Con & Conjure

Chapter 2

I estimated about thirty seconds before the prince’s yacht was blown to kindling.

Time obligingly slowed to that speed that let me briefly ponder what it was going to feel like to go kablowie. A quick calculation told me that Phaelan and I would probably escape the blast, but odds were good that flying debris—flaming or just airborne projectiles—would do an equally good job of killing us.

I was no weather wizard, but I had to stop those boats. Now. Sinking the things would be the simplest solution, but I knew from nasty past experience that water and unexploded Nebian black powder didn’t mix. I wanted to stop one explosion, not set fire to the entire surface of the harbor.

“Raine,” Phaelan warned. “We need to get out of—”

“I’m stopping them,” I said, my eyes focused on the boat with the black powder, drawing in my will to—

“Are you crazy?”

“Looks that way,” I murmured, keeping my eyes on the lead boat. Moving a small object was simple, so was what I did with the barrel. This was going to be like locking on to the back bumper of a speeding coach with my teeth.

The Saghred had given me an obscene amount of strength. Even though that strength was a part of me now and not the rock, I still didn’t like using it. It was like spending dirty money that could spend you right back, but I didn’t have time to be squeamish. The pilot boat was traveling parallel to me and headed toward the docks and the prince’s yacht. I extended my arm and clenched my fingers in the air, using my mind and magic to latch onto the boat near the stern—and braced myself.

I pulled back with every ounce of effort, magic, will, and sheer stubbornness I had.

And someone else did the same.

From the opposite direction.

Two mages using that much magic on the same object at the same time from different directions was tantamount to lighting the fuse on a bomb and then standing there to see what happened. A split second later, I spotted my competition.

Not one, but five goblin mages on the deck of Chigaru’s yacht. The prince didn’t travel with magical lightweights. They were strong, and worse, they could work together. I had the magical muscle the Saghred had given me. They were trying to push the boat away; I was trying to stop it where it was. A crack and snap of splintering wood sent its recoil up my extended arm. The pilot boat was going to disintegrate under our combined magic. Though if I let go, the mages would push the boat as far away from the yacht as possible, right into the middle of the crowded harbor, where it could run into any of dozens of ships. I was trying to keep the boat where it was to minimize collateral damage. The only lives the mages were concerned about were those of the goblins on the yacht; that their actions could cause other ships and crews to be blown to bits wasn’t their problem.

I gritted my teeth. It was mine.

They shoved and I shoved back. Hard. The mages weren’t going to stop. Suddenly, I didn’t just want to stop them now; I wanted to stop them permanently. Yank them off of that deck and into the harbor. Their robes would weigh them down, but their deaths would be their own fault for refusing to obey—

Shit.

Nausea flipped my stomach, and having just flown over the harbor had nothing to do with it. My breath came in shallow gasps. Steady, Raine. You don’t want to kill them, just stop them from what they’re doing. Just breathe and do the work. Breathing got rid of the urge to throw up, but it didn’t stop my heart from pounding at the thought of what I’d wanted to do, not only wanted, but had justified to myself all too easily. That was the Saghred talking, not you. Shake it off. Worry about it later.

The goblin mages kept up the pressure, pushing the boat away from them. I had no choice; I let the boat go, releasing it slowly to minimize the damage. Still the boat lurched in the goblin mages’ collective grip. The planks were coming apart. Dammit to hell. Which was exactly where a good part of the harbor was going to be blown to.

The recoil from even a slow release of my magic threw three of the goblin mages backward like dolls. Even though I was no longer holding on to the boat’s stern, I felt the hull shudder and the wood crack under the pressure. If one of those planks snapped the wrong way, the impact against those kegs would—

The world exploded.

I grabbed Phaelan, hit the dock, and threw the best shield I had around us both. I didn’t know if it’d hold if a chunk of ship came flying at us, but there was no time to run, and we couldn’t get far enough fast enough.

Phaelan covered his head—like that was going to help—and laid out a string of curses that’d make his crew proud. I confess I joined him for a few seconds.

The aftermath wasn’t as bad as it could have been, but it was bad enough. Other pilot boats abandoned their escort charges and became rescue vessels. There were people in the water and once the debris finally stopped raining down, the screams and shouts started. The mass of people on the shoreline had more than doubled.

Great, just great.

