Magic Lost, Trouble Found

Chapter 19

Sarad Nukpana wanted the exchange to happen at midnight in the temple ruins near the Mal’Salin family compound. The Saghred was in the mausoleum on the embassy grounds. It sounded simple enough. Go to the party, take home one soul-stealing rock as a party favor, and while we were in the neighborhood rescue Tarsilia. Simple. Right.

Things were getting entirely too complex. Mychael’s plan for sneaking us unnoticed into the embassy involved wearing what I considered to be entirely too noticeable clothes.

King Sathrik Mal’Salin’s theme of choice for his debut in Mermeia was a masked costume ball. The masked and disguised part I could understand and completely agree with. Walking into the goblin embassy with a mask on appealed to me on many levels, and all of them involved my continued survival. But the fancy costume part went a couple of big leaps too far. I knew that highborn goblins and elves alike were jumping at any chance to attend and outdo each other in extravagance and drama, but that didn’t mean I had to join them.

Mychael said I did.

“So you propose we all just stroll in through the front door?” I asked.

“That’s the preferred way to enter when you have invitations.”

“Uh, Mychael, don’t those invitations have your name on them? Being Justinius Valerian’s official representative and all?”

I might have seen the beginnings of a sly grin. “They do. Which is why we won’t be using them. One of my men will be posing as me for the evening.”

“Does he know what he’ll be walking into? Aside from me and Piaras, you’re probably next on Nukpana’s most-likely-to die list.”

“He knows. He volunteered. Three more of my men will be accompanying him.”

“Then whose invitations are we using?”

“In addition to his home, the count is graciously allowing me to assume his identity for the evening. Gavril and I are cousins, so we’re similar enough in build and coloring. Add a mask and costume to that, and no one will know that I’m not him. Gavril, his bride, and four guests have invitations. They were due to arrive back this morning, but I sent word last week that considering the state of affairs here, he and his new wife might want to extend their honeymoon a few more days. They thought it was a wonderful idea.”

I heard only one thing. “We’re posing as newlyweds?”

“Yes.”

For one of the few times in my life, words failed me.

“The new countess is from Rina,” he said, mistaking the source of my concern entirely. “No one here has ever seen her, so no one will know that you’re not her.”

“Except Sarad Nukpana.”

“You’ll be masked.”

“I’ll be wearing the beacon.”

“You’ll be with me,” he said. “And we’ll be surrounded by my men.”

I couldn’t argue with that. Mychael already had two wins in his column against the goblin grand shaman.

“You and I, in addition to Piaras and Garadin, will be using four of the count’s invitations,” Mychael said. “Vegard and Riston will be using the other two. My men without invitations will get onto the grounds another way.”

“How many men?”

“All of them.”

Finally, something I could agree with.

Though Mychael could have emptied out the Guardian citadel on Mid, and I wouldn’t have felt secure. The Guardians might be able to protect me from Sarad Nukpana, but there wasn’t a thing they could do about the Saghred. That was my adversary to face, and when it came down to it, I’d be going it alone, just me and the Soul Thief. Not my idea of a fun date.

That made me remember something else. Prince Chigaru Mal’Salin wanted the Saghred almost as badly as he wanted to kill his brother. When you’ve been feeding a hate as long as Chigaru and Sathrik, you get good at it. Nothing like a potential reunion between homicidal brothers to add spice to the evening.

“I don’t think we’ll be the only ones using someone else’s invitations,” I told Mychael. “I can’t see Prince Chigaru being in town and sitting this one out. He seems to think any opportunity to get his hands around big brother’s throat is one worth taking.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he were there.”

I wouldn’t be surprised either. Concerned, yes. Surprised? Definitely not.

“Though for a distraction, there’s nothing like a nice, public assassination attempt,” Garadin said from the doorway. He walked a couple of steps into the room and executed a slow spin. “How’s this?”

