Bewitched & Betrayed

Chapter 25

Sarad Nukpana’s body was in a crystal coffin woven with spells to keep it from being opened from the outside—or the inside.

Mychael wasn’t taking any chances.

One of the spells inside the coffin was to preserve his corpse. The mortician who prepared the body and worked the spell called it “perpetual repose.”

I called it creepy as hell.

Sarad Nukpana was still perfect, still darkly beautiful. He had a shadow of a smile on his face, like he knew something we didn’t, something that was about to bite us all on our collective ass.

I had no doubt that he did.

The coffin was in a tower in the highest point of the citadel and at the farthest point from the Saghred. The stairs to the top could be revealed by a spell that only Mychael and Justinius knew. The circular room had one door, no windows, and was lit bright as day.

That had been my request.

Goblins didn’t like bright light. I did. And for some irrational reason, I also liked knowing that Sarad Nukpana wasn’t lying in the dark. Bad things happened in dark places. Sarad Nukpana was most definitely a bad thing.

I’d wanted the body destroyed and the ashes scattered to the winds in the far reaches of all seven kingdoms. That would get rid of Sarad Nukpana’s body, but it wouldn’t destroy him. His rotten soul was safe and secure in the body of his dearly departed uncle Janos. Janos Ghalfari’s soul was long gone, so Nukpana had the house all to himself, so to speak. Just him and the souls of his closest allies—his own frat house of evil.

Two days ago, King Sathrik had sent Justinius Valerian a letter demanding that unless Nukpana’s body was returned undamaged to Regor within the month, he would declare war against the Guardians, the Conclave, and the Isle of Mid, and come and get the body himself. Mychael and Justinius had no intention of returning Nukpana’s body, but it never hurt to have an ace in the hole just in case. Hence the mortician’s creepy reposing spell.

I’d gone to the tower room this morning. I had wanted . . . No, I had needed to see Sarad Nukpana’s body for myself. Vegard had come with me. He’d become my most welcome shadow. He kept expecting that Reaper to come back to collect.

So did I.

But Reapers were eternal; I wasn’t. With any luck, I’d be old and gray before it remembered my offer and came back. No, I didn’t believe that, either. You knew you had too much bad crap in your life when Death’s minion had become the least of your worries.

It was now early afternoon and I was back on the Fortune. Four more days had passed since Mychael had pronounced Tam fully healed—and Tam had announced that he was personally declaring war on Sathrik Mal’Salin and Sarad Nukpana.

“Hell, I’d be glad to haul the stiff back to Regor,” Phaelan was saying, as he handed me the drink I’d desperately needed after viewing Sarad Nukpana’s perpetually reposing corpse. “Things fall overboard at sea all the time.” He flashed a grin. “Especially dead goblin psychos.”

I remembered Nukpana’s still lips with their all- knowing smile. “Define dead,” I muttered.

Phaelan poured himself a whiskey. “By the way, Mago’s on his way here.”

I was in mid-swallow and almost choked. “Here? Is that good? For anybody?”

My cousin chuckled. “This island is teeming with weasel mages and politicians; how much more trouble can a weasel banker be?”

We both knew the answer to that one. But at least this weasel was related to us.

“Besides,” Phaelan continued, “Mago is the hands-on type. He’s set our plan in motion and has a person he can trust pulling the strings at the bank in D’Mai. Mago prefers to be as close to his mark as possible when an operation goes down.” Phaelan raised his glass and drained it in one toss. “My brother takes great pride in his work.”

I groaned. God help us all, and not just from conscientious weasel bankers.

The Fortune had been deemed to be the safest place to meet—or at least the most neutral and agreeable territory.

Markus Sevelien wanted to talk to Imala Kalis.

Markus had come over from the Red Hawk under cover of both darkness and tarp. There was a time and a place for Markus to let the world know that he was alive, but here and now wasn’t it. My sometime employer would wait until his return from the dead would have the maximum benefit for him and the elf queen, and do the most damage to Taltek Balmorlan and his allies. I really wanted to see Balmorlan’s face when that happened.

I could hear Markus and Mychael speaking in low voices from the next cabin. Eavesdropping wasn’t necessary; I could hear every word, though not in the conventional sense. My mysterious bond with Mychael had become even stronger once my umi’atsu bond with Tam had been broken by that crossbow bolt.

Markus’s clothes had been blown up along with his house. He and Phaelan were the same size, so my cousin had opened his considerable wardrobe to the chief of elven intelligence. Markus had arrived on board in an incredibly elegant black doublet and trouser ensemble. I would never have guessed that Phaelan had owned anything other than what a peacock would feel at home in.

Duke Markus Sevelien was dressing for the occasion.

Peace talks between the elven government and the hopefully soon-to-be goblin government.