Flaming debris had started fires on the decks of at least four vessels, and at least one of them had been carrying something extremely flammable, judging from the panicked activity on deck and some crewmen diving over the side into the harbor.

I looked to the bow of the yacht where Prince Chigaru had been standing.

It was empty.

Empty didn’t mean that he’d been injured; empty could mean the goblin was showing some sense and was doing what Phaelan had done—cower and cuss. But the number of goblins leaning over the yacht’s railing and frantically searching the harbor below indicated that the prince had taken a swim. I couldn’t see that being voluntary or good.

Dammit to hell again.

The thick smoke kept me from seeing the stern portion of the yacht.

“Can you tell if she’s taking on water?” I yelled to Phaelan. It was the only way to make myself heard.

“She’s not listing, but that doesn’t mean she wasn’t hit.”

I ran down the boardwalk toward the dock closest to Chigaru’s yacht. I’d been on Mid for nearly three months, and by now nearly everyone knew exactly who and what I was—or more to the point, what soul-sucking rock I was bonded to—and got the hell out of my way. For some, they threw themselves over the side into the harbor and thought that was the lesser of two evils. Smart people. I’d have joined them if I thought I could actually get away from myself.

I’d almost reached the dock, when a goblin I knew only too well pushed his way through the crowd, shucked his outer robe and dove off the pier after the prince, smoothly cutting through the water’s surface like a knife.

Tamnais Nathrach.

Tam was a friend of mine and a former nightclub owner. Now he’d gone back to his old job as a duke and chief mage to the Mal’Salin family. He wanted to kick the king off the throne and put the prince on it, which had resulted in a big bull’s-eye on his chest. Though right now, Tam was doing a fine job of killing himself before the king could by diving into flaming, debris-infested waters after a prince who hadn’t enough sense to keep his head down when sailing into enemy territory.

If Chigaru survived his fall into the harbor, I was going to kill him.

I got to where Tam had taken a swan dive off the pier and looked down into dirty harbor water.

No prince. No Tam.

Phaelan shouldered through to stand next to me. He looked down in the water, shook his head, and winced. “Damn.”

“Yeah, they’re still under.”

“I was referring to what they’re under,” Phaelan said. “I’ve seen what all gets tossed or dumped in a busy harbor.”

“Good riddance to the goblin scum,” a man’s voice said from nearby.

Phaelan and I turned our heads to find the speaker. He picked that moment to shut up. The comment wasn’t loud, but it was loud enough to earn him some mutters of approval from some of the people around us. Elves mostly, some humans. The murmurs spread and my hand inched toward my sword when a different man from farther back in the crowd said, “drown ’em all like cats” in a loud voice.

Some of the goblins heard that.

Great. Just great.

There was enough elf versus goblin hostility in the air to start our own little war right here. A good number of the elves gathered on shore were mages and their guards. If an elf shoved a goblin or a goblin said something to an elf, the boat would merely be the first explosion of the day.

A pretty, petite, and highly pissed goblin pushed her way through the crowd on a dock jutting out closest to the yacht, and frantically scanned the water. I couldn’t hear the word she spat, but my lip reading was working just fine.

Imala Kalis was the director of the goblin secret service. Like Tam, she wanted the prince in and the king out, but nothing would put the brakes on a coup faster than the future king and his chief mage drowning.

Tam came to the surface, pulling in as much air as his lungs could hold, his arm locked around Chigaru’s shoulders. The prince appeared to be out cold.

“Pakil. Zukat. Help the duke.” Imala snapped and two goblins jumped. Literally.

Tam twisted in the water, and I saw it.

A crossbow bolt sticking out of Chigaru’s shoulder. The explosion didn’t throw him in the water; an assassin’s shot did. The explosion must have made the prince drop his shield, just before that bolt arrived. Talk about bad timing.

The crowd on the waterfront was getting bigger by the second. Armed goblins were stalking through the crowd, looking for a hit man that they weren’t going to find. Anyone hired by Sathrik to take out his baby brother would have enough sense to be long gone by now. Once he found out that his shot just took Chigaru in the shoulder, he’d be back for another try. But for now, he’d have ditched the crossbow, and was probably having a drink in a dockside dive.

Tam was climbing a ladder that extended from the water to the dock with Chigaru limp over his shoulder. The prince was almost as tall as Tam, and all lean muscle. Yet Tam was climbing that ladder like Chigaru weighed no more than a child.

