Armed & Magical

Page 33

It all came together, and I realized with dawning horror what had happened and what was going to happen.
“Was my father a spellsinger?”
Mychael was puzzled. “He was. Why?”
“What about Sarad Nukpana?”
Mychael’s blue eyes widened in realization. “Before he became the Khrynsani grand shaman, yes, he was a spellsinger.”
“When Piaras sang the Saghred to sleep, Nukpana told me that the Saghred hasn’t had such a treat in years. Then he said those with the sweetest magic are the most delicious. Does that mean what I think it means?”
Mychael stood utterly still. “Spellsinging is known as the ‘sweet magic.’ ”
Sarad Nukpana had told me that I was doing the Saghred’s will and I hadn’t believed him.
“Mychael, we’ve just brought the Saghred back to the biggest buffet in the seven kingdoms, and Banan Ryce has been gathering dinner. Tonight he’s going after dessert.”
Phaelan knocked as he opened my door. “You decent, cousin?”
I scowled. “And I’m dressed, too.”
He looked from me to Mychael. “Something I should know about?”
“The kidnapped students are all spellsingers, the Saghred likes spellsingers as sacrifices, and tonight Sirens is hosting the cream of Ronan’s crop.”
“That’s a trap waiting to happen. So just cancel the damned thing and lock down your spellsingers.”
“The Twelve won’t cancel the recital,” I told him. “It’s political.”
“Sounds like you need to get yourself a new Twelve,” Phaelan told Mychael. “Just get me the names of the ones you don’t want to keep.” He glanced back over his shoulder for eavesdroppers and lowered his voice. “I know people.”
Mychael’s smile was more like a baring of teeth. “I just might take you up on that.” He looked down at Phaelan’s rapier and sighed. “I really hate to tell you this, but I can only allow Guardians to have swords in Sirens this evening.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Even now?”
“Especially now.”
“And especially considering who he is,” I shot back.
“Raine, I can’t make any exceptions.”
Phaelan shrugged, unbuckled his sword belt, and tossed it on my bed. “As a guest here, I humbly comply with my host’s wishes.”
Mychael just looked at him. “You’re bristling with daggers, aren’t you?”
“ ‘Bristling’ is such a negative term, I prefer ‘amply armed.’ ” My cousin turned to me. “Speaking of ample, there’s no room in that bodice for anything other than you. You wearing a thigh sheath?”
I linked my arm through Mychael’s. “Now what would be the sense of wearing just one? I have two thighs.” I glanced up at Mychael. “Welcome to a night on the town with the Benares family.”
Chapter 18
It’s tough to go against your upbringing. Most times I try. From now on I wasn’t even going to bother.
I was a Benares. As far as Taltek Balmorlan was concerned, I was also one of the most powerful mages in Sirens. Yes, my power came from an evil rock locked in the Guardians’ basement, and I had no intention of using that power, but no one knew that and I wasn’t going to tell them.
I was going to keep them guessing and shaking in their designer robes.
But if anyone so much as laid one finger on Ronan’s spellsingers, all bets were off.
Mychael had taken every precaution to protect those kids. He’d ordered all of Sirens’s mirrors bespelled to prevent their use by mirror mages. Mirror mages needed a crisp, clear image to do their thing. Mychael’s spells distorted whatever was reflected in the mirror as an undulating wave, its pattern constantly changing. Try putting on makeup, doing your hair, or getting dressed in front of an undulating wave. Some people it’d make sick; most people it’d just make ugly. All the dressing rooms at Sirens had big, full-length mirrors. If any of Ronan’s spellsingers wanted to admire themselves, they’d better have done it before they got here.
Seeing someone or something step out of my reflection was one of the reasons why I owned only one mirror and it was just big enough to see my face in. Anything that popped out through that mirror would be small enough for me to stomp on.
Ronan had gathered his students and Mychael told them that, due to the recent student abductions through mirrors, Sirens’s mirrors had been warded as a safety precaution. That didn’t go over well, especially with Countess Sanura Mal’Salin. Mychael ignored the goblin girl’s outburst and proceeded to lay down the law for the evening: no going out the stage door into the alley, and if they needed to leave the dressing-room area during the recital, they would have to do so in the company of a Guardian escort. He didn’t want to scare the kids, just make them aware of the safety precautions being taken and that he expected nothing less than their full and complete cooperation.