My godfather looked like he had just stepped out of a Nebian pasha’s throne room. His long, sapphire silk tunic flowed over full matching trousers. Both were completely encrusted with silver embroidery. The tunic was fastened down the front with a profusion of silver and pearl buttons. It was topped with a wrapped-silk turban with a jeweled pin at the front. It was a bit overdone, but on the whole tasteful and suited Garadin perfectly.

I wish I could say the same about my chosen ensemble for the evening. When I say chosen, I don’t mean by me. I would never have selected the extravagance of bronze velvet, ivory Pengorian silk, gold embroidery, and jewels that spilled across the chair beside me as either my first or last choice. Mychael had picked our costumes personally. I was pretty sure I could trust the Guardian paladin with my life, but I knew now that I couldn’t trust him with my wardrobe choices. If Mychael said that fancy dress was necessary, I’d go along, but only to a point. I had to draw the line somewhere.

“Can I at least wear black?”

“No,” he told me point blank.

“Why not?”

“It says so on the invitation, along with the no weapons request. Only Mal’Salin royal guard and retainers will be wearing black. Not having any guests in black cuts down on any confusion or misunderstandings. As to weapons, we’ll carry, but they’ll have to be small.”

I didn’t want another misunderstanding with a Mal’Salin guard, but I did want to blend in with the woodwork. With the attention that gown was guaranteed to attract, I’d have trouble not being the center of attention.

Costumed balls were a staple of the wealthier classes in Mermeia, so the trunks and armoires of the count’s palazzo yielded a bumper crop of what Mychael deemed appropriate attire for the evening.

I looked at the costume again. Judging from the feathered mask and golden hooked beak, I think I was supposed to be a hawk. There were worse things I could be, and a bird of prey was oddly appropriate for the evening’s activities.

The gown’s flowing skirt and short train were bronze velvet, with an elaborate feather pattern painstakingly embroidered in gold thread, and sprinkled the entire length with tiny, golden jewels. The skirt was slit in the front to reveal the same treatment in ivory Pengorian silk, with what looked to be diamonds. The tight sleeves were similarly done in ivory with embroidered bronze velvet oversleeves attached at the shoulders and falling to the floor to represent wings. The bodice was ivory leather and intricately tooled with gold to resemble smaller feathers. I approved of the leather and even the corset I’d have to wear underneath. I wouldn’t be comfortable, but at least I’d have marginal protection against pointy steel objects that went stab in the night.

While I had to admit it was beautiful, the gown wasn’t appropriate for anything I had planned this evening. For one, I liked breathing. Between the corset and the gown’s low-cut bodice, air would be the only thing that wasn’t ample. Second, my legs needed to be free for life-extending activities like fighting and running—neither of which I have ever been able to do in a gown. And from the looks of things, the bronze oversleeves almost brushed the ground. First whiff I got of trouble, those sleeves were history. Though if worse came to worse, I could slash my bodice laces if I needed more air, and hike up my skirts if I needed to run away from something.

I sighed in resignation. Mychael took that as a yes.

“Sarad Nukpana knows I’m a woman.” It was my last line of defense, but I’d take it. “That’s what he’ll be looking for. Can’t I at least wear trousers?”

“There will be plenty of women there in all manner of dress,” Mychael assured me.

“And probably undress,” Garadin added. “I’ve heard the Nebians are sending a delegation with the pasha’s son. He’s brought at least ten of his wives with him. I can’t imagine them staying at home tonight.”

“And the count’s new bride would hardly wear trousers to her first public appearance in her new home city,” Mychael said. “Trust me, you won’t attract undue attention. Unless, of course, you do something to draw attention to yourself.”

“I’ll be on my best behavior,” I promised. Like I had a choice in that dress.

For some reason, I don’t think he believed me.

In addition to the mask, there was a hat. I picked up the bronze velvet concoction with its sweep of plumes. I think it was supposed to look like the hats noble women of fashion had taken to wearing while hunting. I didn’t want to think about all the birds that had given their tail feathers, along with their dignity, so that some Mermeian noble could scare away game, or make a grand entrance. I just hefted the hat and looked at Mychael. If push came to shove, I could always use it as a club.