Imala turned toward the yacht that was now being tied to the dock. “We need a healer!” For such a tiny woman, she had no problem making herself heard over the chaos.

A mage ran forward, leaping like a cat over the distance between the yacht’s deck and the dock. He saw me and his lips pulled back from a pair of very impressive fangs in a snarl. Judging from his robes, he was one of the mages I’d played boat tug-of-war with; judging from that snarl, he recognized me, too.

Mage and healer, and both pissed. He clearly wanted to do something about it, but he had a job to do first. He glared at me and then knelt beside Chigaru, turning all of his attention to the prince. The bolt had taken Chigaru in the right shoulder just below the collar bone. I remembered Chigaru as being left handed. It wasn’t going to kill him and it wasn’t going to slow him down. Much.

“He’s not breathing,” Tam growled.

What?

Imala pushed her way through to him, while Tam quickly rolled the prince over and worked on getting the harbor water out of Chigaru’s stomach. No water came out of the prince’s mouth. The bolt hadn’t hit anything vital . . . so how did . . .

Maybe all the assassin needed to do was get the bolt in.

“Tam, poison!” I yelled and tried to push my way through the crowd to him. Phaelan was right behind me. Most people got out of my way; the rest I shoved out of my way. Four needlessly large goblin guards rushed in to stop us. There’s not really a polite way to lift someone off their feet and remove them from an area, and these guys didn’t even try.

The goblin mage/healer glared at me. “She pushed the boat into us.”

Instantly, every goblin on that dock was looking at me like I’d sprouted two horns and a tail. Mob mentality promptly took over. I felt the growls of the two goblins who were holding me clear down to my toenails. They clenched their hands around my arms like they were getting a better grip to tear me apart. Phaelan was on the receiving end of the same treatment.

And I couldn’t say a damned thing to prove that I wasn’t a prince killer.

The weather wizard controlling the boats had probably fished himself out of the harbor and was long gone by now. The pilots were blown up so there was no proof that they were Khrynsani, not elves. And to top it off, Chigaru’s people were well aware that I didn’t like him, and he didn’t trust me.

It was too much and too complicated for anyone to believe.

“No one move!” Tam roared. That order was intended for every goblin on the dock and yacht, but Tam’s dark eyes were leveled squarely on our over-eager guards. Their grip lightened. A little.

Imala knelt beside the prince, quickly pulling his long, wet hair away from his neck and throat. She hissed a curse, and pulled a tiny dart from the back of the prince’s neck with her gloved hand. She quickly but carefully examined the wound, the dart, and lifted back one of the prince’s eyelids.

“Baelusa,” she told Tam.

I had no idea what baelusa was, but Imala’s glare and Tam’s spat curse told me it meant plenty to them.

The goblin healer knelt beside the prince, his healing magic a living, pulsing thing. He placed one hand over Chigaru’s chest, holding the other a few inches above the prince’s mouth. A spiral tattoo on the back of both hands darkened from blood red to almost black. I felt the steady strength of air being pulled into Chigaru’s lungs and being pushed out from his nose and mouth.

The harbor around us was chaos, but no one on the dock moved or spoke.

Suddenly, the goblin prince gasped and started coughing.

Tam’s glare went from the guards to the goblins gathered on the yacht’s deck—the prince’s courtiers, personal guards, and mages. Imala’s eyes quickly took in the faces of everyone on that deck, storing them for later questioning.

One of them had just tried to assassinate their prince.

That dart had taken the prince in the back of the neck. The person who fired it had to have been standing behind him. Every goblin on Chigaru’s yacht had been standing behind him. One of his own tried to poison him. Khrynsani disguised as elves tried to blow him up. And an unknown assassin armed with a crossbow wasn’t about to be left out of the fun and took his own shot.

Someone—or several someones—wanted Chigaru really dead. Blown up, shot, and poisoned all in less than ten seconds. I think the goblin prince just set a new assassination attempt record.

Imala stood and carefully wrapped the dart in a small square of cloth. That done, she turned to our guards, who were still dutifully not tearing us in two. “Release them,” she told them. “Now!” she snapped when they didn’t immediately obey.

They did as ordered. As I straightened my doublet, I noted with satisfaction that she memorized their faces for later, too.

So there.

