Con & Conjure

Chapter 15

Imala sent her two most trusted agents to the citadel with the message for Mychael, with the explicit instructions to deliver it to Mychael and no one else.

All I could do was wait.

I usually wasn’t good at waiting.

Unless I was taking a much-needed soak in a tub of steaming water. My predator impersonation had been a success, so I didn’t have to stalk around the embassy anymore in burned clothes. As to waiting, as long as the water stayed hot and no one broke down the door with the intention of killing me, I could probably wait forever.

I sighed and leaned back. I didn’t go so far as to close my eyes. The trust of a naked elf in a goblin embassy only went so far. There was a master glamourer on the loose, not to mention the walls of my room probably still had eyes. In fact, once word got around that Imala had ordered a tub and hot water brought to my room, I imagine there were a few more pairs of eyes watching. I didn’t care. I didn’t have anything to be ashamed of, and I was too exhausted to go around the room, poking my fingers into everything that might be a spy hole for goblin Peeping Toms. If they wanted to see a naked elf, let ’em look.

And if anyone should make the mistake of trying anything more hands-on, Tam had provided a pair of sleek, curved goblin swords and enough daggers to make me feel warm and cozy almost anywhere. Imala had found clothes for me.

Those did not make me feel warm and cozy.

It was a goblin secret service uniform. Imala had a number of female agents among her people, and one of them was just my size. Lucky me. I glanced over at the sleek black leather ensemble on the bed. I had to hand it to Imala; she knew how to dress her agents. Carnades would love to see me wearing that. To him, it’d be the proof of everything he’d been claiming since I’d set foot on Mid—that I was not only a goblin sympathizer, but I was working for them. And if I set foot outside of the embassy wearing that, I’d be putting the last nail in my coffin.

I wasn’t taking one step outside the embassy’s front doors. If I did, I not only wouldn’t be wearing a goblin uniform, I wouldn’t be wearing my own skin. The assassin wasn’t the only one who found it easier to roam around town incognito.

I wasn’t the only one lying low. I could feel the Saghred’s presence inside of me like a rock on my chest. Solid, immovable, but for the moment, quiet. Through me it had killed nine firemages. The rock was used to destroying, but not on an empty stomach, or whatever the Saghred had. It had expended a hell of a lot of strength in the streets outside that hotel, and it hadn’t gotten any souls to replenish itself. No wonder the thing damned near killed me to get at the souls fleeing the bodies of the dying in the hotel. It wouldn’t surprise me if the Saghred had known about the firemages, and what the two of us would have to do to stop them.

At that cheerful thought, I sank down farther in the water and added it to the list of my other potentially fatal problems.

Someone glamoured as a girl in the Satyr’s Grove to kill Chatar. Had the killer also morphed into Chatar to try to assassinate the prince, then had to kill the mage to cover his tracks? Until I learned otherwise, that convoluted mess sounded not only plausible, but highly likely.

There were reliable witnesses who confirmed that Chatar had been near the stern of the yacht when the assassination attempt had taken place. I’d seen him myself after Tam had fished Chigaru out of the harbor. He didn’t act like a man who’d had his evil plan foiled. He was pissed at me for interfering with his attempt to keep the pilot boats from ramming the yacht. I’d felt his magic; it was strong. He’d used every last bit of his strength against those boats. He didn’t suddenly stop doing that, run to the bow, shoot the prince, and then threaten to vaporize me for ruining both attempts.

I glanced over at the glove that I’d been carrying around under Symon’s doublet and then mine. It was on the bed with the uniform.

I had no doubt in my mind that I’d seen Rache in that window overlooking Embassy Row. He’d let me see him after he’d taken a shot at Mychael. He wanted me to see him.

Now I knew why. It hadn’t been Rache. He’d never been there, but his competition had—glamoured as Rache.

The unknown assassin had glamoured as Chatar to try to kill Chigaru, and had morphed into Rache to take a shot at Mychael. Then the nimble little minx had changed into a working girl at the Satyr’s Grove to poison Chatar—that is after they’d had some kinky fun. A man who’d turned into a woman to have sex with another man, kill him, then turn back into a man to hang his victim to make it look like a suicide.

This guy was a real go-getter in every sense of the word, no wonder Sarad Nukpana hired him.

Rache said he knew he had competition; competition he referred to as a bastard, not a bitch. I knew Rache well enough that if a woman was trying to steal his hit, he definitely wouldn’t hesitate to call her a bitch. That meant the assassin was a man.