Mychael’s talk left out the words “Saghred” and “sacrifice.” Like he’d said, until we had irrefutable proof— meaning from a source other than me—we had to keep our private suspicions from becoming public allegations.
I had all the irrefutable proof I needed. I had told Piaras everything—and made sure he had enough steel on him to discourage any takers.
When Mychael finished talking, every last one of Ronan’s students still insisted on singing. The show would go on. Dammit.
I was backstage looking out into the rapidly filling theatre. I wanted to know who was here and where they were. Phaelan was standing next to me looking cool and confident, even without his rapier. He noted my glance at his side and chuckled.
“Since you only have two daggers, just let me know if you need to borrow anything. I’ve got you covered.”
“I just might take you up on that.”
The house lights were still up, so we could see everyone as they entered and were escorted to their tables. That made it impossible to miss when Taltek Balmorlan, Giles Keril, and party arrived.
Phaelan saw where I was looking. “A shark and a weasel. Are those our primary targets for the evening?”
I nodded. “They’re two of them. Unfortunately, there are a lot more. I’m also keeping an eye out for a thousand-year-old psychotic goblin teenage spellsinger.”
“Rudra Muralin?”
“The very same.”
I had warned Mychael about the possibility of Muralin masquerading as a student, or as one of the many Mal’Salins here for Countess Sanura’s performance. There were a lot of young and good-looking goblins in Sirens tonight. But Rudra Muralin had fallen into the Great Rift. I’d imagine bouncing down a ravine hadn’t done him any good, though if contact with the Saghred kept him alive for a millennium, it could certainly repair any damage. So that meant any young male goblin was a potential candidate.
Phaelan and I were within sight of the dressing room that Piaras was sharing with Talon Tandu. I had checked their mirror myself. Even glancing at it made me nauseous. Nothing was coming through that mirror.
The door opened and Talon Tandu sauntered out. I guess it was taking Piaras longer to dress because he had more clothes to put on. Talon’s costume consisted solely of silver silk trousers, slung low on narrow hips and leaving little to the imagination. His otherwise bare chest was covered by a long, aqua, silk dressing gown that perfectly matched his eyes. Eyes that saw me and liked what they saw.
“Evening, gorgeous. Since all the mirrors in this place are warded, I thought I’d let you tell me how hot I look.”
I gave him a flat look. “You’re sizzling. I can barely stand the heat.”
“Likewise. You should doll up more often. It suits you.”
Ronan swept by, his robes this evening edging more toward the gold and orange end of the flame spectrum. “Talon, you’re first. Get dressed.”
The goblin gave the maestro a little salute. “Yes, sir.”
I waited until Ronan had gone. “You are dressed, aren’t you?”
“Oh yeah. I’ll drop the robe before I go on and whatever else is left is what I’m wearing.” He shrugged. “Most of the people out there have seen me perform. They’d be disappointed if I wore too many clothes.”
“And you can’t disappoint your adoring fans.”
Talon’s crooked grin was full of fang. “Finally, someone who understands.”
“And your song?”
“Ronan said to keep it tasteful and decent,” Talon said smugly.
“Is that possible?”
“It was during rehearsals.” The kid had a sparkle in his eyes that he shouldn’t be old enough to have. “It won’t be onstage.”
“And you wanted to go first?”
“I wanted to get it over with. We drew numbers for our singing order. Naturally, I cheated. Then there’s the added plus of Ronan being too busy with the rest of his songbirds to be pissed at me after what I’m going to do out there.”
Phaelan nodded approvingly. “Cheating to get what you want, ignoring the rules, and defying authority. And to think some people are worried about the next generation.”
The dressing-room door opened and Piaras came out. Riston’s wife had gone shopping for Piaras, too. I looked at him and just couldn’t stop looking. Formal and formfitting black velvet doublet, black buckskin trousers, black boots. A fine, white linen shirt gleamed through the slits in the velvet doublet. The clothes were undeniably elegant.
And Piaras was unmistakably grown up.
“Our somber songbird is singing right after my exhibitionist self,” Talon was saying. “That should soothe any offended sensibilities.”
Piaras looked at me. “I wanted to go second.”
And I knew why. The sooner he sang, the quicker we could leave.
Talon clapped Piaras on the back and lowered his voice. “I knew which end of the box the number two tile was in, so I helped him out.”