“Raine,” Imala called with a pointed glance back at the fancy goblin courtiers on the yacht. “Would you be so kind as to tell me who fired this dart?”

Imala knew I was a seeker, and that finding or simply identifying someone based on their connection to an object was one of my best tricks. Phaelan and I walked over to her and not one goblin dared to stop us. I carefully accepted the cloth-wrapped dart from her.

I glanced at the healer. “When he removes that bolt, I might be able to tell you who notched it.”

The head of the goblin secret service gave me a dazzling smile complete with dimple. “You’ll have the eternal gratitude of the goblin people.”

I knew of at least two goblin people who wouldn’t be grateful—the ones whose faces I’d be describing to Imala.

As Tam stood up, one of the goblin guards picked up his robe from the dock and respectfully draped it around Tam’s shoulders. The robe fell past the heels of his boots, and even sopping wet, Tam looked like a prince himself. Though Tam would have been the kind of prince who could wake a sleeping princess at fifty paces. Just because we weren’t involved didn’t mean I couldn’t appreciate what was there in all of its tall, silvery-skinned, black-eyed wicked sexiness.

Imala nodded to her pair of dripping-wet agents who moved to prevent anyone from leaving the prince’s yacht.

“They were only doing their jobs, Raine,” Tam said, his voice low. “Something blows up and a Benares is close by.” He glanced at Phaelan. “Make that two.”

Phaelan snorted. “They do their jobs too damned well. Raine was trying to stop that boat, not push it.”

“And I had it until Chigaru’s mages horned in on my spell,” I said. “There wouldn’t have been an explosion if they’d let me finish.”

“Let you finish him off!” the healer snarled.

“Chatar!” Tam snapped. “She is not at fault. That will be all.”

The goblin thought about saying something, and decided to do as ordered. I knew he wouldn’t forget me, and for my own health, I memorized his face, too.

Tam’s hand was on my elbow, steering me away from the prince, his trigger-happy guards, and spell-happy mage. Phaelan gave the healer an I’m-not-through-with-you-yet look and followed us.

“You can understand his animosity, Raine,” Tam said. “Those pilots were elves.”

“Those pilots were Khrynsani,” I shot back. “Two of their assassins with glamours.”

Tam scowled. “What?”

“You didn’t see them when they dropped their glamours?”

“No. They were too close to the yacht.”

Oh, freaking marvelous. Even the goblins thought they were being attacked by elves. No wonder Chigaru’s healer wanted to take my head off. The Khrynsani hadn’t succeeded in blowing Chigaru up, and the assassin hadn’t shot a fatal hole through him, but the damage had been more than done. Within the hour, every goblin on the island would believe that a pair of elven suicide bombers had tried to assassinate their prince. Regardless of which Mal’Salin brother they were loyal to, more than a few goblins would see it as their duty to start sending elves to slabs at the city morgue.

With an enraged shout and some decidedly un-regal swearing, Chigaru expressed his displeasure at that healer/ mage removing the bolt. For what I could see, the healer had cut away the prince’s leather doublet, revealing body armor underneath. Well, at least the prince wasn’t completely stupid and had taken some precautions. The bolt hadn’t penetrated far. I turned and looked at the shoreline.

There were a lot of civilians who didn’t need to be here, and entirely too few city watchmen and Guardians. With the exception of his own people, Chigaru had sailed into Mid’s harbor with no protection whatsoever.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone he was arriving early?”

Tam lowered his voice even further. “I didn’t know,” he said barely moving his lips. Impressive. He clearly didn’t want anyone to know that little piece of information. Tam shot an exasperated look in the prince’s direction. “I didn’t know until Imala told me, and she didn’t know until half an hour ago.”

Phaelan laughed, a short bark. “The crazy bastard’s trying to commit suicide.”

I looked at the prince and almost smiled. “Someone’s going to get a lecture.”

“And then some,” Tam promised. “I know what he was trying to do—and I’ll be having a long talk with His Highness about never doing that again.”

“Playing assassin bait?”

Tam nodded once. He wasn’t looking at the shoreline; he was looking at the windows of the buildings within crossbow-sniper distance of the yacht. There were entirely too many of them, and the shooter was long gone, probably already planning his next attempt.

There couldn’t be one.

If Chigaru died, the hopes of preventing the goblins from inciting a war died with him.