“Something has to hide your hair, even after you put it up,” he said. “It is an unusual color.”

Mychael Eiliesor. Guardian paladin, sacred protector, master spellsinger, fashion consultant.

I felt a smug little grin coming on. I wasn’t going to admit defeat. Not yet. I had an idea. An idea that wouldn’t get me out of going to the ball, but it would get me out of wearing that gown. “What about the beacon?”

“What about it?”

“It’s on a chain. This gown has a low bodice.” I glanced at the gown again and swallowed. “A very low bodice. Everybody’s going to see that chain. A few are going to know what’s attached to it. Plus, the chain’s silver; all the jewels on this gown are set in gold. That’ll make it even more noticeable. The only thing worse than wearing a plain silver chain at a royal ball is wearing a plain silver chain that clashes with one’s outfit.”

Mychael didn’t just match my grin, he raised me a smirk—and a rope of sparkling diamonds dangling from his hand.

I stifled an unladylike word. The Benares in me made a small sound and reached for the strand. Maybe the gown wasn’t so bad after all.

I pulled my hand back. “But I can’t take the beacon off.”

Mychael moved behind me with the diamonds. “You don’t have to. If I may?”

I swept my hair up and away from my neck. I didn’t know what he was doing, but he seemed to, and since what he was doing involved the most diamonds I’d ever worn in my life, I decided to give him the benefit of a doubt.

“Pull the beacon out of your shirt,” he said.

I did.

“Hold it against your chest and remove the chain.”

I turned my head and looked at him. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. It’ll be fine.”

“I’m not worried about it; I’m worried about me.”

He was grinning like a little boy again. Irresistible. “Just do it.”

I held the beacon against my breastbone with one hand and slipped the chain out of the loop at the top of the beacon with the other. Mychael’s hand came around from behind and handed me the end of the jeweled rope. I looped it through. It could have been my imagination, but the beacon’s happy purring sounded just a little bit happier. Looked like I wasn’t the only one who liked diamonds.

Mychael fastened the clasp, his hands warm against the back of my neck. That felt even nicer than the weight of the diamond rope. I lowered the beacon back into my shirt, my hand lingering on the diamonds. A masked ball might not be so bad.

Piaras wasn’t going to be spared the indignity of fancy dress either. Mychael had suggested a substitute. One of his Guardians was about the same height and build as Piaras, and in costume, would pass as the spellsinger until it was too late for Nukpana to do anything about it once, or if, he found out. Piaras didn’t insist on reading the letter, but he had insisted on this. He said that the goblin would know instantly that it wasn’t him, and he wouldn’t endanger his grandmother by unnecessarily angering the goblin grand shaman. I agreed with his reasoning, but I didn’t like having him within a hundred miles of Nukpana. Piaras said that he was willing to take that risk. Everyone else would be risking their lives, he wouldn’t be an exception.

The door opened. We all turned to look.

It was a six-foot-tall peacock.

“Tell me you’re joking, sir,” the peacock said to Mychael.

The voice was Piaras’s, but I didn’t recognize anything else. I just stared in open-mouthed astonishment. My second of the evening. Mychael and Garadin just looked stunned.

Piaras was dressed in golden brown, vibrant blue, and iridescent emerald green. His doublet was rich blue velvet, short and formfitting with delicate silver embroidery representing peacock feathers and a dark jewel at the center of each feather’s “eye.” The cloak was a matching blue silk covered entirely with actual peacock feathers. It was tied dueling cloak style with a silver cord, under his sword arm and over the opposite shoulder. Of course with the goblin king’s request, Piaras wouldn’t be carrying a sword. The trousers were formfitting golden brown suede with matching high boots. The silver mask was inlaid with sapphire and emerald enamel, and was adorned with more feathers that curved to conceal some of Piaras’s dark curls.

To say the costume was a bit much would have been the ultimate understatement, but both it and the young elven spellsinger were breathtakingly beautiful.

I had to say something. “Now you can’t tell me that won’t attract attention.”