The question I had now was did Rache know his name?

My best bet for finding that name was to find Rache. Though I knew I’d never get either one unless I got some sleep. I didn’t have time for it, but I had even less time to screw this up. When I was in the same room with Rache again, I couldn’t be anything but at the top of my game. If that meant a couple of hours spent studying the insides of my eyelids, so be it.

If it had been the goblin assassin who’d taken that shot at Mychael, why would he want to frame Rache? Rache was an assassin. Why would someone glamour as Rache and try to kill people? Though not just people. Mychael. If Nukpana hired this guy, why would he want him to go after Mychael? Unless the assassin wanted what was happening right now—every law officer on the island was hunting for Rache Kai. If Rache got arrested, the assassin would get rid of his competition. And by killing Chatar, the assassin killed someone who may have been able to identify him. I was seeing a pattern here, sick and twisted, but still a pattern.

I resisted the urge to slide down underneath the water. This was getting way too complicated.

I must have dozed off. You don’t jerk, gasp, and choke on bathwater unless you’d been asleep. I also wasn’t alone. My hands went over the sides of the tub, grabbed the swords, and I came to my feet with much splashing and sloshing.

“Now that’s a vision I haven’t seen lately—last time you had a dagger and a towel.”

Mychael was in uniform. I wasn’t in anything except a tub. After more splashing and sloshing, I’d ditched the swords and jumped into his arms.

His sea blue eyes had a naughty gleam. “But I was about to join you.”

“We have an audience.”

Mychael grinned. “I could fix that.”

“I know you could, but right now goblins are the only people on this island who almost like me.”

“I like you.”

I smiled and shifted against him. “Yeah, I kind of got that feeling.”

I stepped back and looked Mychael up and down. While the scenery was more than nice, that he was wearing his formal uniform was not.

“Let me guess,” I said, switching to mindspeak. “Carnades likes his death warrant signings formal.” I didn’t mind goblins seeing me naked, but I wasn’t about to let them know the rest of my business.

Mychael’s next words echoed with tense fury in my mind. “Justinius has two votes. I have one.”

My heart stopped for a few beats. “Carnades bought all the votes he needed.”

The look on Mychael’s face told me that Carnades had a lot more.

“How many?” I asked.

“The rest of the Seat of Twelve voted unanimously.”

My mouth fell open. “What!” I said out loud. I dropped my voice to a whisper. “All of them? But you and Justinius—”

“Were the only ones who voted against them. It didn’t matter that you saved hundreds of lives. They believe you’re out of control.”

“I only killed firemages.” But that didn’t matter; none of it mattered. The Twelve would see me taken into custody and then they would see me executed.

“They claim it’s for the safety of the citizens and for your own protection.”

“I bet Carnades added that last part.” I stood very still. “Are you here to bring me in?”

“You know I’m not.”

“That’s treason.”

Mychael smiled fiercely. “Yeah, it is.”

“You know how I feel about you putting yourself in danger because of me.”

“I love you and I’ve sworn to do everything in my power to get you out of this, and if that means taking you off this island and running for the rest of our lives, then that’s what I’ll do.” He handed me a towel. “And as much as it pains me to have you cover up, you might want to do it before some of the men behind your walls hyperventilate and pass out.”

I tossed the towel aside. “Let ’em pass out.” I ran my hands up his chest and laced my fingers behind his head, pulling him down to me. I kissed him hard, with a passion born of the fear of losing him—first in the fire and now by choosing sides and choosing me.

In one swift move, Mychael tightened his arms around me and lifted me off my feet. I wrapped my arms around his neck, deepening the kiss, my mouth demanding, taking. Mychael’s breathing had a ragged edge as he held me hard against him with one arm while his other hand ran down my body and back again with some gasp-inducing detours.

Our lips parted and I looked into his eyes as we stood pressed together, breathing fast, our hearts beating faster.

“That’s not helping the poor bastards watching us.” Mychael’s voice was a husky whisper. “But it’s doing wonderful things for me.”

“I’d like to have you do some wonderful things for me right now. Might help curb the terror.”

Mychael’s wandering hand cradled my lower back. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

“You might not be able to stop them.”

His smile was that of a man with a secret. “I won’t be alone,” he said in mindspeak. “And you won’t be, either.”

“Meaning?”

