Wedding Bells, Magic Spells (8 page)

“They’re as safe as they can be,” Tam added. “Their food tasters have tasters.”

“What about Talon?” I asked him.

“Safe with Kesyn, and considering what may be happening here, I want him to stay there.”

“I take it that Markus will fully recover?” Imala asked.

Mychael nodded. “Once he wakes up, he could be back on his feet within three or four days. I’d prefer longer.”

Imala’s mouth curved in a bemused smile. “I imagine he’ll let you know what he thinks about your bed rest prescription.”

“I’m sure he will.”

“If you hadn’t been there…” She didn’t finish. She didn’t need to. We all knew that the peace talks would have suffered irreparable damage before they’d even started. Markus Sevelien was respected throughout the kingdoms as a man of integrity. But Imala had meant more than that. We all not only admired Markus, but considered him a close and good friend. Whoever was responsible for the attack was going to pay dearly.

“Have you taken any steps to suspend mirror travel to the island?” Imala continued.

“Only in the citadel,” Mychael replied. “We haven’t heard of any other incidences. Our expert is working on a way to safely test the mirror the two of you were going to use to see if it’s infested.”

“Infested is a good description,” Tam said. “To produce a web of the thickness Raine described would make that Rak’kari, from the tip of a front leg to the tip of a back one…about as long as Raine is tall.”

I shivered from head to toe and didn’t even try to stop it. I knew what kind of nightmare I’d be having tonight. That is, if I managed to get to sleep.

Mychael didn’t bat an eye. “All the more reason to keep this quiet until we know whether there’s a danger outside the citadel. I don’t want to incite a panic, especially when there might not be grounds for it. There was only one attack. I have people listening for news of any other incidents. If there’s another one, then I’ll have to act, but the quieter we can keep this for now, the better.”

“Then all of the delegates are here.”

“All that made it here alive,” I said. “Markus wasn’t the only target. The ship carrying the elven ambassador and his staff were attacked by a Caesolian-registered ship last night. A pirate. The kind of vermin that gives my family a bad name. The ambassador, his two guards, the ship’s telepath, and the crew were killed. His staff was taken captive. Phaelan happened to be in the area and rescued them.”

“I take it the ambassador’s second will be stepping in to fill the position.”

“She will.”

Imala smiled and arched a brow. “She? How delightful.”

“Mychael’s not thrilled.”

Delighted turned to confused. “And why would that be?”

“The acting elven ambassador is my sister, Isibel.”

“And you’re having protective feelings.” Imala didn’t ask that as a question. Mychael’s feelings—and the nature of those feelings—were obvious.

“I quite understand your concern,” Imala continued, “but at the same time, you must be very proud that she has risen so high in the foreign service.”

“I am, though the timing could have been better.”

“In any government service, be it foreign or secret, good timing is a luxury we seldom receive.”

“According to Phaelan,” I said, “the pirates that attacked the ambassador’s ship were paid in goblin gold in bags carrying the royal Mal’Salin seal.”

Tam hissed a few choice words under his breath. In Goblin. When any quality swearing needed to be done, Goblin was the way to go.

“Has there been a theft of an army outpost payroll or unauthorized transfer of funds from the royal treasury to a foreign bank?” Mychael asked him.

Tam leaned back in his chair, suddenly looking about ten years older. “Yes and yes. The transition from Sathrik’s rule to Sarad’s regency to Chigaru’s reign has been far from smooth. Apparently Sathrik’s royal treasurer kept himself in much better condition than he did the account books. There isn’t any place royal treasury gold could be found that would surprise me. The elves have nothing to worry about from any goblin for at least the next ten years—with or without a treaty. Our courtiers and bureaucrats are going to be too busy trying to kill each other to even notice what’s happening outside of Regor. We’re doing everything we can to get the government under our control. One of the biggest problems we’re facing now is that our people are sharply divided—the haves and the have-nots. And I’m not referring to simply money. It’s about title and rank, family and purity of bloodline, social influence, political affiliations, and magical talent. The people are tired of waiting for their voices to be heard and their rights recognized. Many goblins—those in power and those without—have little trust in elven promises. They see any attempt to negotiate a peace with a race they believe wouldn’t hesitate to wipe them out as evidence of weakness, regardless of Chigaru’s assurances of change. Thanks to Sathrik, many of those occupying government positions are corrupt, self-serving, or both.”