Mychael looked like he was reconsidering his grand scheme, or at least Piaras’s part of it.

A victory. Yes. At this point, I’d take what I could get.

The goblin king’s masked ball was being touted as the event of the social season. Call me a pessimist, but I couldn’t help but think of it as hunting season, with me as the prized catch being delivered dressed and trussed to the hunter’s front door.

The beacon seemed to think it was about to get what it wanted. At least that was the impression I got. It was hard to believe it had only been three nights since Quentin had stolen the beacon and given it to me for safekeeping. Ever since then, the beacon had either been completely silent, or trying to kick a hole in my chest. After we set out from the count’s palazzo, the beacon had settled down to a gentle hum in time with my heartbeat. Glad to know one of us was happy with our destination.

To help keep gondola traffic moving on the canals, and to avoid any flaring tempers that might result from gridlock or clashing cultures, classes, or magic, the mayor of Mermeia had ordered all members of the city watch, not otherwise assigned, to traffic duty. I know the watchers loved that. They were angry, they were armed, and most importantly, there were five of them at every major waterway intersection. There were more than a few aristocrats in town for Sathrik’s little get-together; aristocrats who felt entitled to go where they wanted, when they wanted, and to answer to no one when they went there.

Our city’s finest were there to tell them otherwise.

In an elaborately draped and gilded gondola to our port side, a Pengorian noble was being issued a stern warning for failure to yield to a smaller vessel. It probably wouldn’t have gone any further than a warning, but when the indignant Pengorian in question started shrieking about his privileges in this and any other city, the watcher said nothing else and promptly began writing him a ticket. As we turned the corner at the bell tower, I could still hear the noble’s shrill protests.

It warmed my heart.

Though what filled me with less than a glowing feeling was the rolling motion caused by the heavier than normal traffic on the canals. My normal—and entirely rational, I might add—fear of drowning had little to do with my present discomfort. I tried to focus on the unmoving building in front of us, rather than the all-too-moving water undulating below me. My eyes believed the deception. My stomach didn’t buy it for a second.

In addition to his house and invitations, the count had given Mychael the use of his gondolas. While thankfully not as extravagant as some of the floating palaces attempting to make their way to the embassy without tipping over, the count’s gondolas were sleek and tastefully elegant. Some of Mychael’s Guardians were outfitted in the count’s house livery of blue and white, and were piloting the gondola Piaras and I were in along with Mychael. The count’s other formal gondola was to our starboard, also with a full complement of Guardian oars-men with Garadin and Vegard looking miserable in his borrowed finery.

Weapons wouldn’t be allowed in the embassy, and any who tried to defy the royal edict would be denied entrance. We all needed to get inside, so we played by the rules—to a point. Elaborate costuming allowed for all kinds of places to conceal a small blade or two, or three or four, or more in my case. I was wearing enough steel to make me feel as comfortable as possible, considering the circumstances. And I made sure Piaras was similarly armed. The problem being, I was sure plenty of King Sathrik’s guests were thinking along the same lines. So unless Sathrik wanted to kick most of his guests out, he was going to have to make a few concessions.

Piaras and I were both masked and wore dark, hooded cloaks. Mychael had determined, and Garadin agreed, that with most of the high nobility from the seven kingdoms in attendance, Piaras’s costume wouldn’t stand out in the least. Besides, it was the only costume in the count’s trunks that fit him. I took a wait-and-see attitude. I had to admit that this was one time I didn’t want to be able to say “I told you so.” However, as an extra precaution, Mychael had asked us to sit in the section of the gondola near the stern that was draped from view. Neither of us had objected.

“Raine?” Piaras ventured from the plush upholstered seat next to me.

“Yes?”

I couldn’t see his face, but I didn’t need to. Just hearing him say my name told me he probably looked as scared as he sounded. I squirmed in my bodice in a vain attempt to get a decent lungful of air. If I looked as uncomfortable as I felt, we were quite a pair.

“How much farther?”