The goblin king wanted that war and he wanted the Saghred’s power to ensure he’d win it. More than a few elven government power brokers wanted the rock for the same reason. Prince Chigaru might not have sense enough not to display himself like a two-legged pincushion, but he drew the line at using the Saghred. He knew the danger and he’d rejected the rock.

That was why it was in my best interests to keep him alive by telling Imala Kalis exactly who wanted him dead.

A guard approached Tam, carrying something wrapped in a piece of cloth. “The bolt, Your Grace.”

Tam took and unwrapped it. Black steel with a red band around the shaft below the fletching. Armor piercing. Our assassin wasn’t taking any chances. Chigaru starting to fall into the harbor a split second before that bolt was fired was the only reason he was alive right now. Tam closely studied the bolt, but was careful not to touch it, then he handed it to me.

“Did the healer touch it with his bare hands?” I asked.

“Probably.”

I looked at the healer, and found him glaring at me again. That one was determined to be a problem. That was fine; I could be a problem, too. I met his glare and raised him a solemn promise. It wasn’t good to pick fights with people who thought you were in cahoots with a pair of suicide bombers, but he’d started it. Childish, I know. But I wasn’t going to be intimidated, and Chigaru’s goblins needed to know that from the start. Though it wasn’t the best way to convince them that I was on their side.

I looked away from the healer. I was taking the professional high road. I could always memorize his psychic scent from the bolt for later.

I turned my full attention to the bolt in my hands. As a seeker by trade, I’d done a lot of work for the city watch in Mermeia, where I’d lived until three months ago. More than once I’d been called to a crime scene only to find that the object I most needed to use had been handled by nearly every watcher on-site, contaminating it and rendering it useless for seeking. It was their emotional imprint I’d get, not the perpetrator’s. So the only person I’d find was the stupid watcher who’d last picked it up.

I should get three presences from the bolt: the healer, the prince, and the assassin. If any more than that had touched it in the last few hours, that could be a problem, but there was only one way to find out.

Tam glanced around. “You need someplace quiet.”

“At least where everyone isn’t looking at me like I’m the assassin.”

Phaelan pointed at somewhere behind me. “How about over there?”

I turned and looked. The office for the harbormaster’s men responsible for this dock. That’d work. I made for it, and found my way blocked by a big, burly, and belligerent dock worker.

“Sorry, ma’am. That’s for harbor personnel only.”

I didn’t think he looked sorry in the least, but he was about to be.

As soon as I opened my mouth to say something I probably shouldn’t, a familiar presence and voice came from right behind me.

“She’s on official Guardian business. Step aside.”

Mychael.

Suddenly all the chaos got less chaotic—at least people got a heck of a lot more polite.

A tall elven warrior wearing full battle armor tended to have that effect.

Mychael Eiliesor was the paladin and commander of the Conclave Guardians, the most elite magical fighting force in the seven kingdoms, protector of the Conclave of Sorcerers, and the top lawman on the Isle of Mid—which essentially meant if it happened on this island, it was his business.

A few weeks ago, we’d become each other’s business.

Not many people knew about that, and considering who and what I was, and who Mychael was, that information needed to stay as private as our activities.

“We need to talk,” Mychael said. No expression, no hint of what might be going on behind those tropical sea blue eyes, just four words that rarely meant anything good.

I’d just played tug-of-war with five goblin mages and a boat full of explosives. It’d been the first of three assassination attempts on a visiting goblin royal before he even set foot on dry land.

Oh yeah, Mychael definitely wanted to chat.

He looked at the bolt I had in my hands. “Can you find who fired that?”

“If I can get somewhere quiet enough to hear myself think, I should.”

Mychael glanced back at the prince and his wall of goblin muscle. “His healer seems to have things well in hand.”

“He’s working fast so he can come after me.”

“Pardon?”

“Nothing.”

Mychael nodded toward the harbormaster’s office. That had to be the best suggestion of the whole day. There had to be at least one chair in there, and after all the magic I’d just slung around, I needed to sit down. We went in and Mychael closed the door. The only furniture was a table, a couple of chairs, and a cot in one corner. The cot was tempting but the sheets looked like if they’d ever been washed, it’d been in the harbor. With a groan of pleasure, I sank into the nearest chair and treated myself to closing my eyes.

“Are you all right?”