“After what the Seat of Twelve just did, Justinius is of a mind to tell them—and the entire Conclave if necessary—to bend over and do something to themselves that I know to be physically impossible.”

I grinned. “I just love that old man.”

“I’m rather fond of him myself.” Pride gleamed in his eyes. “And of every Guardian who said they would stand with us.”

I just hung there in his arms, stunned. “Us? Both of us? Us as in including me?” I managed.

“Yes, to all of the above.”

“Balmorlan will try to flush me out again. Piaras. Phaelan. Carnades has already threatened to—”

“That’s been taken care of. Justinius is personally overseeing Piaras’s security, and your Uncle Ryn is essentially sitting on Phaelan.”

“Sitting on?”

“He wants to find you and get you off of the island now.” Mychael reluctantly set me on my feet. “Quite frankly, I think that’s the best idea your cousin’s ever had.”

I smiled, more like a baring of teeth. “I’m not going anywhere,” I told him. “I have too much unfinished business. Carnades has signed his way into a higher spot on my list. Has Imala filled you in on how and where I spent my evening?”

“She did.”

“Then you know we’re close, so close to bringing down Balmorlan, Carnades and his yes-mages. Close to stopping Rache and that glamouring assassin. I’m not going anywhere as long as there’s a chance to make any of those things happen. It’s not just about me and the rock. It’s about the elves and goblins who will fight a war that no one will win, because they’ve been forced to fight, or to swallow the lies that men like Taltek Balmorlan or Sarad Nukpana feed them. I can run, but thousands of innocent people won’t be able to. So I’m not going to, either.”

I reached for the goblin secret service uniform on the bed, my lips curling up at the corners. “So, how do you like skintight black leather?”

“Imala, when Chatar last left the embassy, did he take anything with him?” Mychael asked.

Mychael and I were in Imala’s office with Tam and Mago.

She shook her head. “I’ve had him constantly watched. Everything he brought with him from Regor is still in the room he was assigned.”

“I need access. Now. And so does Raine.”

I agreed completely. “Go through his stuff and see if I get any seeking vibes that match the assassin?”

“It’s a good place to start.” Mychael turned to Imala. “As paladin of the Conclave Guardians, I’m formally requesting full access to the goblin embassy.”

Imala’s lips were thoughtfully pursed, but her eyes were gleaming. “Don’t you need a warrant signed by the archmagus?”

“I do, but time is critical and lives are at stake, so I’m not going to do it.”

Imala raised her hands. “Just a little test, Mychael. I could never do business with a man who wouldn’t dispense with the law in favor of expediency.” She smiled fully. “As acting ambassador, the goblin embassy is open to you.”

In most embassies, the reception areas were on the main floor, offices on the second, and any floors above that were living quarters for the embassy staff and any guests.

We made our way upstairs, and as we went, the lights brightened seemingly by themselves. Spooky.

An elderly goblin was standing at the top of the stairs, looking down at Tam with a fond smile. His long hair was completely white against his dark robes.

“Tamnais, my boy. I’d heard you were here.”

“Dakarai.” Tam grinned and took the rest of the stairs two at a time and shook hands.

“We’ll have none of that,” the old goblin said, and gave Tam a hug that made it obvious that he wasn’t as brittle as he looked. Then he stepped back, his hands on Tam’s upper arms, and looked at him. “It’s been too many years. You’re looking well.” He laughed. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you alive.”

“Every time I wake up, I’m glad for the same reason. It’s good to see you, too, Dakarai.”

The old goblin’s eyes sparkled. “The court isn’t the same without you.”

“I’m sure it isn’t.”

“You are sincerely missed by many.”

“And everyone else wants my head . . . or heart, or viscera.”

Dakarai dismissively waved a palsied hand. “Jealousy.”

“The deadly kind.”

“The court is an ever-changing creature, and times are changing again. You should keep your options open, my boy.”

“I always keep my options and escape routes open,” Tam assured him. He turned to us. “Dakarai Enric, allow me to present Raine Benares and Mychael Eiliesor.”

He shook Mychael’s extended hand. “Paladin Eiliesor I’ve had the honor of meeting.” He turned those sparkling eyes on me, and I was treated to a most proficient hand kiss. “Mistress Benares I’ve only had the pleasure of hearing about. You have many devoted admirers among our people.”

“Devoted to taking my head or just staking my heart?”

