Bewitched & Betrayed

Chapter 15

I smelled the food before Phaelan and I got to Uncle Ryn’s cabin, and my stomach rumbled in appreciative anticipation. Uncle Ryn knew me well. I was pissed and he knew I needed to be levelheaded and reasonable. Get me fed and I could be reasoned with. I guess Uncle Ryn didn’t want to risk having to clean Markus Sevelien’s blood out of his carpets.

I knocked.

“Come,” Uncle Ryn boomed.

I opened the door and the scent of a heavenly dinner was nearly overwhelming.

The captain’s quarters on the Red Hawk were spacious, but contained only the things Uncle Ryn needed: bed, table with six chairs, fold-down sideboard, desk, and a cabinet where he kept his liquor. He didn’t want anything fancy or needless cluttering up his cabin. He liked his space. And Uncle Ryn didn’t take kindly to invasions of his personal space. He had a favorite response to someone stepping in on him. He’d reach out, grab you by the throat, lift you off your feet, and replace those feet at a respectful distance. This response was a warning; if you tried it again, it would be your last time stepping in on anybody. Uncle Ryn didn’t tolerate rudeness.

Most elves were tall and leanly muscled. Uncle Ryn was just big. He wore his dark hair short, his beard trimmed, and had a booming voice that’d carry clear up to a crow’s nest. He had a booming laugh to go with it and a sense of humor to match. He was somewhere around fifty, but he didn’t look it or act it. I was a firm believer in being happy doing your chosen work. If you were going to make a living at something, you should enjoy doing it. Ryn Benares was still in his prime and basking in the benefits of his chosen calling—the most feared pirate in any body of water larger than a bathtub.

Judging from the three used dishes on the sideboard, Uncle Ryn, Mychael, and Markus had already eaten.

“I hear you’ve had yourself a rough evening, Spitfire,” Uncle Ryn rumbled softly. “Come get yourself something to eat.”

Mychael arched a brow in amusement. “Spitfire?”

“His pet name for me,” I told him.

“Also an ill-tempered breed of small dragon.”

“She knows I’ve always meant it as a compliment,” Uncle Ryn said. “But like Raine, those little buggers get even more ill-tempered when they’re hungry.” He nodded toward the sideboard. “Fix yourself a plate before it gets cold.”

For once I did as told, no objections.

Uncle Ryn got out of his chair with his empty glass and went over to the liquor cabinet. “You want a drink?” he asked me.

I snorted past a mouthful of food. “You have to ask?”

Uncle Ryn poured me a glass of something the color of fine rubies. A Caesolian red, a good one. Aside from the one look I’d given Markus when I came through the door, I was ignoring him until I’d gotten some food in my stomach. I occasionally felt his eyes on me as he, Mychael, and Uncle Ryn made polite small talk waiting for me to finish. I didn’t rush my meal, but I didn’t take my time, either. I’d waited long enough.

When I’d finished, I pushed my plate back and gave Markus my full and undivided attention.

“No doubt you want to know why I’m here,” he said.

“What I want is your honesty.” I put down my wineglass. I didn’t trust myself with anything that could be thrown or broken over someone’s head. Besides, it was an expensive glass.

“Raine, you don’t know what you’re asking for—or how much danger you’re in.”

I laughed. I had to. That had to be one of the most ridiculously obvious statements I’d ever heard. “Markus, I know exactly how much danger I’m in. I’m up to my eyeballs in it, and if it gets deeper, I’ll have to start swimming.” I leaned forward; it was more civilized than diving across the cabin for the elf duke’s throat. “What I want to know is how much of it is your doing. I can’t begin to tell you how much I’ve looked forward to getting you in the same room with me. I know exactly what I’m asking for. Entertain me.”

Markus Sevelien told me.

I wasn’t entertained in the least.

