Bewitched & Betrayed (30 page)

“We weren’t,” I told him with a secretive smile. Two could play at that game.

Mychael’s blue eyes twinkled. “Would you like to tell Markus what we were paid to come to his house to do?”

I beamed back at him. “Love to. Some secrets are too fun not to share. Markus, we were paid an obscene amount of goblin gold to kidnap and deliver you to Sarad Nukpana.”

I got the unprecedented treat of seeing Markus Sevelien stunned. If I’d have blinked, I’d have missed it. Fortunately I didn’t blink, because it was an expression I knew I’d never see on him again. The next instant, Markus was once again in perfect control.

Mychael reached around behind him where the satchel lay on the floor, and put it on the table with a thump.

Uncle Ryn whistled. “Pure goblin imperial, six hundred kugarats.”

Mychael was clearly impressed. “Has he always—”

“It’s a family gift,” I said.

Mychael sat back in his chair and looked at Markus. “We were coming to tell you that a pair of human operatives by the names of Kester Morrell and Maire Orla had been hired to kidnap you.”

Markus traded stunned for merely confused. “But Raine said that—”

“A glamour,” I told him. “Thanks to a boost from the Saghred, I’m discovering a couple of talents I didn’t know I had. Apparently an incredibly thorough glamour is one of them. Mychael and I went in as Morrell and Orla, got a scumbag to admit that he’d kidnapped General Aratus.” I held up my gem by its chain. “Plus we got his confession on these little beauties. Then we accepted the job to snatch you, took the gold, and came over to warn you that we’d done both.”

“And ended up saving my life.”

I shrugged. “An added bonus.”

Markus’s expression gave absolutely no indication what was going on beneath that calm and polished surface. “Do you truly think it was a bonus, Raine?”

I didn’t respond immediately. I knew my answer to that question, but I wanted Markus to wait for it, like I had to think about it first. I know; it was petty. But after tiptoeing through a house full of Khrynsani and being in the same room with a half-regenerated Sarad Nukpana and his uber-evil uncle, petty was the least of what I was feeling right now.

“Yes, it was a bonus,” I finally told him. “You being Balmorlan’s boss . . . Damn, Markus, what the hell was I supposed to think?”

“Exactly what you needed to think. If one of Balmorlan’s snitches witnessed one of your outbursts . . .” He stopped and smiled. “And I’m certain that you had at least one—it helped me maintain my masquerade for a little longer. You were most helpful. And now that you’ve blown up my house, with any luck Taltek thinks I was blown up with it.”

“You’re not the only government official on this island to squeak past Death tonight,” I said. “And the goblins don’t have the market cornered on trying to start a war, either. Imala Kalis and her men were ambushed by Nightshades outside of Sirens. They took a couple of shots at me and some Guardians, but Banan Ryce was there and had been hired to assassinate Imala Kalis.”

Markus sat up straighter. “Imala is unharmed?”

First-name basis. Interesting. “Not a scratch. From what I saw, she and her boys have dealt with this sort of thing before. All it did was make her mad. The lady’s got one heck of a vocabulary and the lungs to use it.”

Markus’s face bore signs of concern. “Mychael, have you offered Imala Guardian protection? I seriously doubt that she will accept it, but have you asked?”

“I was going to do so in the morning. You’re right. She’ll turn me down. But I think she’ll permit Guardians on the embassy’s outer perimeter. That way she wouldn’t lose face.”

Markus paused. “Imala Kalis is the woman Queen Lisara wants in charge of the goblin secret service. The elves who want war with the goblins want her dead. Imala’s concern is what’s best for the goblin people and she knows that a war isn’t it. Two of her own agents have attempted to kill her in the past month alone. One of the assassins belonged to King Sathrik’s inner circle. The king has never hidden his desire to finish the extermination of our people that his ancestor started. Imala is one of the obstacles in his way.”

“You say the assassin
belonged
to Sathrik. Past tense.”

“Imala killed him herself.”

A killer with dimples.

“We have proof that Banan Ryce and his men were contracted to come to Mid by a high- ranking elf,” Mychael said. “Before tonight we didn’t have a name. Balmorlan’s now at the top of a very short list.”

“Carnades Silvanus is number two,” I said.

“The trick is bridging the proof gap between Ryce and either one of them.”