I opened one eye. “What? No ‘why are you in the middle of an angry mob?’ ”

Mychael almost thought about smiling. “The answers to some questions are obvious. There’s an explosion, then you and Phaelan are in the middle of an angry mob. Obvious.” He took another chair for himself. “That and I had men watching the waterfront this morning.”

I did smile. “I thought I detected a tail.”

“As you should have since you weren’t supposed to leave the citadel without an armed escort—and I told them not to bother hiding.”

“I had a meeting,” I said. “A private meeting. One that wouldn’t have been private if I’d been leading a parade of Guardians.”

“Did your meeting have anything to do with that explosion?”

“Not directly.” I hesitated. “It was about our family project.”

Mychael knew exactly what I was talking about. I’d told him weeks ago that if it was the last thing I ever did, I was going to ruin not only Taltek Balmorlan, but anyone else who had the poor judgment to pick that scumbag for a business partner.

“This is the other cousin you’ve told me about?” Mychael asked.

“That’s the one. Phaelan’s big brother. Apparently he’s also Chigaru’s personal banker.”

Mychael blinked. “A Benares banker?”

I grinned. “He uses the name Peronne. But yeah, a Benares banker. Great, huh?”

“And convenient. However, he was nearly the late Chigaru’s former banker.”

“Came damned close. You hear what all happened?”

Mychael arched an eyebrow. “My men are trained observers.”

“Did they observe that those bombers were Khrynsani assassins?”

“A few were close enough to detect the glamours.”

“Too bad most every goblin on the waterfront isn’t as gifted.” I told him about my role in the boat tug-of-war and the messy results.

Mychael frowned. “Khrynsani assassins and a weather wizard. Was he a goblin?”

“Couldn’t tell. He was cloaked, hooded, and gloved.”

“He’d have to be a goblin. I can’t see Khrynsani assassins trusting a human at their backs. Sounds like I’ve got a Khrynsani nest to find and clean out.” Mychael indicated the folded cloth in my left hand. “Is that something else Imala and Tam want you to look at?”

I nodded. “The dart that took Chigaru in the back of the neck.”

“The back?”

“Fired by one of his own courtiers. Imala wants to know who.” I carefully peeled away the cloth, exposing what was essentially a black needle that was no longer than my last finger joint.

The dart still had the prince’s blood on it, as did the bolt. Any contact with that blood and I’d be sharing Chigaru’s shoulder-puncturing, virtually drowning experience. But if I wiped any of the blood off, some of the assassin’s residue could be wiped off with it.

“Can you find out who fired it without touching it?” Mychael asked.

I winced. “Wish I could.”

Mychael knelt on the floor next to me, and I could sense the heat of his body even through his armor. He wrapped his fingers around my hand holding the dart, keeping it steady to get a closer look.

“I can’t see any residue of poison,” he murmured. “But that doesn’t mean—”

Some things could be resisted, but why?

I closed the distance between our lips. I had a bolt in one hand and a dart in the other and didn’t dare drop either one, but my lips didn’t need any help; they were doing a satisfying job all by themselves. I pulled away from the kiss only when the terror of nearly being blown up was replaced by wondering how I could get past Mychael’s armor, and how long we’d have until someone started banging on the door.

There was nothing more life affirming than lust.

Mychael’s grin was slow and wicked. “I would ask what that was for, but it doesn’t matter. Thank you.”

I felt myself finally start to relax. Sometimes a little lust was not only fun, but needed. “I’m just glad to be alive to do it. I don’t go around asking for big trouble, but it’s got a tendency to show up when I’m around.”

“You’ll get no argument from me,” Mychael said. Then the grin was gone. “I’m also not going to argue with you about an armed escort.”

I met him with silence. He knew how I felt about being stuck in the middle of a crowd of big, armored men. I might as well stay in the citadel, but I had the sense not to say that out loud.

I glanced down at the dart and bolt. “Well, the quickest way to get rid of the trouble is to find out who caused it. I don’t suppose you’d step outside while I do this?”

It was Mychael’s turn to give me the silent treatment.

“You’re too noisy,” I told him. He knew I didn’t mean talking; I meant magical noise. Mychael was one of the strongest battle mages there was, and just being in the same room with him was playing havoc on my concentration. Having him within touching distance was doing the same thing to my control. Neither was conducive to locating a pair of potential assassins.