Officially, Taltek Balmorlan was an inquisitor working for elven intelligence. In reality, Taltek Balmorlan was an arms dealer working for Taltek Balmorlan. And in a world of magic where mages qualified as weapons, he was dealing in living, breathing people, collecting supernaturally powerful elven mages. I knew that much. Piaras hadn’t been the first. I’d suspected that. The bastard preferred them young and vulnerable, easily influenced or intimidated. And being an agent of the elven government, Balmorlan could concoct a legal claim to them, like drafting them into the army. And that was precisely how he planned to use them—as weapons in a war against the goblins.

Markus steepled his fingers in front of his face. “When you came here, Taltek followed you—and put his plan into motion. You being able to wield the Saghred without any adverse effect was his dream come true. His greatest fear was that you would go over to the goblins first.”

“Is that your greatest fear, Markus? That I’ll go to the goblins? Or that I’ll sell my services to the highest bidder because I’m a Benares?” I was getting mad and I let myself. This boilover had been a long time coming. “Because any elf worth their pureblood knows that we’re filthy criminals. We can’t be trusted and only care about filling our pockets with as much gold as we can carry. Is that your fear?”

“You know that’s not what I think.”

“No, Markus, I don’t know that. It’s your job to root out traitors. Balmorlan’s here, and now so are you. You’re Balmorlan’s boss. I think you’re here on business, and that business is me.”

“Yes, it is part of my job to find traitors.” His voice was carefully modulated. “You are not a traitor, Raine. You never have been—and you never will be.”

“Because you’re not going to allow it? I won’t work for the elves, the goblins, or anyone else,” I snapped. “I want to be rid of the damned rock and I want my life back. If you call that a traitor, then that’s what I am. No amount of gold can hire me, and I won’t allow myself or anyone I love to be used or threatened. And thanks to the rock, I can enforce my wishes.” My voice dropped to one step above a growl. “Don’t think for one moment that I won’t use it.”

I expected anger; what I got was calm acceptance, maybe even a trace of amusement.

“I know that, Raine. And I told the queen that’s what you would say.” He smiled. “She asked that I give you a message.”

That took me by surprise. I didn’t know the queen and I wasn’t sure I wanted her to know of me.

“She’s never met you but she already likes you, and she would like very much to tell you that in person one day.”

“Huh?” Way to use the rapier wit, Raine.

Markus leaned forward. “I no longer work for elven intelligence.”

“But you just got promoted to the head of the whole agency.”

“In a manner of speaking. I work for the queen. I report to her and only to her. There are some good people in elven intelligence. Unfortunately, their influence isn’t what it once was. People like Taltek Balmorlan have bribed or blackmailed their way into positions of power. When the Saghred surfaced, Her Majesty and I knew we had to act quickly. Yes, she appointed me head of the agency, and that appointment upset more than a few people, Taltek among them.” He took a sip of his wine. “The queen wants him and his allies exposed and stopped. When Taltek kidnapped Piaras Rivalin and attempted to remove him from this island, that act exposed Taltek’s network of mage procurers. The queen finds the practice abhorrent and she wants it stopped, as do I. Lisara Ambrosiel is a good and honorable woman. As are you, Raine.” He smiled. “And as to you being a Benares and my being a duke, you may be gratified to know that I am the chief of elven intelligence in name only; what I’m actually doing is more along the lines of a janitorial service. Her Majesty wants to clean house, and I’ve volunteered to be the broom.”

I looked over at Mychael, an eyebrow raised in question.

“It’s the truth,” he told me.

I was incredulous. “You knew?”

“I had some idea of what was going on, but not to this extent. Markus filled me in while you were up on deck getting that temper of yours under control.”

Markus laughed once. “This is under control?”

“If she’d been feeling really feisty, she’d have stabbed you,” Uncle Ryn said. “Don’t worry; it would have only hurt the first time or two.”

I knew an apology would be the right thing to do, but truth be told I wasn’t feeling particularly apologetic. “You could have told me sooner,” I said to Markus.

“Actually, Raine, I couldn’t. I have my reasons, and for now they have to remain mine.”

“Still keeping secrets.”

“It’s what I do.”

“You’re worse than a goblin.”

