.

  I felt as naked as the day I was born.

  “Is this necessary?” I hissed to Mychael.

  “It is if you want to get into the garden.”

  I thought he’d say something like that.

  “I thought you didn’t want to attract attention,” I reminded him.

  “The wrong kind,” he clarified. “Entering without being announced would be extremely rude to our host. That would attract attention that we do not want.”

  “Far be it from me to be rude.”

  Mychael wisely chose not to comment.

  We stepped up to the threshold.

  When we were announced, everyone turned and looked—and kept looking.

  I felt like a mouse in a room full of hungry cats.

  The ballroom took up the entire back of the embassy with floor-to-ceiling windows opening out onto a panoramic view of the gardens and the brightly lit harbor beyond. It was full of ships and was an impressive sight in the moonlight. I guess that was one of the advantages of being rich, you could enjoy a harbor view without any of the sounds or smells of the real thing.

  Piaras stood next to me looking out at the view, and at the swirling riot of color as the guests danced. His mouth dropped open. I hooked a finger under his chin and closed it for him.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  “It’s a nice view,” I told him. “Enjoy it while you can; we won’t be staying long.”

  “Good.”

  While Piaras was enjoying the view, I noticed that more than a few noble ladies, both goblin and elven, were enjoying the view of Piaras. I glared a few of them down; a few more appeared to be more determined—or patient. I knew as soon as I left Piaras’s side he’d have plenty of company. Company I was determined he was not going to have, and certainly not at an embassy ball crawling with Mal’Salins.

  The glass that covered the south wall wasn’t all windows. There were also glass doors opening onto the terrace. From there, stairs led down into the ornamental gardens, and beyond that to the mausoleum. Tonight the doors were open to admit the cool, night breezes, but no one was on the terrace to enjoy it. Protocol had once again reared its ugly head. Until the goblin king had made his entrance, everyone was encouraged to remain in the ballroom. And being familiar now with the goblin sense of the dramatic, I was sure Sathrik Mal’Salin would want to wait until all of his guests had arrived, so that his entrance would have the maximum impact. That being the case, we were due for an extended wait. However, I couldn’t see Sathrik cooling his heels in an anteroom somewhere until midnight. I know if I were throwing myself a party, I’d want to be there to enjoy it.

  Once the goblin king had made his entrance, the count’s bride would suddenly be in dire and desperate need of fresh air. Being from the provinces, it would be her first trip to her new home, and she would be understandably overwhelmed by all the pageantry and excitement. And as an elven lady of gentle birth, she could hardly be allowed to wander alone in the gardens at an embassy ball. After all, there were trees and tall shrubs. Apparently the upper classes considered close proximity to foliage a threat to a lady’s virtue, even a married one.

  Once in the shadows of the garden, we’d elude any wandering guards, and get on with the business at hand. At least that was the plan. I took a wait-and-see attitude about its success. It wasn’t that any plan I had been a part of lately didn’t work; it was just that they had a tendency to go off in unexpected directions.

  A small goblin orchestra provided the music for the evening from a raised stage on the far side of the ballroom. The music they played was distinctly goblin—dark, dramatic, and faintly discordant. A tall, slender goblin crossed the stage to stand in front of the musicians. He wore a mask and costume, neither of which were elaborate or brightly colored, made of midnight blue velvet. His glossy black hair was pulled back with a single, silver clasp at the nape of his neck. He began to sing, without accompaniment at first, then with music evolving softly behind him. His voice was as rich and openly seductive as the formfitting velvet he wore.

  Rahimat. Tam’s nephew—and Prince Chigaru’s spellsinger.

  “Is that who I think it is?” Piaras asked, his voice a bare whisper.

  “I can’t imagine it being anyone else.”

  “But he works for the prince.”

  “He’s also a spellsinger. A gig is a gig.”

  Piaras looked at me. “You don’t believe that, do you?”

  “Not for a minute.”

  I don’t know what Prince Chigaru was thinking by having his spellsinger at his brother’s party. The room was crawling with Khrynsani. If the spellsinger tried anything with his voice that could be perceived as a threat, his performance would be cut short—along with his life. Or perhaps he really didn’t work for the prince. Goblins thrived on what they referred to as intricate alliances. I called it double-dealing, but their name for it sounded better. To hear Tam talk, it was a favorite pastime at the goblin court.

  Piaras’s dark eyes never left the stage. “He’s about to do something.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know exactly. It’s very subtle.”

  I could feel it. I’m sure other sensitives in the crowd could feel it, too, but no one gave any outward sign. The volume of conversation did drop, so that the spellsinger’s voice could be clearly heard. Maybe the kid just got tired of no one listening to him. Maybe.

