Wedding Bells, Magic Spells (2 page)

The Saghred had taken all of my magic just before we went to Regor. After I’d destroyed the rock, my magic had begun coming back. Some of it was mine; some was what the Saghred had given me. So basically, I had no clue how much—or how little—I was packing. Justinius strongly suggested that for my own safety that I should keep that information to myself, as there were still plenty of people around who might want to take me on, or take me out—and I didn’t mean for a night on the town.

I usually wore leathers—doublet, trousers, and matching boots. However, I was about to marry the paladin of the Conclave Guardians, and I was still considered to be one of the most powerful magic users in the Seven Kingdoms. Like I said, I didn’t know if that was true anymore or not, and I hadn’t had the time and privacy to experiment. So to reinforce my perceived badass image, Mychael and Justinius had strongly suggested that I upgrade my wardrobe as befitting my station and reputation. I was now wearing entirely too expensive, custom-made leathers of gray and midnight blue. Gowns had been out of the question. If I needed to run—either to chase someone or escape from something—I didn’t want a bunch of extraneous brocade in my way. Neither one had objected. They picked their battles with me and had deemed this one not worth the fight.

While I’d been linked to the Saghred, I’d been the target of pretty much every power-grubbing megalomaniac in the Seven Kingdoms and most of the demons living in the realms under them. That I was still alive with my soul and sanity intact was the result of ten kinds of miracle, every form of luck, several world-class cons, and the magical skills and bravery of some of the best friends a girl could have.

I smiled. A big, goofy, love-besotted grin. In four days, I would be marrying one of them.

That earned me a confused look from my bodyguard, a blond Guardian by the name of Vegard Rolfgar.

“You’ve decided you like this room?” he asked.

“Are you kidding? Just thinking happy thoughts to keep my mind off what could pounce, slither, or run at us through any one of those mirrors.”

Vegard smiled. “That’s why they’re arranged how they are, ma’am. I wouldn’t be standing here without a sword in my hand if they weren’t. The door’s on one wall, the mirrors on the other. That way you don’t have one of those things at your back unless you want to.”

“Anyone who would want to is nuts,” I muttered, so the mages wouldn’t hear me.

Don’t get me wrong, I was glad there were people who were good at turning mirrors into doorways to essentially anywhere, and I wouldn’t want to insult anyone’s livelihood, but I’d seen someone cut in half while coming through a suddenly deactivated mirror. Sights like that stayed with you. And a couple of weeks ago, monsters had ripped their way out of the big mirror to our left—a mirror that was now an empty frame, thanks to timely shattering on our part. Also traumatic. And also not forgetting it anytime soon.

When I’d come to Mid for help getting rid of the Saghred’s bond to me, Vegard had been assigned as my bodyguard. Even though the rock was gone, Vegard’s assignment had stayed the same. I was glad. I’d gotten used to the big guy, and now going anywhere without Vegard would be like walking on a sunny day without my shadow. He was big, blond, bearded, and human—classic Myloran sea-raider stock.

Our backs were to the door, so I didn’t see Mychael come into the mirror room.

I sensed him.

It sounded simple, but it wasn’t.

Mychael and I had a connection, a bond that went far beyond that of two people who shared a bed and the fun that went with it. I’d only met him three months ago, but I knew him down to his soul and beyond.

The Saghred had wanted souls, and the more powerful the magic that went along with them the tastier. Part of our connection had been forged by the Saghred. The rest had been my magic reacting and melding with Mychael’s magic, and the Saghred hadn’t had a thing to do with it. Our magics had coiled and twisted, weaving us together, and I had been keenly aware of his every heartbeat, every muscle, the surging of blood through his veins. In that instant we had seen each other as we truly were, souls laid bare.

I smiled. The man had seen my soul buck naked and still wanted to marry me.

Mychael could move like a cat, but he wasn’t doing that now. He’d learned the hard way that if he wanted to put his arms around me from behind, he needed to make a lot of noise before doing it. To say I hadn’t reacted well on his first attempt was an understatement. In my defense, I’d had too many people try to kill or kidnap me since the Saghred had invaded my life not to be left with residual jitters.