Markus inclined his head graciously. “Thank you. When it comes to intrigue, the goblin mind is without peer. I take that as the highest compliment.”

“I didn’t mean it as one. Right now, goblins piss me off just as much as elves, if not more.” I took a breath and exhaled slowly, my eyes never leaving Markus’s. “I will, however, apologize for entertaining thoughts of killing you.”

“No doubt you found them highly entertaining.”

“I did.”

“I sincerely wish it had been possible for me to be forthright with you from the beginning. As we were both being watched, it was quite impossible.”

“So why can’t you pull the plug on Balmorlan now?”

“It’s imperative that I know how far the conspiracy extends, and the name of every man and woman involved—from men like Taltek Balmorlan down to the messengers they use to communicate.”

“And a damned lot of good that does Piaras or anyone else Balmorlan goes after in the meantime. You’re their boss; you don’t need to know how far it goes. Just make the bastards stop.”

“And what about the generals and intelligence agents who secretly report to them? And the bureaucrats under them? Raine, you know as well as I do that if I pull down a vine, but leave the roots in the ground, that vine is coming back, and it will grow back stronger.”

“Shit.”

“An accurate assessment,” he noted dryly. “The only way to make sure that it doesn’t come back is to get it all the first time.” His expression turned solemn. “Raine, I won’t let Taltek Balmorlan have Piaras. You have my word. Though from what I understand, that young man is more than capable of defending himself.”

I barked a laugh. “Your word.”

His black eyes locked on mine. “I have never lied to you. I may not have told you everything, but I have never lied.”

He sounded like Tam. While I’d felt the urge to throttle Tam on more than one occasion, he’d never been secretive without good reason. I was sure Markus also had a good reason, but that didn’t mean I had to like it.

Mychael knew what I was thinking even without our link. “Raine, I’d like nothing better than to lock Taltek Balmorlan away in the smallest, dampest cell I have, but Markus is right. If we take him now, someone else will step up to take his place, possibly someone even worse.”

“Better the enemy you know,” Phaelan muttered.

Uncle Ryn grunted in agreement. “Spitfire, it’s like a bloody hydra. Slice the head off and it’ll just grow two more. You need to blow all of it out of the water the first time.” He looked at Markus. “I have a question of my own. Why are you sharing all this with a pair of criminals? You say my niece isn’t one, but my son and I sure as hell are, and we’ve never tried to hide it.”

Phaelan plopped down in a chair next to his father and tossed a leg over the arm. “I’m kind of curious about that myself.”

Markus’s thin lips quirked upward in a brief grin. “Because the true criminals aren’t always the ones on wanted posters. Besides, you’re Raine’s family, she trusts you, and I trust Raine. To keep a war from happening in the not-too-distant future, I may need your help.” He paused. “That is if you would be willing to give it.”

Uncle Ryn scowled. “You’re talking about privateering.”

“I am. And more.”

“I’d be willing to hear any proposal you might have,” Uncle Ryn said. “I’ve been through wars before, Markus. There’s no profit in it, unless you consider death profitable.”

“More than a few of our nobles want a war with the goblins. Their sons would be officers, if they even participated at all.”

Uncle Ryn scowled. “Nice and safe on the rear lines sending good men to their deaths.”

Markus nodded. “While the sons of working elves and goblins die by the thousands for a war of pride, a war that will gain nothing, and potentially lose the best of a generation.”

“You say that you can’t tell my niece everything,” Uncle Ryn rumbled quietly, his face set like stone.

“That’s correct.”

“Do you understand that I’ve raised the girl as one of my own daughters—and that I love her like one of my own?”

“I understand.”

“If some of this information you’re hording would keep my little girl safe, I expect you to stop hording it.”

“The information that I have would not affect Raine’s safety and that is the truth.”

“I accept you on your word. But be sure that your ‘truth’ doesn’t change.” My uncle paused meaningfully. “Do you understand me?”