“That would let you arrest Balmorlan?” I asked.

Mychael smiled with a baring of teeth. “For hiring Nightshades to assassinate Imala Kalis, I could put him
under
the citadel.”

“Sounds like a good, wholesome family project,” Phaelan said from the open doorway. “Set him up and take him down, then we’ll let Mychael take him out. What do you think, Dad?”

Uncle Ryn’s teeth flashed white against his black beard. “I think I can carve out time in my schedule for such a noble cause.”

Phaelan came in the cabin, shut the door, and handed the deck prism to Mychael. Then he rubbed his hands together, a devilish gleam in his eyes. “So, where does Balmorlan get his funding?” he asked Markus.

“Some from the elven treasury; most he raises privately.”

“Just what I wanted to hear. Treasury money has to be accounted for. With private fund-raising there doesn’t have to be a paper trail.” My cousin’s grin turned gleefully malicious. “Unless someone creates one.”

I knew where he was going and I liked the destination.

Phaelan froze, stood ramrod straight, and sniffed the air twice. “Gold. Goblin imperial.” His hands were virtually twitching with unfulfilled avarice.

“In the bag, Phaelan.”

My cousin’s eyes locked on that leather satchel like it was his own little slice of heaven. “A couple hundred, at least.”

“Six, to be exact,” Uncle Ryn said.

One of Phaelan’s hands reached out to touch. I smacked that hand.

“Ow.”

“Not yours.”

Phaelan’s grin was seven times wicked. “Could it be?”

I told him where it’d come from.

My cousin nodded in approval. “You got to keep the gold and the mark. You do the family proud, cousin. But you didn’t answer my question. Can we keep it?”

“I have an idea or two that will earn us the best return on our investment,” Mychael said, his smile sly.

“Frame Balmorlan?” I asked.

Mychael nodded once. “I think it may prove fruitful. Unexplained goblin gold being found in Balmorlan’s possession would raise all kinds of uncomfortable questions.”

Phaelan’s expression was pained. “But we can take it back, right?”

I just looked at him. “Do you want to take out the evil son of a bitch or line your pockets?”

My cousin had to think about that one. “Can’t I do both?”

“No.”

Phaelan plopped down in his chair in disgust. Unrequited greed wasn’t a good look on my cousin. “Evil son of a bitch first.”

“That’s better.”

“Where do Balmorlan and his cronies keep their money?” Uncle Ryn asked Markus. “Not the small stuff they let the government accountants see. Where do they keep the real money they don’t want anyone to find?”

“Brenir.”

“Which bank?”

“First Bank of D’Mai.”

Phaelan smiled like the sun had come out. “Adequate security, but not adequate enough.”

“Mago?” I asked.

“None other.”

Markus looked from me to Phaelan, perplexed. Another expression I didn’t see on him often.

“How much does Balmorlan have?” I asked Markus.

“If he has access to Carnades’s sources of income, Taltek can lay his hands on more than is in Queen Lisara’s treasury.”

Phaelan whistled, then he slowly shook his head in disapproval. “No one needs that much money. It’s obscene.”

“Unless it’s in one of your accounts,” I noted.

“True.”

“Son, remind Mago to siphon slowly,” Uncle Ryn cautioned. “We wouldn’t want to make anyone suspicious.”

Mago didn’t need reminding. He was a Brenirian banker, respectable even as far as Brenirian bankers went. He’d elevated embezzlement to an art form. Professionally he was known as Mago Peronne. His real name wouldn’t exactly be welcome in banking circles.

Mago Benares. Uncle Ryn’s eldest. Phaelan’s brother. And one crafty and cunning weasel.

I could virtually see the nefarious little wheels turning in Phaelan’s head. “Though . . . if we’re going to set the bastard up, let’s do it right. Mago could set up an account in Sarad Nukpana’s name and siphon Balmorlan’s money into it,” Phaelan said. “That way no one except Mago would have access to the money. He even knows a forger who could put Nukpana’s signature on the documents authorizing the transfer, and pre-date it to before he got sucked into the Saghred.”

I smiled and leaned back in my chair. “And the next time Balmorlan went to bribe or buy off anyone . . .” I spread my hands. “No cash, no cohorts.”

