Armed & Magical

Chapter 13

“It wasn’t Tam,” I said for the umpteenth time.

I could almost sit up in bed now. I was perfectly fine. Well, at least better.

Mychael wasn’t listening to me.

It didn’t help my case any that when I came around, I didn’t have the strength to get my head off the pillow. Hard to be defiant and have a decent argument when you couldn’t lift your own head. I was surprised to find that I didn’t have any burns. It felt like someone had hauled off and punched me in the center of the chest with a branding iron.

Apparently I was out cold all the way back from Sirens to the citadel. And judging from the cramp in my neck and the dark outside my window, I’d added a couple of hours of sleep on top of that. I felt better, still crappy, but better.

Once he determined that I could speak, Mychael had started in with the questioning. You’d think that air-deprived impressions and images wouldn’t stick around in your head all that long, but you’d be wrong. Like the phantom hand in the center of my chest, those images were seared into my mind. There was going to be no forgetting those anytime soon. By the next time I went to sleep, they’d probably have taken a place of honor in the parade of night-mares that made me go scream in the night.

I wondered how long I could go without sleep.

“All I know is that the Saghred responded to him,” I told Mychael wearily. “Big-time.”

His blue eyes narrowed. “Like Tam?”

“Nothing like Tam.”

Tam had been amazing; this had been amazingly painful and nearly deadly.

My tone must have implied my enjoyment of the former, because Mychael’s scowl deepened. Great. Jealousy was rearing its ugly head. Normally I’d feel flattered; now I knew it was only adding unwanted trouble to an already-too-long list.

“The Saghred just said hello to Tam,” I explained. “It greeted Mr. Fiery Fingers like a long-lost friend.”

I knew who it had to be. He was an ancient, powerful, bullying slaughterer who enjoyed his work way too much. I’d read all about him and his antics—in his own words and his own handwriting. All the blood, the thousands of screaming victims had been Saghred sacrifices.

“You’ve got a seriously unwanted guest on your island,” I told Mychael.

“I’ve got a lot of those right now.”

“This one makes Banan Ryce look like a choirboy.”

Mychael didn’t move. “Do you have a name?”

“Rudra Muralin.”

Mychael sat back in the chair he’d pulled beside my bed. He didn’t say anything for a while. “Are you certain?”

“I can’t imagine the Saghred reacting that way to anyone else. He kept it fed and happy. The rock was trying to rip me apart to get to him.”

Mychael knew what Rudra Muralin being here meant. I could see it in his eyes. The Khrynsani and the Nightshades had just been downgraded from dangerous to a mere nuisance.

Mychael had himself a big problem. Mine was catastrophic.

A thousand-year-old psychotic goblin teenage spellsinger wanted his rock back.

“Rudra Muralin was in Sirens,” I said. “It doesn’t tell us what the Khrynsani have on Tam, but it might go a long way toward explaining why he had to act like he was going along. And it would also explain why he didn’t want me there.”

Mychael’s lips quirked in a sardonic grin. “Tam can be a wise man sometimes.”

I pressed my lips into a thin line. “So what did the fount of wisdom have to say for himself?”

“Probably nothing more than what he told you.”

I blinked. “You were eavesdropping.”

“I was doing my job.”

“I thought your job was to keep us apart.”

“My job is to keep what happened in that alley from happening again. Tam was less than forthcoming with me. I thought he might tell you things that he’d kept hidden from me.”

“So you struck out?”

“What he told me, I already knew. When he discovered that the Khrynsani were going to kidnap one of his employees, he and some of his men went to retrieve the boy.”

I nodded. “That matches the story the kid told me. Either it’s the truth, or Tam told the kid what he was supposed to say if anyone asked. That adds another question. What do the Khrynsani want with a nightclub spellsinger? And then it just so happened that I was there while Tam was there, and Darshan the shaman was tickled to see us both. I take it Tam didn’t say why.”

“He refused to give details. I could have arrested him, but I know Tam and that wouldn’t have made him talk. Though if the Mal’Salins are threatening or coercing him, a containment room might be the safest place for him right now. And if the Khrynsani discover Tam killed one of their own with a death curse, he may wish that I had arrested him.”

I almost couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “You threatened to lock him up?”

“I never threaten; I merely told him what my duty as paladin required of me.”

“Sounds like a threat to me.”

“I would have been entirely within my rights as paladin to take Tam into custody. I can’t trust him, but I can’t deny that he saved your life. I’m having him closely watched. No doubt, his reaction to the Saghred was as much a surprise to him as it was to you. I don’t think it was premeditated. The last time he saw you in Mermeia before we set sail, the Saghred was secure in its casket and wrapped in containment spells. At that time, those containments actually worked. There was no reaction then between the two of you and the Saghred.”