From the sound of his voice, he didn’t want to be any closer. The only place he wanted to be was home. I’d like to be there myself. Under my bed sounded like a nice, cozy spot. Piaras had never been into the heart of the Goblin District. Piaras had never wanted to go, even on a dare from his friends. Not that his friends would go themselves, or would many other elves, for that matter.

“We’re almost there.” I reached out and gave his hand a squeeze. His fingers curled around mine and didn’t let go. I was glad he didn’t.

“Are you scared?” he asked quietly.

“Yes.” I’d have to be seven types of insane not to be afraid of where we were going—and who would be there waiting for us. I had an extra reason to be terrified that had nothing to do with psychotic goblins. I’d be getting up close and personal with the Thief of Souls.

Piaras seemed to know what I was thinking and squeezed my hand reassuringly. “It’ll be okay. We’ll all be there with you.”

That would have been a comforting thought, except for the gnawing fear that having my friends anywhere near me was as far from okay as it was possible to be.

The Guardians guided the gondola around the corner at the clock tower that marked the entrance to the Goblin District. I had always found it to be an inspiring sight. On a normal night it would inspire a better than average case of the creeps. Tonight it inspired that along with awe, intimidation, and a goodly dose of terror. Maybe it was the circumstances, though I imagine it was exactly the effect the Mal’Salin family was going for. No doubt Sarad Nukpana had a hand in the party decorations that met King Sathrik’s guests as they made their way up the Grand Duke’s Canal to where it flowed past the steps of the goblin embassy.

The buildings in the Goblin District were of arched stone and gleaming marble—both were dark and built to be as imposing as possible. At least that was my impression of goblin architecture. But for all I knew, goblins thought it was cozy and reminded them of home. Gates were of intricately twisted wrought iron, and the tops of most, if not all, ended in a sharpened point. The streetlights glowed a dim blue. Supposedly the lighting was for the comfort of sensitive goblin eyes. That may be the case, but in my opinion, the goblins just did it to discourage visitors. It worked. I certainly wouldn’t come here for an evening out.

Apparently the goblin king’s party planner was looking to maximize the effect tonight. Caged torches mounted on tall metal spikes were spaced at regular intervals on both sides of the canal. The torches blazed with blue flames easily two feet high. The long shadows cast from those flames gave the impression that the buildings were looming out over the canal—and over the guests’ gondolas that traveled it. Mounted on the spikes were twin banners in the crimson and black of the House of Mal’Salin. Between the banners was a burnished shield that was easily an arm’s span wide. The shields were emblazoned with the family crest that Piaras and I were all too familiar with—the double serpents surmounted by a crown. The crests were inlaid with red enamel that glowed with a life of their own. In the torches’ light, the snakes on the crests seemed to writhe against the steel.

Then there was the warm greeting of the Mal’Salin royal guard in full battle armor standing at attention, illuminated by the blaze of the torches. They were spaced every twenty feet or so on both sides of the canal, and in addition to the usual curved daggers and sabers, each carried a slender spear with a particularly lethal-looking hooked blade at the top.

Piaras’s hand had started to sweat. Or maybe it was mine.

“This was not a good idea,” Piaras said from between clenched teeth.

“There’s nothing wrong with the idea,” I tried to reassure him—and me. “Just the welcoming committee.”

I was determined not to be scared. The trappings of terror decorating the canal banks had Sarad Nukpana’s name written all over them. Once again, he was only trying to frighten me so that I couldn’t fight him. I wouldn’t let him succeed.

But that didn’t stop him from doing a damn fine job.

The steps of the goblin embassy extended down into the canal. As we neared the steps, the gondola pilots guided their boats into a single line. When their passengers had safely disembarked, they pulled away, making way for the next guests. I say safely, because due to both the costuming and masks, maneuverability and visibility were at a minimum for some partygoers. There were goblin footmen there to assist, but I wasn’t about to take any proffered hands, especially if they belonged to someone working for the Mal’Salin family. I would rather risk going for an unexpected swim. I needn’t have worried. Mychael jumped out first and gallantly offered his hand to me. And once he had it, he didn’t let go. Considering where we were, I didn’t mind.