Markus’s face was carefully expressionless. “Perfectly.” “Excellent. Would you like a glass of port? You look like you could use it. I took it off a royal frigate on its way to Regor. No doubt King Sathrik missed it. A fine year and vintage.”

As Uncle Ryn opened a bottle of royal port in celebration of his and Markus’s newfound understanding, some of what happened tonight actually started to make sense.

“Taltek Balmorlan has been running his own show and now you step in and he has to report to you,” I said to Markus. “Until two days ago you were staying in the elven embassy.

Did he try to kill you and you decided it was healthier to stay elsewhere?”

“He’s made no overt attempt against me; however, I thought it prudent to leave the embassy,” Markus said, savoring a sip of port. “My compliments, Commodore Benares, on a fine acquisition. I’ve rarely tasted its equal.”

Uncle Ryn raised his glass in salute. “We only steal the best.”

He wasn’t going to weasel out of this answer. “What happened to your guards, Markus?”

“Two contracted a fatal case of food poisoning, one ‘slipped’ and fell from the embassy roof, and the other three simply vanished.” His words were matter-of-fact, though his eyes were smoldering with carefully controlled anger. “At that point I thought it best that I occupy the house I’ve used before on Ambassador Row.”

“Markus, you should have contacted me,” Mychael said. “I would have provided protection and a safe house.”

“I’m the chief of elven intelligence, Mychael. To get to the bottom of this, it’s critical that I continue to act the part. If I came to the Guardians rather than to my own people, what little cover I had left would have been blown.”

“I’d say it’s blown now,” I said. “Along with your house. Did you know that you had eight cases of Nebian grenades in your basement?”

“I knew I had one tied to me. I thought Janos Ghalfari had brought it with him.”

“He did, from your basement. I can’t imagine that many explosives sitting in a previously unoccupied house. Looks like Taltek Balmorlan left you a housewarming present.”

“Once he’d eliminated your men, did Balmorlan replace them with his own?” Mychael asked.

Markus nodded. “He ‘graciously’ provided embassy guards for my protection, who conveniently vanished minutes before Nukpana and Ghalfari arrived with their Khrynsani.”

“The prick set you up,” Phaelan said. Not a man to mince words, my cousin.

Mychael and I exchanged a glance. Or the person feeding information to Taltek Balmorlan could have been doing the same for Janos Ghalfari.

Mychael glowered. “The goblins take you and the blame, and Balmorlan publicly laments that he couldn’t save you. You’re dead, giving him the excuse he wants to avenge you against the goblins.”

Uncle Ryn nodded. “He gets rid of you and gets a clear shot at everything he wants.”

“Thanks to Raine and Mychael, I’m not at the tender mercies of Sarad Nukpana right now,” Markus noted. “And for that I cannot thank them enough.”

“For the possibility of having blown up that monster, it was our pleasure.”

“Do you think he’s dead?” Phaelan asked me.

“If he’s not, I’ll know soon enough.”

Sarad Nukpana had ingested two of history’s most nefarious and notorious mages, and after tonight, wanting me had probably turned into more of an obsession than it already was. If Nukpana got me, he’d become the Saghred’s new bond servant by default, or in my case, by digestion. Nukpana’s own prodigious skills, combined with the power of the Saghred and the two mages he’d absorbed, would give him the magical muscle to do anything he damn well pleased. Add to that General Aratus’s knowledge of elven strategy and troop levels, and Sarad Nukpana could depose King Sathrik Mal’Salin, install himself as king, and with the Saghred’s power he’d be an evil demigod.

Annihilating the elves would be just the beginning.

I pushed my thoughts away from that. Nukpana hadn’t gone on a world-domination rampage, and I wasn’t dead yet, though Markus had come close tonight. I glanced at him. “Balmorlan probably thinks you’re dead.”

Markus smiled slowly. “A death I intend to put to full use. Being the living chief of intelligence, I couldn’t move and act as freely as I would have liked. As a blown-to-bits intelligence chief, I intend to turn myself into Taltek Balmorlan’s worst nightmare.” He lifted his glass in salute. “Who says being dead can’t be fun?”