  Garadin had completed a quick circuit of the room and was making his way back to me.

  “Prince Chigaru has people all over the place,” I told him.

  “Where?” He was calm, which was more than I could say for myself.

  “The spellsinger, for one. He was at the estate in The Ruins night before last.” I decided to leave out the part about Rahimat being Tam’s nephew. Garadin already disliked Tam, no need to toss fuel on that fire.

  “Then there’s the primari and her escort,” I added, “along w
ith more than a few goblins not wearing black—any of whom who could be allied with either brother and up to no good.”

  “These are goblin aristocrats,” Garadin pointed out. “Not many of them are up to any good. Like I said, there’s nothing like an assassination to liven things up. No one would blame us for seeking the safety of the gardens. If things get too lively here, we’ll have plenty of company to use as cover.”

  Out of the frying pan and into the fire.

  Mychael appeared at my side. That was disconcerting. I didn’t even realize he had gone. I had let myself be distracted. That wasn’t going to happen again. The goblin spellsinger had just finished his song, and the musicians were playing the first few notes of a favorite Mermeian dance tune, with a dark goblin twist, of course.

  Mychael held out his hand to me.

  “It would appear strange if the count did not dance with his bride.” His voice was low and for my ears only. “I also need to locate any Khrynsani in the room. A few turns around the dance floor should suffice.”

  I fought down a surge of panic. Not the life-and-death kind, but the die-of-embarrassment kind. It was ironic. I was surrounded by Mal’Salins, and I was afraid of dancing. But that didn’t stop my mouth from being suddenly dry.

  “I don’t dance.”

  “You’ll be fine.”

  “No, really. I don’t dance.”

  “No lady of any court moves with more grace than you.” He raised my hand to his lips. “Trust me, you dance. Your feet will be fine.”

  I took his arm. It wasn’t my feet I was worried about. It was the shoes and the hem of the gown that would trip both of them.

  “I’ll keep Master Tamas company,” Garadin said just loud enough that a Mal’Salin retainer passing close by could hear. “You two children run along and have fun.”

  Mychael merged effortlessly into the swirl of dancing revelers, and swept me along with him. My gown’s wrist loop worked as promised, keeping my train off the floor and out from under my feet. Surprisingly, after the first minute or so, I had yet to land in a heap on the floor. With my nerves and complete lack of dancing skills, it was nothing short of a miracle. Either that, or Mychael was that good a dancer.

  More than one goblin in the room wanted the necklace I wore around my neck, and were more than willing to take my head to get to it. Dancing next to them didn’t seem to be the best way to remain inconspicuous. But at least I was moving, which helped me to feel less like a sitting duck.

  Mychael’s hand was firm against the small of my back; the other enfolded one of my hands. He drew me close and attempted to steer me in the direction he wanted to go.

  “Raine?” he said softly.

  I looked up at him. “Yes?”

  “Some people find dancing enjoyable.”

  I couldn’t help but smile. “I’m dancing backward, in a gown and shoes that aren’t mine, in a room full of goblin nobles. This is as relaxed as I’m going to get.”

  He smiled back. “Then I’ll simply have to make do.”

  After our first circuit of the dance floor, Mychael began humming softly along with the music. It was more of a counter-melody, in a slightly different key, and less discordant. I found myself relaxing a little.

  I knew what he was doing, and he did it well. Having been taught by Garadin, I knew that music makes a magic all its own. The goblin king would only have the best musicians performing for him. Their talent was apparent as their music’s magic swirled with and in the air around the dancers.

  Mychael was using the musicians to conceal a little musical magic of his own. It was similar enough to the tune being played to blend, yet different enough to do what he wanted—namely locating other mages in the room. I’m sure there were more than enough of them, but Mychael was looking for Khrynsani shamans. But there was only one Khrynsani whose location I wanted to know, and he was more than capable of hiding himself until he wanted to be found.

  The song ended, and the dancers and those who were simply enjoying the music applauded politely. I wasn’t thrilled with where we ended up when the music stopped. The royal dais and the goblin king’s throne were only about ten steps to our right.

  I also wasn’t thrilled with the scrutiny I suddenly found myself on the receiving end of. I thought I recognized the interested parties. Unfortunately, the same thought had occurred to them. They were goblins. They were black-garbed Mal’Salin courtiers. Prince Chigaru Mal’Salin’s courtiers. So much for whether the prince was going to crash his brother’s party. One whispered to the other, and the pair started toward us. I don’t think they had recognized me yet, but they wanted to get a closer look.

  I turned toward Mychael. “Company,” I said in a warning singsong tone.

  “I see them.” He took matters into his own hands—and me along with it.