No, but there’d been plenty of reaction between Tam and me. Now there was a good-bye a girl could remember. I think I can safely say that I’d never been slammed against a mainmast and kissed quite like that before. Tam wanted to make sure I wouldn’t forget him. No chance of that.

Mychael hadn’t seen that farewell, and I wasn’t about to tell him. Especially now.

“The containments aren’t working so great anymore,” was what I said. Piaras’s song put the Saghred down for a light nap. It was snoozing just fine until it got a whiff of Tam’s magic. “I’m not surprised you couldn’t get Tam to admit to anything. Goblins are notorious for talking in circles. Tam’s elevated it to an art form. If he doesn’t want you to know something, trying to pry it out of him will just make you dizzy.” Tam’s answer to a question was very often another question. Not one of his more endearing qualities.

One thought kept popping into my head with annoying frequency.

“Mychael, has anyone actually tried to steal the Saghred?”

“No one.”

Mychael’s stony expression told me that fact confused and concerned him even more than it did me. He didn’t want anyone to steal the Saghred, but he expected someone to at least try. Apparently there were no takers—at least not yet.

“Maybe Piaras putting most of the Guardians to sleep actually was a trial run for a Khrynsani robbery attempt,” I ventured.

“Perhaps. But Piaras didn’t knock out all of my men. With the wards, spells, and guards I have down on the containment levels, no one can stroll in, pick up the Saghred, and walk out.” He paused. “The only treasure anyone has tried to take is you,” he said softly.

Oh boy.

I tried to sit up in bed and winced; my muscles screamed in protest. Mychael arranged my pillows, and with his hands on my shoulders, gently eased me back. Those sea blue eyes looked at me a couple seconds longer than was comfortable for either one of us.

“Would you like me to help with the pain?” he asked.

“Uh, I’m not sure that’d be the best idea.”

“Why not?”

I put my hand where it felt like Rudra Muralin had punched me—right between my breasts. “Right here’s where it hurts the most.”

“Oh.” Mychael’s color rose slightly. With a visible effort, he forced any awkwardness down. The proper paladin was back. “I am a healer, a medical professional. You are in pain. It is my sacred duty to ease that pain.”

He held up his right hand with a questioning glance.

Now if it’d been any other man, I’d say he just wanted to get his hands on me. Mychael was most definitely a man, though I would think that having his hand where he proposed to put it would tempt even the most professional healer to nonprofessional conduct. It wasn’t a problem for me. I was just a seeker; my ethical values were safe.

Far be it from me to prevent a man from doing his sacred duty.

“Okay.” My voice came out kind of husky. Whoa. My professional values were safe, but apparently my body was ready to toss my morals out the nearest window. I knew why. Yesterday, Mychael had used both his hands and his lips to heal my headache. I swallowed. If he did that now, I could not be held responsible for my actions.

Mychael took a few moments to steady and still his breathing. I’d already given up on mine. I didn’t know if Mychael’s little breathing exercise was to prepare him to heal, or to prepare him to put his hand between my breasts.

“What about the Saghred?” I asked. I cringed inwardly. Way to ruin the mood, Raine.

Mychael stopped with his hand halfway between us. “Since I’m not a dark mage, there should be no reaction from the Saghred at all.”

“Are you sure?” I wasn’t. And the more I thought about it, the more I thought this might be a really bad idea. “You wrapped it in containment spells, tried to bind it with a spellsong, and then carried me out of Sirens before Rudra Muralin could finish what he started. The rock might be feeling a tad vindictive.” I exhaled slowly. “I don’t want to hurt you.” My voice shook, and I couldn’t stop it. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

There. I’d said it. My chest and throat felt tight and the Saghred didn’t have a thing to do with it.

Mychael’s calm blue eyes held mine. I couldn’t look away and I didn’t want to.

“Raine, you’re not going to hurt anyone. The Saghred is dangerous; you are not. You may be linked to the stone for the time being, but we will find a way to break that link. And I swear to you on my honor that I will not stop trying until that link is broken and you’re free.”

Okay, that did it. I had to clench my jaw to keep the tightness in my throat from turning into tears in my eyes. I was not going to cry. Mychael’s steadfast and reassuring gaze wasn’t helping things any.

“You’re hurting.” His voice was low and soft. “And that pain goes far deeper than physical injury. Let me help.”

I took a deep breath, sniffed, and nodded.

Mychael placed his hand very carefully in the exact center of my chest. I looked down and held my breath. No Saghred retaliation. No blazing heat. Just warmth. Mychael’s warmth. It radiated outward from his steady hand, comforting and soothing. I took one breath and let it out, then another, the tightness and pain in my chest lessening with each breath until it was completely gone.

I raised my eyes and met Mychael’s gaze. The pain in my chest was gone, but his right hand remained on me, resting over my heart as if making a solemn promise, or taking a sacred oath.

“I will see the Saghred gone. You have my word.”