Mychael stood. “I’ll sit on the other side of the room, and you won’t even know I’m here.”

After that kiss, I seriously doubted that, but I knew from past experience that Mychael could tamp down his magical power to next to nothing. Within five seconds, he’d done just that. It was as impressive now as it had been then.

“Are you going to stay in that chair?” Mychael murmured.

“Good point.”

I got out of the chair and found myself a nice corner. With my shoulders wedged against a pair of walls, that’d be at least two directions I couldn’t fall. The impressions I got from an object could be jarring, and since I was trying to find a pair of assassins, the hit from those links could very well put me on the floor. That didn’t even factor in what it’d be like to feel Chigaru’s impressions coming off of that dart and bolt. I’d done seekings before using items ranging from a bolt or blade to a necklace and hairbrush. The most recent use of the object was the one felt first. If a person had been killed with what I was holding, I’d get the treat of feeling what it was like to die right along with them. Chigaru hadn’t died, but taking a crossbow bolt in the shoulder and falling overboard had to have hurt like hell.

Just do the work, Raine. Do the dart first.

The problem with touching a poisoned dart was not knowing how much poison was left on it. However, since Chigaru was still alive, the dunking in a harbor full of water must have been what’d kept the poison from killing him. Still, it wasn’t a theory that I was eager to test, especially not on myself. The dart was tiny so I took a big chance and placed the tip of my index finger very carefully on the flat, non-pointed (and hopefully non-poisonous) end.

In the blink of an eye, I was seeing what the poisoner saw. I’d never had a connection that immediate, which meant this person was close by, very close by. Well, we knew that they were on the yacht, but what I was seeing now wasn’t the yacht. It was the dock, or more precisely on the dock.

Kneeling at Prince Chigaru Mal’Salin’s side.

Oh hell.

Chatar, the goblin healer/mage.

No, that couldn’t be right. Chatar might be a jerk, but he was a jerk who’d just saved the prince’s life. Why would he poison the prince and then save him? That went beyond not making sense, even for an intrigue-loving goblin courtier.

The dart showed me something else. When Chigaru was hit with the dart, he started falling to the left. Apparently this baelusa stuff was fast acting. Then the bolt took him in the right shoulder. If the prince hadn’t been shot with that dart, he would have been standing straight when that bolt arrived, and it would have taken him right through the heart and he’d have been dead before he hit the water.

Saved by poison.

I carefully rewrapped the dart and set it aside. Mychael didn’t say a word, and neither did I. I had my concentration and I didn’t want to lose it.

I picked up the bolt and wrapped my fingers around it in a fist. A connection with Chigaru Mal’Salin was strong and immediate. The crazy goblin had known that he was going to get shot. He was counting on his people in the crowd to catch whoever was firing the shot. The prince had nearly fifty agents in and around the waterfront. Mychael didn’t know that, and he needed to. His job was to keep the peace on Mid. Certain elves and goblins were spoiling for a war. Just because Chigaru’s people were there to protect him didn’t mean that the prince didn’t have them here for other purposes.

A goblin seldom had only one motive.

A Mal’Salin could juggle dozens.

I’d been shot with a crossbow before, so I could anticipate some of what I’d feel. The jolt of the impact followed by white-hot burning, like what was sticking out of you wasn’t a bolt, but a heated fire poker. The disorientation of falling backward off of the yacht, and pain of hitting the water. Chigaru’s neck and shoulders had borne the brunt of the impact.

I blew air in and out between my clenched teeth to keep myself from doing the same, only falling against a filthy wall rather than in an even-more-filthy harbor.

Chigaru’s unconsciousness severed my connection to him. I held up my hand to keep Mychael on his side of the office. He didn’t like it, and he didn’t need words to tell me so. I felt it. It took a few minutes for me to manage to sit up straight, but once I wasn’t seeing two of everything, I searched further for the man—or woman—who’d held the bolt and loaded it into that crossbow. I followed the line that the bolt had taken, back to an open second-floor window. I saw a pair of hands first. The assassin was a man, and his hands weren’t gray, so he was either an elf or human.

Then I saw his face.

My eyes flew open and I almost choked on my own breath.

Rache Kai. The deadliest assassin in the seven kingdoms. Our paths had crossed—and rubbed together.

Rache was my ex-fiancé.

I broke up with him. Let’s just say it could have gone better.