“You almost didn’t make it in time,” I said without turning.

He came up behind me, wrapped his arms around my waist, pulled me back into him, and brushed the top of my head with his lips. I felt his smile. “Is he here yet?”

“No.”

“Then I’m not late.”

I turned in his arms. Yes, Mychael was the Guardians’ paladin and commander, but he didn’t let that stop him from public displays of affection, and I loved him even more for it. I felt another goofy, besotted grin coming on.

My fiancé was wearing his steel-gray formal uniform. Under that uniform was a leanly muscled body that I’d gotten up close and very personal with this morning. His features were strong and classic, and his eyes were that mix of blue and green found only in warm, tropical seas. He wore his auburn hair short, but long enough to get my fingers into. I was feeling several urges along those lines right now and, like Mychael, didn’t care who was watching.

“You sure you’re okay being in here?” he asked quietly.

“Until you came in, my back was to the wall and I was mere steps from the closest door.”

“And now, I’m in your way.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Want me to leave?”

I smiled. “Never.”

“We just received the signal,” the Guardian mirror mage said. “They’re ready to come through.”

“Whenever you’re ready,” Mychael told him.

The mage stood before a sturdy metal-framed mirror at least seven feet tall and three feet wide, arms extended, palms out, fingers spread wide, eyes focused and unblinking. This mirror was linked to a similar one in the basement of the elven intelligence building in Silvanlar. The surface of the mirror began to ripple as it was activated on the other side. When the ripple turned to a swirl, my stomach tried to do the same thing, and I looked away. Buckets were discreetly kept in the mirror room for a reason. I knew what came next without having to see it. The rotation would quicken until the mirror’s entire surface pulsed. At that point, our first visitor would arrive.

I looked back to the mirror as an armed elf stepped through.

No one went for their weapons. We had been told to expect a bodyguard to come through before Markus. It was about time he’d gotten himself one.

A woman. Average height, dark hair, brown eyes. Sharp eyes that darted aggressively around the room, taking in everything and missing nothing. Beautiful, yet belligerent.

If Markus thought she was up to handling the trouble he attracted on a daily basis, she must be hell on wheels. I didn’t sense any magic coming from her. Considering the sources of the trouble Markus often found himself in, that said a lot about this woman’s capabilities.

The elf wore sleek leathers and was armed with knives strapped to her arms, legs, chest, and the small of her back—all within easy reach. I wore my blades the same way.

The elf nodded in Mychael’s direction. “Paladin Eiliesor.”

She didn’t look directly at me, though she’d seen me well enough, along with every other armed individual in the room—seen them, assessed them, and determined them to be of no danger to her boss.

“I’m Brina Daesage, chief of Director Sevelien’s security team.”

That was a new one. “Markus has an entire security team?” I asked.

The elf woman flashed a good-natured grin. “He does now.”

“About time.”

“Raine Benares, I presume?”

“Presumption correct. Is Markus coming next?”

“He is.” She turned to the mage operating the mirror and indicated the signal pad. “May I?”

The Guardian glanced at Mychael, who gave a single nod of approval.

Brina Daesage stepped over to the pad, which consisted of a single flat crystal set into the mirror’s frame. She tapped out a coded message to the mirror mage back in Silvanlar that the destination was secure and Markus could come through. After a few moments, the mirror pulsed once and then a pattern appeared on the surface, flickering and rolling in silver waves.

My stomach tried to roll right along with it, and once again, I looked away.

The Guardian mirror mage took a few steps back, arms down, but hands still extended, palms out toward the mirror. Once he’d opened the mirror here, his job was essentially done. The elf mage in Silvanlar was running the show now; our man was merely keeping the mirror stable on this end.

I was watching our mage, not the mirror, but I didn’t need to see the mirror to know there was a problem. The Guardian suddenly started taking deep breaths and hissing them out through clenched teeth as if he was lifting way out of his weight class.

I looked at the mirror.

What had been silver waves had turned to corpse gray, ripening into poison green.

I was no mirror mage, but I knew something was wrong.

Deadly wrong.