Since Markus had been declared dead, he wasn’t exactly the official representative of the elf queen, but that was fine since Imala was the representative of the goblin prince in exile.

But if everyone’s plans came to fruition, these would be the first true and earnest peace talks between the elves and goblins in a couple of hundred years.

Markus and Imala had already agreed on one thing: the Guardians should continue to be the keepers and protectors of the Saghred. They had sworn to each other that they would leave the Saghred in peace.

If my plans came to fruition, the Saghred would be in pieces.

Imala Kalis arrived a few minutes later with only two guards. Trust is a beautiful thing; keeping a low profile is even better. Three goblins could be snuck on board without much trouble. Imala’s regular entourage would have looked like a boarding party. Phaelan welcomed the head of the goblin secret service with a hand kiss that lingered a little too long and a gleam in his dark eyes that said he’d like nothing more than further exploration. I had to virtually kick my cousin out of his own cabin.

I wanted to talk to Imala alone.

“Could they wait outside the door?” I asked her, indicating her two bodyguards.

Imala kept her dark eyes on me, but spoke to the two heavily armed goblins. “Wait outside, please.”

They went, the door closed, and it was just me and the lady who wanted Tam to help her overthrow a government. I knew Tam had already made up his mind, but I still had a problem with that. A big one. Call me protective of my friends.

“Can I get you a drink?” I asked her. “Uncle Ryn sent over some port that he took off a royal frigate headed for Regor—and probably Sathrik’s wine cellars. He and Markus didn’t manage to drink it all.”

Imala smiled faintly. “I would love a glass.” She accepted it and took a sip. Then she sat quietly, her delicate fingers holding the even more delicate crystal. “Even if I’d wanted to, I couldn’t force Tam to help,” she said quietly. “I could only ask. The decision was his.”

I had taken the chair across from Imala, my own posture a virtual mirror of hers. “Am I that obvious?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Saves wasting time on small talk. I don’t like what Tam wants to do; I don’t like it at all . . . but it was his decision and he’s made it, hasn’t he?” I didn’t bother to hide my sarcasm.

“Our people need him, Raine.” She paused. “I need him.”

“You don’t like him, but you need him.”

“Actually, I do like him. Even though he’s stubborn, infuriating, and a few other things I don’t care to mention.” She took another sip. “Tam is also the best man for this job.”

“A job that’s going to use black magic to overthrow Sathrik and Sarad—”

Imala’s dark eyes flashed. “No, Raine. I don’t want Tam using black magic ever again. When I found out he was leaving court, I convinced him to go to my grandmother for help. Naturally, he didn’t think he needed help or that he was in any danger, but I persisted and he eventually admitted that I was right.”

“You convinced—”

Imala laughed. “So he made it sound like it was all his idea?”

“Pretty much.”

She shrugged. “Regardless, he went, and once again the final decision was his. No one forces Tam to do anything he doesn’t want to.”

“You can say that again,” I muttered.

“Now that Sarad Nukpana is no longer here, my grandmother and Prince Chigaru will be arriving within the week.”

I blew out my breath through my nose.

“You don’t trust any of us, do you?” Imala asked mildly.

“I trust Tam. As for the rest of you . . . well, I haven’t exactly been given much reason to trust.”

She sat in silence, watching me. “What if I trust you with something?”

I felt a release of magic, a small magic, a tiny glamour that had hidden a pair of dark goblin eyes.

Eyes now glittering with flecks of golden amber.

I just sat and stared. Imala Kalis was part elf.

“Who knows?” I asked.

“Aside from my grandmother, only Tam and one other.”

Those were three people who Imala trusted with her life, four now counting me. If she were to be exposed, she would not only lose her position and standing at court; she would lose any and all rights, period. To many pure-blooded goblins, she would be no better than an animal—and she would be treated like one.

“Your trust honors me,” I told her in formal Goblin.

A flicker of surprise lit her eyes, and Imala smiled warmly and inclined her head. “Thank you. There are many things I want to change in the goblin court—the perception of those like me is one of them.”

“Like Talon.”

Imala nodded. “There are more mixed breeds among my people than most will admit. There are many small glamours worn at court.”

One corner of my lips curled in a conspiratorial grin. “And you’re the head of the secret service. How did you survive long enough to get there?”

“I kept my eyes glamoured and my ears open.” Her smile spread until her fangs were visible, fangs she’d probably used many times. “And it helps to know where the bodies are buried.”

I bet she had helped put some of them there.

“So you’ve hidden your eyes, then plotted and schemed your way to the top of the ladder, and now you plan to overthrow your king.”

Imala kept the smile and added a shrug. “It’s a start.”

“Ambitious, aren’t you?”