Piaras stepped from the gondola by himself without a stumble. Just before we had disembarked, he had given my hand a firm squeeze, then stood resolutely, his jaw set. My little brother was growing up.

I looked at Mychael standing by my side—and kept looking. He was magnificent. Regal in the purple and gold of an ancient Pengorian knight, the paladin’s surcoat looked almost black in the flickering torchlight, entwined vines and leaves finely embroidered in gold thread on the soft suede. Mychael’s mask was etched gold, the perfect setting for those glorious blue eyes. The costume, the embassy, a king’s masked ball. Mychael clearly belonged here. I didn’t.

He caught me looking. I quickly glanced away.

I felt him raise my hand to his lips. “You’re beautiful,” I heard him murmur.

I didn’t know what to say. I’d never been very good at compliments, especially those addressed to me.

He smiled and kissed my hand again, taking his time before draping my arm over his to escort me inside.

To get inside, all of the guests had to walk up the stairs flanked by yet more royal guardsmen sporting enough enameled steel to anchor a ship—or sink one. They didn’t seem to mind the weight. They also didn’t seem to blink. Eerie. Though I’m sure the Mal’Salins frowned on such displays of weakness. And when a Mal’Salin royal frowned, heads rolled, or so I’d heard.

At the top of the stairs, I saw a small goblin lady, her bearing regal, wearing a gown of the most ethereal fabric that I had ever seen. The color shifted and shimmered with the torchlight. Her hair and face were completely covered by a pale cloud of a veil that fell past her shoulders. Beneath that, she wore a mask as well. She reached out one tiny, gloved hand and placed it lightly on the arm of a goblin who was dressed as a jester, but he apparently had left his good humor at home. His bearing was straight, either from naturally good posture or tension. Considering where we were, it could have been both. I might not be the most nervous person here tonight, but I think I had the most reason.

The lady tilted her head to look up at her escort as he said something to her.

I knew her.

I tried to get as close to Mychael’s ear as possible. Not easy in my hat.

“The couple at the door, the small goblin lady…”

“Yes?”

“A’Zahra Nuru.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“Do you recognize her escort?”

“No, but he’s probably one of the prince’s courtiers. He’s too short to be the prince.”

“Well then, let’s see if they get in.”

I wasn’t anywhere near as casual about it as Mychael, but on a positive note, at least I knew what the primari was wearing. Chances were once she was inside, she would be meeting Prince Chigaru. If I couldn’t avoid my enemies this evening, it’d at least be nice to spot some of them before they spotted me.

The goblin primari gave her invitation to one of the guards at the door. He looked at it and then at her. He returned it to her and the door opened. She started to step across the threshold, then paused, glancing back over her shoulder. The beacon still vibrated happily inside my bodice. I fought the urge to cover it with my hand. I knew the gesture wouldn’t do any good and would only draw attention.

A’Zahra Nuru paused a moment longer, then she and her escort entered the embassy.

Now it was our turn.

The guard gestured us forward. Mychael swept up the steps without hesitation. Piaras, Garadin, and I followed with Vegard and Riston Kirkwode, the dark-haired Guardian from Tam’s place.

The guard scrutinized the invitation then our masked faces, each in turn. I hope the Count of Eilde, or his politics, hadn’t bought us more problems than perks. The guard turned to confer with a superior. The officer was checking another invitation, and the guard had to wait until he was finished. Next to me, Piaras took a breath and held it. While he did that, I entertained myself by wondering which was closer—the dagger in my bodice, or the throwing knives in the hidden pockets of my gown.

Mychael waited seemingly without a care in the world. He even began humming a tune currently popular in the eastern kingdoms. He had nerve. The humming continued, and with it came a smile. It was contagious. A corner of the goblin guard’s mouth turned upward. He turned away from the still-busy officer and returned the invitation to Mychael.

“There’s no need to keep you waiting, sir. On behalf of His Royal Majesty, King Sathrik Mal’Salin, I bid you and your guests welcome. Please enter.”