“The notion does have appeal,” Uncle Ryn agreed. “Markus, since you’re supposed to be dead, it might be best if you stay with us for a while. You’ll be safe, comfortable, and have all the goblin port you care to drink.”

“And while we drink, we can plot,” Phaelan added. “We know people.”

Mychael had set his recording gem next to the deck prism. With a few murmured words, we all watched as Mychael and I, glamoured as Morrell and Orla, struck a deal with Karl Cradock, and best of all, we got to see and hear him admit to the crime that Tam was sitting in a cell for committing.

Phaelan whistled. “Damn, cousin, is that you?”

“Yeah, it’s me. Roll your tongue back up in your head.”

“Who is she?”

“Maire Orla. Kidnapper and assassin.”

“I think I’m in love.”

“I think you’re a sick man.”

Phaelan shrugged, never taking his eyes off of Maire Orla’s bounty. “I never claimed to be anything else.”

I squeezed my eyes shut and pinched the bridge of my nose. Exhaustion had caught up with me and was pounding on my head with a vengeance. “So Sarad Nukpana is regenerating himself and turning powerful and influential elves into beef jerky. Any chance we can sic him on Taltek Balmorlan?”

“I’m sure Balmorlan is aware he’s on Nukpana’s list,” Mychael said.

Markus solemnly studied my face for a moment and then Mychael’s. “There is something else of which Taltek Balmorlan is aware. It concerns the two of you and Tamnais Nathrach.”

My heart pounded in my chest, but I kept my expression neutral—at least, I tried.

Our umi’atsu bond. The fact that Tam could now tap the power of the Saghred, and Mychael and I could tap each other. Extreme caution was called for here. “What about it?”

Markus’s eyes darted briefly to Phaelan and Uncle Ryn. My silence told him that no, they didn’t know; and no, I didn’t want them to. I couldn’t protect my family from much, but I would protect them from this.

Do you only want to protect them, Raine? Or do you just not want them to know?

“Commodore and Captain Benares,” Markus said, never taking his dark eyes from mine. “I wouldn’t want to ask you to leave your own cabin, but is there a place where I may speak privately with Raine and Mychael?”

Uncle Ryn made no move to leave. “Is that what you want, Spitfire?”

What I wanted was to wrap my family around me like a blanket, but that’d just get them killed or worse right along with me.

“Raine, we’re in this.” Phaelan knew me too well; he knew exactly what I was thinking. “We’re with you. We’re not backing down, and we sure as hell aren’t running.”

“If you’re in more danger than we’ve already heard about, I want to know,” Uncle Ryn rumbled. “Any enemy of yours is prey of mine.”

“Thank you,” I said softly, my throat tight. There wasn’t much more a woman could ask for than a family she could count on to kill the people who wanted to kill her.

I glanced at Mychael. He nodded once.

“I want my family with me, Markus.”

“Very well. I know about the umi’atsu bond between the three of you.” Markus wasn’t one to mince words. “Carnades told me when I arrived on the island, and Balmorlan not only knows, but he also plans to use it—and the three of you.”

“We know they want to expose us, but to get us out of the way.”

“It goes further than that.”

I remembered Balmorlan saying he was building prison cells, and suddenly my dinner wasn’t sitting too well.

Phaelan stood motionless. “Wait a minute—what’s this umi’atsu bond?”

I forced the contents of my stomach to stay put, and quickly filled them in on all the details.

“And only death can separate the three of you now?” Uncle Ryn asked when I’d finished.

Mychael answered him before I could. “It is the only way we know at this time. If there is another way, we will find it.”

“And Balmorlan has a reason for not wanting you to find a cure.”

I looked at Markus. “Apparently.”

“The three of you in an umi’atsu bond proves that the Saghred’s power can be distributed between more than one person at a time,” Markus said. “Mychael, I have to ask: have you experienced any side effects from being linked even tenuously to the Saghred?”

“None whatsoever.”

“Which is precisely what Balmorlan is hoping for. He believes that the more people the Saghred’s power is divided among, the less chance for mental instability.”

My voice came out thin. “Power without paying the price.”

Markus nodded. “Balmorlan has recruited some of his favorite agency mages. They have been arriving on Mid for the past week. He appealed to their racial pride to make the sacrifice. Balmorlan plans to keep presenting mages to the Saghred until it selects those he deems suitable for his purpose.”