Dakarai laughed again, a sincerely happy sound. “Neither, I assure you. You tricked Sarad into the Saghred, kept the Khrynsani chasing you in vain, and have enraged and frustrated our king to the point of incoherent screaming.”

“It’s nice to be appreciated.”

“You are looking for our elusive assassin?” he asked Mychael.

“We are.”

Imala spoke. “They thought that searching Chatar’s room might yield some clues.” She inclined her head down the hall. “His is the last door on the left.”

That would be the one with the two really big goblins standing guard.

They greeted Imala with snappy salutes, opened the door for her, and stepped back.

“Where are the safes, false floors, and hollowed walls?” Mychael asked her.

Imala showed him.

I cleared my throat. “There’s also the inside of cushions, fake bottoms in drawers and chairs, behind picture frames, the insides of boots, under the mattress, and the ever popular under the bed. Obvious—yet often overlooked—places for hiding something you don’t want found.”

Mychael gave an amused chuckle. “Do it.”

I conjured a tiny lightglobe and got to work.

No fake bottoms in drawers, and the cushions in the chairs felt like they didn’t have anything in them except stuffing. Crawling around under Chatar’s bed was most definitely not my idea of a good time, but it turned out to be productive. Tucked inside the bed frame, resting on the slats, was a worn-looking wooden box. The floor under the bed was dusty, except in the area where the box was. Someone had been squirming around under here recently. It had been my experience that bad things came in bad boxes, and if this one were a snake, it’d be hissing at me right now. I could feel the malevolent magic oozing from the wood’s grain. As long as I didn’t touch it, I doubted it would bite.

Probably.

I wiggled out far enough so that my head was sticking out from under the bed.

“Found something?” Tam asked.

“Oh yeah, and I don’t think it likes me.”

“What is it?”

“A box. It’s not big, but it’s got an attitude.”

“Spells?”

“Of the bite-off-my-face kind.”

Mychael was instantly on his knees next to the bed.

“Forget it,” I told him. “There’s no way you’d fit under here.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah, I thought the same thing. And I think it’s a goblin spell.”

“Let me take a look.” Imala Kalis dropped down on her belly next to Tam and started wiggling under the bed.

Tam grabbed Imala’s ankles. Imala kicked Tam.

He didn’t let go. “If Chatar wove that spell, you can’t deactivate it.”

“But I can tell you what it is, and you can tell me how to do it.”

“You can’t—”

A heavy sigh came from under the bed; and there was probably some eye rolling to go with it. “I’ve been studying since you left,” Imala told him. “How do you think I’ve survived all the assassination attempts against me? Everyone who wants me dead has brought out the big guns. Believe me, I can identify damned near every nasty spell and ward there is. Let me go.”

Tam gave a sigh of his own and shook his head, but he released Imala’s ankles.

A few seconds of silence passed.

“Shit,” Imala said.

A woman of few words.

“Well, that’s three votes for shit,” I said. “That means we’ve got a nasty one. And if it’s nasty, it means Chatar is hiding something he doesn’t want us to see, which means we need to see it.”

“Imala, can you tell if it’s only touch activated?” Mychael asked.

“Appears to be that way.”

“Come out from under the bed,” he told her. “You, too, Raine.”

I wiggled out. “What are you—”

“I’m going to move the box to the side of the bed without touching it. Once it’s within reach, based on what it’s protected by, either I or Tam can deactivate the spell.”

“What if it doesn’t like being moved by magic?”

“I’m sure it’ll let us know.”

I was sure it would.

“Dakarai, sir,” I said, brushing the under-the-bed dust off of myself. “You might want to step outside. Literally. Across the street might be far enough.”

“Absolutely not. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

I almost said “your funeral,” but if it was his funeral, it’d be ours first—if there was anything left after the blast, boom, or whatever.

I hated boxes.

Mychael slid the box to the side of the bed and within reach without any unsightly explosions, though I could still feel the thing hissing in my mind.

Mychael bent down to look at the box and I could have sworn the hissing got louder. “Tam, do you recognize what he used?”

Tam and Mychael were on the floor. Imala and I were standing a few feet away. Not that the boys would have a chance to get up and run if the box suddenly got mean, but we thought it was a good idea to be out of their way.

Tam put out his hands and they slowly began to glow red. He started murmuring a spell in Old Goblin that made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end and the skin between my shoulder blades want to crawl and hide.