Just because getting from one place to another through magically linked mirrors was like stepping through a doorway didn’t mean things couldn’t go wrong. I’d seen one malfunction and heard of others—all had been fatal to the person caught in between.

Mychael had already stepped around me, as had Brina. Her job was to protect Markus from assassins, but unless she was a mirror mage, there wasn’t anything she could do to stop whatever was happening.

Mychael put a calming hand on his Guardian’s shoulder. Normally, touching a practitioner in the middle of working powerful magic had bad consequences for the toucher, touchee, and possibly anyone within splattering distance.

Mychael Eiliesor wasn’t normal; he was a healer, of mind and body. He was giving his Guardian added strength and calm to do what needed to be done. The man’s breathing slowed, but it didn’t change the fact that he appeared to be fighting a losing battle.

“Steady,” Mychael told him, his spellsinger voice helping the man to do just that.

“Sir, I’ve lost—”

“No, you haven’t. Hold on to what you’ve got.”

“Something…inside.” His hands, palms out toward the mirror, were slowly flexing forward, toward the sickly green swirl, as if what was inside was dragging him forward and into his own mirror. Then his booted feet began sliding on the stone floor.

Mychael held on and Vegard ran to help.

For an instant, I saw Markus.

On the other side of the mirror.

Trapped.

His eyes were open and vacant, his skin was blue, and something like black rope was wrapped around his chest.

Mychael saw and swore. “Vegard, hold him.”

He released the mage, and in the next moment before any of us could stop him, his arms blazed with a protection spell, he grabbed the mirror’s frame in his right hand and plunged his left into the mirror up to his shoulder. His eyes squeezed shut with effort.

If the mirror shattered, Mychael’s arm would be severed. That didn’t stop him.

And it didn’t stop another black, rope-like thing from lashing out from inside the mirror and wrapping around Mychael’s throat. I instantly had my sharpest dagger in my hands, slashing at where the rope and mirror met. It didn’t even scratch it.

Mychael jerked, the side of his face flush against the mirror, the rope pulling him inside.

My vision narrowed until all I saw was that thing wrapped around the throat of the man I loved, the man who had put himself in danger again and again, risking his life and soul to save mine. Now some monster thought it was going drag him off to whatever was on the other side.

Oh. Hell. No.

I summoned my magic and grabbed the rope with my bare hand—a hand that was glowing dark red.

Red?

That was the only thought I managed to have before instinct and rage took over. I didn’t care that I should be ten kinds of terrified at what the rest of the monster looked like. I didn’t care what it would do to me. I forced every bit of strength, every shred of whatever magic I still possessed into my hand, constricting, crushing. Whatever the magic was, wherever it’d come from, it hurt what was strangling Mychael. It hurt it badly. I didn’t know what I was doing, and I sure didn’t know how, but I kept doing it until the rope dissolved in my hand, freeing Mychael.

The instant after Mychael pulled Markus out of the mirror, it shattered, covering us all in crystalline dust.

Markus’s eyes were fixed and staring, he wasn’t breathing.

I dropped to the floor beside his body.

Markus Sevelien was dead.

Mychael’s hand held balled lightning. He pushed his spread fingers hard against the center of Markus’s chest, and the elf’s back arched with the charge.

Nothing.

Mychael sent another jolt into Markus’s chest.

And another.

A tremor shook Markus’s entire body, and he gasped. That gasp turned into a breath. Two breaths. Three. Markus was breathing on his own. It was ragged, but he was doing it.

Mychael sat back and blew out a breath of his own. “Welcome back, Markus.”

To the Isle of Mid, or to life?

Under normal circumstances, an injured—or recently dead—intelligence director would be taken to his kingdom’s embassy. But considering that Markus’s own people had tried to kill him last month and that an elf mage had been in control of the mirror today, any elf was suspect, and the elves in the elven embassy were more suspect than most
.

With the mirror on our end destroyed, the rest of Markus’s security detail was stuck in Silvanlar at elven intelligence headquarters—supposedly the most secure building in the capital. The black-tentacled thing that had attacked Mychael and briefly killed Markus hadn’t been an elf, but that didn’t mean an elf hadn’t set it loose.