“Sounds like what Justinius is dealing with here with the Conclave and the Seat of Twelve,” Mychael noted. “Cleaning house has left him with barely enough people to run the island—and he’s not even close to being finished.”

“The Conclave here, the Khrynsani at home,” Imala said. “Under Sarad’s influence, the Khrynsani spread like a cancer until it had worked its way into the entire government body. We could try to remove it all, but the patient might not survive.”

I whistled. “In comparison, coming here must be like a vacation.”

Tam nodded. “It’s early afternoon, and no one has tried to kill me yet. Well, with the exception of our sprint through the Passages. Though by comparison, even that was refreshing.”

Imala snorted. “Says you.”

“So the Khrynsani have the elven ambassador killed and try to do the same to the director of elven intelligence,” I said. “And now we have a monster created by Khrynsani black magic and possibly put inside a mirror tunnel by an elf mage. If that turns out to be the case, the elf and goblin bad guys have stopped trying to kill each other—and are working together to kill us.”

“And they’re framing us as masterminding the entire thing,” Imala replied. “No trust. No treaty. No peace.”

“Your sister is safe,” I told Mychael. Again. “From everyone.
Including Phaelan. Especially Phaelan.”

Short sentences worked better right now. I was yelling. Not because I was mad at Mychael, but because we were airborne.

Having a conversation on a sky dragon was one of life’s great challenges. At least this time, I was riding on Kalinpar’s saddle behind Mychael, his broad shoulders blocking my views of what I still saw as a quick and messy death, a death I had narrowly avoided the last time I rode on a sky dragon.

I had to admit that clinging to a sky dragon saddle was a highly effective method of waking up. I’d slept last night; that is, if you could call tossing and turning and waking up every hour sleeping.

Tam and Imala had spent the night at the goblin embassy, and would join us at the citadel later to meet with Cuinn Aviniel, the expert mirror mage.

The
Fortune
and
Red Hawk
had been spotted shortly after sunrise five miles off the coast, and Mychael had dispatched two Guardian gunships and four armored sky dragons as escort. He’d also had Ben notify the telepath on the
Fortune
to be expecting them so as to avoid any violent misunderstandings.

Both the
Fortune
and the
Red Hawk
had crews who liked nothing better than a good fight. Taking only one pirate schooner had quelled Phaelan’s crew’s battle urges about as well as spitting on a bonfire. The boys were spoiling for more, and any ship that got too close had a captain with a death wish.

Mychael wasn’t in the mood to take chances, and considering what’d happened to Markus, and had happened—and could have happened—to Mychael’s sister, I understood only too well. The closest thing I had to a younger sibling was Piaras, and I knew without thinking about it that I’d have done the same. Not only to protect him, but to warn anyone who had any ideas about harming one curly hair on his head not to even think about it.

The Isle of Mid’s harbor had docks and piers for guests and merchants and others reserved for Guardian use only. Mychael landed Kalinpar at the heavily reinforced dragon landing pad at the end of a Guardian pier. A nimble gunboat was waiting there to take us out to the
Fortune
. I half expected Mychael to fly out over Phaelan’s ship and drop a rope down to the deck.

I kept that thought to myself. Mychael clearly wasn’t in a joking mood. In fact, after my initial reassurances, I didn’t say a word all the way out to where the
Fortune
had dropped anchor.

The ships in Mid’s harbor were either docked or moored. Smaller vessels with shallower drafts were in slips at the docks, while larger ships anchored toward the middle of the harbor. The
Fortune
and the
Red Hawk
were moored not merely because of their size, but their masters’ desire for security as well.

My cousin, Phaelan Benares, was captain of the
Fortune
, and his father—my uncle, Ryn Benares—commanded the
Red Hawk.
The two vessels shared the honors as flagships of the Benares fleet. However, Phaelan was a captain, while Uncle Ryn was a commodore. Phaelan operated independently of his dad, but if he stepped out of line, my cousin knew who he’d be answering to. Despite being pirates, Uncle Ryn had standards of behavior, and Phaelan crossed that line at his peril. That I knew of, he never had, which was due more to Phaelan being a chip off the old mainmast than any fear of his father. Uncle Ryn had Phaelan’s respect, so fear never had to put in an appearance.