“Protective of my people,” she corrected me. “Sathrik wants war. Such a war is not in the best interests of my people, so Sathrik must go.”

“And you’re willing to risk your life to do this.”

“I am.”

“And now Tam is willing to risk his.”

“That is what he tells me.”

I took another sip of port, a big one. “I kill him, Mychael saves him, only to have Sathrik or Sarad Nukpana kill him again.”

Imala leaned forward. “Tam survived for five years at Glicara’s side, and contrary to what you may have heard, he did it mostly by using his considerable cunning and wits. Tam Nathrach is a brilliant tactician. Sathrik and Sarad wanted him out of the court for that very reason. They feared him then, and they fear him now. He is a very real danger to them and they know it.”

“Only now Sarad Nukpana has turned himself into a demigod.”

“You killed Tam and Sarad’s soul was forced to flee. Sarad has made Janos Ghalfari’s body his permanent home. So when he is killed inside Janos’s body, his death will be permanent.”

I smiled. “You said ‘when,’ not ‘if,’ he is killed.”

Imala’s smile was almost demure, but those gold- flecked eyes glittered in anticipation. “I am confident in my, and my people’s, skills—and my own determination.”

Like the prince she was determined to put on the goblin throne, Imala Kalis was shrewd, manipulative, ruthless, and plotting a coup was probably her idea of a fun night out, but damned if I wasn’t starting to like her.

Imala drained the rest of her glass. “And as to what you were forced to do to Tam, you must set your guilt aside. If Tam had died in that street, you still would have saved him—from a fate far worse than any death. And for that you have my gratitude. I could not bear the thought of him—”

“You’re thanking her for killing me,” Tam drawled from the now-open door. “How very like you.”

Imala arched a brow. “I believe in commending good work,” she shot back. Then she half turned and winked at me.

I muffled a grin with my glass.

Tam stepped into the cabin, Mychael and Markus behind him. All I can say is that it was a good thing I had a firm grip on that glass, or it’d have been shattered on the floor.

Tam was wearing his formal court robes.

I guess if you’re going to claim diplomatic immunity, you’d better dress the part. Tam’s robes were a combination of velvet and raw black silk. They swept the floor but were slit up the sides to reveal Tam’s trademark fitted leather trousers and boots. A demonologist friend of mine had once said that if you study demons for a living, it’s healthy to be able to haul ass when you have to. I imagine the same was true for serving in the goblin court. Tam’s long black hair fell in a wave down his back and was held back from his face by a silver circlet set with a single ruby. A silver chain of office was draped over his broad shoulders. Tam looked every inch a goblin duke and a chief mage to a king. I could imagine him standing next to a throne.

He belonged there.

My throat was suddenly tight. “Tam, the robes really suit you.” It was all I could manage to say.

“I made sure Carnades got a good look at me this afternoon.” Tam smiled, very slightly. “I think my wardrobe choices made the proper impression.”

Mychael laughed. “I think I saw tiny flecks of foam at the corners of his mouth.”

Imala and Markus were greeting each other not like adversaries, but as allies in the making. There was even that double-cheek-kissing thing—and not one fang was bared or dagger drawn. It was a stunning show of statesmanship.

The chief of elven intelligence and the head of the goblin secret service were chatting like old friends.

And they were doing their chatting on a pirate ship.

I smiled. Peace talks of questionable legality, to plan actions of dubious sanity, held on board a ship that wasn’t welcome in any port anywhere.

It was perfect.

Though Markus and Imala could negotiate an alliance all they wanted to over stolen wine, still there were those like Carnades Silvanus and Taltek Balmorlan, elves whose hatred and greed blinded them to anything but the desire to destroy their enemies. Or goblins like Sathrik Mal’Salin and Sarad Nukpana, whose raw lust for power was insatiable.

Elves and goblins didn’t need a stone of cataclysmic power—or an excuse—to slaughter each other. Dad had hidden the Saghred for hundreds of years, and wars went on just fine without it. Hate and greed and lust for power will always find a way. I had to find a way to destroy the Saghred.

And for my next trick, I was going to help put a Mal’Salin on the throne.

The lower hells must be freezing over.

Mychael and Tam had moved to stand on either side of me, and Tam was watching Imala and Markus with a mixture of pride and disbelief.

“We’re watching history, you know,” Mychael murmured.

I looked up at him with some disbelief of my own. “You realize that after we watch history, then we have to go out and make it.”

Tam laughed. “I’m ready to make some history. How about you two?”

I just smiled and shook my head. “Conspiracy and treason are the ultimate games for goblins, aren’t they? And for chips, you gamble with your lives.”

Tam grinned, slow and wicked, his black eyes glittering in playful anticipation. “It’s not treason if you win.”