  Mychael gathered me to him in a kiss passionate enough to make me forget the goblins, forget the guests, and drop my fan. When I opened my eyes, I discovered it also had the equally desirable effect of making the goblins doubt they recognized me. A win-win for everyone. Anyone and everyone else who noticed were smiling indulgently at the love struck newlyweds.

  I was a little short of breath. My corset wasn’t helping matters any. No wonder fainting couches were so popular with the upper classes. I absently wondered if one was nearby. Mychael gently cradled my face in his hands. His eyes were darker than I remember them being. I opened my mouth to at least attempt a protest.

  “A valid tactical maneuver,” his lips moved against mine.

  “So that’s what Guardians call it,” I whispered breathlessly.

  I felt him smile. “To deflect attention of one kind, attract attention of another.”

  “Works for me.” Even better, it worked for Chigaru’s courtiers. Apparently interrupting an intimate newlywed moment was in bad taste even for a Mal’Salin. One of them even bent to retrieve my fan for me before he scurried away in embarrassment. Mychael didn’t release me; he just readjusted his hold. I liked the way he readjusted. I told myself he was just staying in character, and it was simply another valid tactical maneuver. I told myself that, but I didn’t really believe it—and I didn’t mind that I didn’t believe.

  There was movement on the gallery above as trumpeters stood in a flash of scarlet and black and blew a fanfare.

  Mychael sensed what I wanted to do and anchored me to the spot, his arm firmly around my waist, his hand gripping mine. We must have looked quite the loving couple. But I knew he was right. Running would be suicidal. But that didn’t stop every muscle in my body from wanting to do it. Especially when I saw King Sathrik Mal’Salin and the solitary black-robed figure that entered immediately behind him. Who would have thought Sarad Nukpana was the party type? The goblin king was unmasked and dressed in black and silver formal-dress armor. It was his party, so he could wear what he wanted.

  Mychael pulled me even closer. “Be still and clear your mind.” His voice was a bare whisper against my ear. “You’re the Countess of Eilde, just home from your honeymoon. You’re deliriously happy and honored to be here.”

  Delirious I could do, happy I was not.

  Still, I took a breath and let it out slowly, willing myself to relax.

  Mychael gave my waist a quick squeeze. “Happy, darling?”

  “I’m getting there,” I said from between clenched teeth.

  “Good.”

  The goblin king and the Khrynsani grand shaman passed close enough to touch, though that was the last thing on my mind. I held my breath as they passed, and I was sure I wasn’t alone. Something was wrong. Not really wrong, but different. Sathrik turned and seated himself on his throne, and the robed figure turned to stand at his left hand. I saw a shadow of a masked face beneath the cowled hood.

  It wasn’t Sarad Nukpana. I don’t know how I knew, but I did.

  I started breathing again.

  “It’s not him,” I said softly.

  Mychael squeezed my hand to let me know he heard.

&n
bsp; The goblin king began to address his guests, but I didn’t hear the words. Why would Sarad Nukpana send an impostor to stand at the king’s side?

  I knew the answer as soon as the question asked itself. He had more important things to do, a full evening planned. A stone of power to secure, a mage to torture. I shivered as the tension I’d just released was replaced by fresh fear. Tarsilia. She had to be close. What was happening to her?

  There was applause as Sathrik concluded his greeting, and the guests began taking the floor for the next dance.

  “Are you unwell, darling?” Mychael asked, as only a solicitous new husband could. “You’re looking pale. Perhaps something to drink and some fresh air.”

  I nodded tensely.

  We made our way to the bar nearest the garden doors. Garadin, Piaras, and the two Guardians were already outside. A tall, elegant goblin was moving toward us—moving just like the big, dangerous cat he was.

  Tam.

  His chosen garb for the evening was a dark goblin mirror of Mychael’s own attire. The goblin primaru was every inch the Mal’Salin duke he used to be in a surcoat of midnight blue suede, with a mix of tooled gray leather and burnished steel armor beneath. Unlike most of the “knights” I’d seen on the dance floor, Tam’s armor was authentic. I had a feeling he had something other than dancing planned for this evening.

  “You encountered no difficulty gaining admittance?” Tam asked us once he was close enough to speak without being overheard.

  “Just the expected,” Mychael replied.

  I didn’t mention that I had expected worse—and I certainly hadn’t expected Tam.

  Tam looked down at me, or more to the point, at my bodice. “Nice dress.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Very flattering,” he murmured.

  “I didn’t choose it.”

  “Who did?”

  I tilted my head toward Mychael. “He did.”

  Tam glanced at Mychael. “You did?”

  “I did.”

  Neither of them showed any emotion, but the tension in the air went up a notch. Wonderful. Just what I didn’t need.

  “I didn’t expect to see you here,” I told Tam. “The company not to your liking and all that.”