This morning, they wanted security. Normally, when a high-profile guest entered the harbor, Guardian gunships would surround the arriving ship, to ensure that no vessel approached unless authorized. The two Guardian gunships Mychael had dispatched were moored nearby, and the sky dragons had returned to the citadel’s massive launch pad and stables. If they were needed, they could swoop down from the citadel to the harbor in less than a minute.

Isibel Eiliesor, the new elven ambassador to the Isle of Mid, could not be any safer than she was right now.

Mychael’s scowl told me that he still didn’t like it. I kept my expression carefully neutral. It wasn’t easy since I knew only too well part of the reason for that scowl.

Mychael had shown me a holographic portrait of his younger sister. She was stunning. Phaelan had a keen appreciation for beautiful women. Plus, he’d gotten to rescue this one from pirates. My cousin was like a peacock, he liked showing off for the ladies, and Phaelan had yet to meet a woman who was immune. During the brief conversation we’d had this morning via Ben the telepath, I got the impression that Isibel had been less than impressed, or if she had, she’d kept it to herself.

“Isibel may be on Phaelan’s ship,” I told Mychael as we dismounted, “but rest assured she’s on a pedestal.”

His response was a single grunt. I’d learned that translated as he agreed with my opinion, but reserved the right to take action if I was wrong, which in this case meant pounding my cousin into deck wax.

I was looking forward to meeting my future sister-in-law, but I couldn’t wait to see Phaelan. I’d know instantly if she’d dropped anchor on his ego.

*

The ladder was quickly lowered over the side of the
Fortune
,
and Mychael and I climbed on board.

I had to hand it to my cousin, he knew how to control his crew. Of course, knowing that the paladin of the Conclave Guardians’ sister was on board, and was to be escorted into Mid’s harbor by Guardian gunships and sky dragons, told them how they’d
better
behave when the paladin himself set foot on deck.

Phaelan’s crew was as presentable as it was possible to make them with only a few hours’ notice, and those not actively involved in anchoring and securing the
Fortune
were standing in nearly straight lines and almost at attention.

It was a stunning achievement.

What I saw next was nothing short of staggering.

Crimson was my cousin’s signature color. It said everything about him: fearless and flamboyant.

This morning, Captain Phaelan Benares, pirate most feared, scourge of the Seven Kingdoms’ seas, was wearing somber black.

What the hell?

I was sure my expression said that and then some, but the only response I got from Phaelan was a solemn nod. Normally I would be on the receiving end of a rib-crushing hug, deck full of crew or not.

Then my cousin’s focus was on Mychael. He crossed the deck to us in a silence so complete, the sharp tap of his boot heels could be clearly heard on the wood. Boots that’d been polished to within an inch of their lives.

I shot a quick glance at Mychael out of the corner of my eye. His scowl was still securely in place, but his eyes were a wee bit wider than usual. I wasn’t the only one taken aback at my cousin’s sudden display of propriety.

I pressed my lips together against a smile. Mychael had never scared Phaelan before, and I didn’t think he’d had a change of heart on that point now. I knew the reason. My cousin’s change in heart—and wardrobe—had nothing to do with Mychael, and everything to do with Isibel Eiliesor.

Now I knew why Uncle Ryn hadn’t come over from the
Red Hawk
. He didn’t trust himself not to laugh his ass off at his smitten son.

Phaelan stopped a respectful distance from Mychael. “If you’ll follow me. I thought it best that the ambassador wait below.”

As Phaelan turned and we followed, I noticed that he hadn’t addressed Mychael either by title or “sir.” Apparently my cousin’s formality had its limits.

Once in the passageway belowdecks, Phaelan made a beeline for his cabin at the stern of the ship. Mychael had taken my hand to help me down the stairs even though we both knew I didn’t need it. My Mychael was a gentleman, and my not needing help for five steps didn’t enter into his thinking. He wasn’t thinking right now; he was worrying.