Dark magic.

Tam wouldn’t use it unless he had to. The box was warded with dark magic, so Tam had to use the same kind. Dark calls to dark.

When he’d completed his incantation, Tam calmly reached under the bed and pulled out the box. I could swear it was vibrating in his hands. Tam hissed a single word at it and it stopped. I no longer had any sense of a ward, spell, or plain old booby trap.

Tam opened the box and we all held our breath.

He saw what was inside and his hands gripped the box so hard I heard the wood creak.

Three narrow, elaborate bottles were nestled in threadbare gold velvet. A red liquid half filled each bottle. There was an indentation for a fourth bottle, but it was missing.

Mychael’s hand tightened on Tam’s shoulder. “Is that poison?”

In response, Tam carefully pried one of the bottles loose from its velvet nest and removed the stopper. I’d expected him to take a sniff, not pour a drop onto the floor. It was vivid blue and didn’t spread into the floor as you’d think a liquid should. Then in a blink of an eye, it became as clear as pure water. Somehow I didn’t think the word pure applied to this stuff.

“Malanarda,” Tam said quietly, his face set like stone.

“No,” Dakarai said in disbelief, crossing the room to take a look for himself. “It can’t be.”

“Is that what was used on Chigaru?” I asked.

Imala stepped forward and ground the liquid into the floor with the toe of her boot. “If it were, we’d no longer have a prince to protect.”

“Malanarda is legendary goblin poison,” the old man told me. “Some claim it doesn’t exist and never did. I’ve heard it called the perfect poison—tasteless, odorless, you didn’t know anything was wrong until it started killing you, and once it did, there was nothing to be done. The formula was lost nearly two hundred years ago, so no more has been made.”

“That loses none of its potency,” Imala added.

Mychael’s lips thinned into a grim line. “No formula, no antidote.”

Dakarai nodded.

“Sounds like what killed Chatar,” I noted. “Quick, dead, and done.”

“You could be right,” Imala said.

“ ‘Could be’?”

“Except Chatar wouldn’t have poisoned his own strawberries, then eaten them.”

The possible plot twists and turns to this setup were starting to hurt my head. “Then what’s this malanarda stuff doing here?”

“It appears the occupant of this room may not have been the real Chatar.”

The goblin master glamourer.

I blinked. “Can’t goblins do anything straightforward?”

One corner of Imala’s lips turned upward. “Rarely.”

Mychael spoke. “Imala, did either you or your people have Chatar in sight from the time you got out of the hotel until you got here?”

“That’s precisely the point,” she said. “I did not. I was more intent on the possibility of another firemage attack against the prince.”

“Regardless,” Tam told us all, “we have a casket of malanarda here with a missing vial. That we do know, and that is the danger.”

Meticulously attached to the gold velvet interior of the box’s lid were small portraits, six in all, all of them goblin. One was a woman. Tam reached in and reverently removed the tiny painting.

Horror choked my words. “The bastard keeps trophies.”

Imala saw the painting. “Oh, Tam,” she breathed.

I stared at Tam. “Who—”

“My wife.” His eyes were haunted. “Calida.”

The tiny portrait didn’t show much more than her face, but Calida Nathrach had been beautiful. Her face was fineboned and delicate, but her eyes, even in so small a painting, sparkled with humor—and with life.

“We knew Calida had been poisoned, though after her death, no sign of it could be found,” Dakarai said. “Tam was accused by her family, but we all knew he was innocent.”

“Chatar killed your wife?” I asked Tam.

“Chatar wasn’t at court then,” Dakarai told me.

Tam’s hand that held the box was clenched almost white. “Sarad Nukpana was.”

“Some of those portraits look older than Sarad Nukpana.”

“But not older than his mother and grandfather,” Dakarai said. “I recognize those pictures. The first two men died while Sarad Nukpana’s mother and grandfather were both serving at court.”

I was not believing this. “A family poison?”

“Sarad sent the assassin who tried to kill the prince, and who did murder Chatar,” Imala said. “So it stands to reason that he armed him as well.”

There were two small pieces of parchment carefully folded and inserted in the crease of the box next to where the missing bottle had been. I knelt down next to Tam and pulled them out. The first was a sketch, hastily drawn, but I could see who it was.

Chatar.

The second sketch had been done with more care. Someone had taken their time to make sure they got it right.

An eighth portrait. An eighth victim.

Me.