Lisa Shearin - Armed & Magical

Neither man asked me to elaborate and I was grateful. I still felt queasy enough from the link.

“I don’t care how good they are—Nightshades can’t completely go to ground,” Rinker said. “They have to eat, and eating means supplies. I know of a few houses where they’ve holed up in the past. I’ll have my men stake those out. Miss Benares, is there anything else you can tell me?”

“Hurry.”

“That’s a given.”

I indicated the brush and locket. “May I keep these for now? I’d like to use them again. Maybe next time I can catch Banan’s mage employer off guard and get some specifics for you.”

“Of course.” Rinker retrieved his cloak and headed for the door. “I’ll be in touch. Let me know if you find out anything else.”

I nodded and rubbed my temples. I had a hell of a headache coming on. No surprise there. I squeezed my eyes shut and pinched the bridge of my nose.

“Headache?” Mychael asked.

I didn’t open my eyes. “Not yet, but I’ve got a doozy on the way.”

Mychael had walked Sedge to the door, but didn’t close it after him. “Vegard?” he called.

I opened my eyes.

“Sir?”

“Could you have the kitchen send up something for Raine?”

“Yes, sir.” Vegard glanced in and gave me an encouraging smile. I returned the favor as best I could. “You okay, ma’am?”

“I’ll get there. I’m not hungry,” I told both of them.

“You need to eat,” Mychael said.

“Is that your healer’s voice I hear?”

“It’s one of them.” He turned to Vegard. “It doesn’t have to be anything fancy, just food and make it fast.”

“Yes, sir.”

Mychael closed the door.

I leaned back on the couch, and let the quiet grow for a few moments. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d taken a pair of Nightshades?”

“We have yet to gain any useful information from them.”

“Useful information? Or any information you’re willing to share with me?”

Mychael didn’t answer. Sometimes silence said more than a whole mouthful of words.

I took a breath and let it out slowly. “That’s what I thought.”

Mychael’s eyes softened a little. “Raine, I’m telling you the truth. We haven’t learned anything from them. But if we do—”

“You still couldn’t tell me.”

He hesitated. “I’m under direct orders not to.” From his tone, he liked saying it as much as I liked hearing it.

I just looked at him. “Justinius. The old man doesn’t trust me as far as his bony arms could throw me.”

“He didn’t get to where he is, and stay there for as long as he has, by taking unnecessary risks,” Mychael told me.

“So telling me what’s going on would be both unnecessary and a risk.”

“In Justinius’s opinion, yes.”

“What about yours?”

“If I learn anything that tells me you’re in more danger than you already are, then I will share that information with you. I feel responsible for getting you into all of this, and I will protect you.”

“I know, because it’s your job.”

His eyes were on mine, steadfast and resolute. “It’s more than my job,” he said softly. “I think you know that.”

I did.

Mychael sat down next to me, and raised his palms toward me.

“I can help with that headache. May I?”

I hesitated only a second before nodding. I didn’t know what he was going to do, but I had a feeling I’d like it and my budding headache wouldn’t.

He placed his thumbs against my temples, his strong hands wrapping around my head, his fingertips a warm pressure against the base of my skull. His thumbs started doing wonderful, circular things to my temples and his fingertips were doing likewise to the back of my neck. Oh my. I dimly heard myself make a little sound of contentment. No headache could survive that tactile onslaught.

“How’s that?” Mychael’s voice was a bare whisper, a deep, rich, wonderful whisper. It was his spellsinger’s voice. I closed my eyes and let it work its magic.

“Good,” I murmured. “Perfect even.” I might end up in a puddle on the floor, but I was fine with that. Puddles couldn’t have headaches, or not be trusted, or worry about kidnapped girls, or connections to soul-sucking stones.

I took a breath and let it out on a sigh. “So what do you think Banan wants with—”

“Shhhhh. Relax.”

I smiled a little. “That’s easy for you to say.”

“Apparently it’s not easy for you to do.” I heard the humor in his voice.

I opened my eyes. Mychael’s eyes were close to me— and so was the rest of him. I remembered what had happened last week at the goblin king’s masquerade ball when we were this close and my face was cradled in Mychael’s hands. My heart did a double thump at what we had done next.

“This isn’t relaxing,” I breathed.

Mychael’s blue eyes had darkened. “No, it’s not.” His voice was deeper, huskier.

I swallowed. “Relaxation’s way overrated.”

Mychael was close enough to kiss for the second time today. This morning we had Ronan Cayle and four Guardians watching us. No kiss then. No one was watching us now.

Mychael bent his head until his lips barely brushed mine. I felt the warmth of his breath and the rapid pulse of his wrists against my face. We stayed that way, breathing, barely touching. Then Mychael slowly moved his lips to my forehead, resting them there in a lingering kiss, a kiss that banished my headache, erased my tension, exiled my fatigue, and made my toes tingle. Spellsinger and healer. Nice combination.

“You’re a really good kisser,” I whispered, kind of dazed.

I felt Mychael’s lips curl into a smile. He gently tilted my face up to his.

“You should go to bed.” His voice was low and vibrant.

“Bed?” I was dazed, but I was liking it. Actually what I felt was a little tipsy. If this was what a master spellsinger could do to a girl, he could keep right on doing it.

“Bed,” he repeated, like he thought he wasn’t getting through to me. “You need to rest.”

I felt a giggle bubbling up. “Whose bed?”

Mychael blushed and lowered his hands from my face to my shoulders. Much to my disappointment, the tipsiness immediately started to go away.

“That would be your bed,” he told me.

I grinned crookedly at him. It might have been leftover tipsies, but I do believe I detected regret in that yummy voice.

Mychael took his hands off of my shoulders. “I’ll have Vegard bring your dinner to you there.”

Thanks to Mychael’s attentions, and my own exhaustion, I slept all night, and way later than I’d planned the next day. It was early afternoon before I left the citadel for the Conclave Scriptorium armed with a full Guardian escort and a letter from Mychael to get me past the front doors.

I could have easily found my way there by myself, but I played by Mychael’s rules and took Vegard, Riston, and a ridiculous number of additional Guardians with me. Vegard and Riston were uniformed, armed, and virtually plastered to my sides. If I had to draw a blade in a hurry, I’d have to knock one of them out of the way first.

The rest of my Guardian escort was there to keep anyone who might be after me from getting through their outer perimeter and into my immediate vicinity. They were keeping watchful eyes on the faculty, parents, students, and various visitors crowding Mid’s winding streets this time of year. Not surprisingly, everyone gave us a wide berth.

The Conclave Scriptorium never failed to make me stop and gawk like a tourist. Light reading was not something you came to do in the Scriptorium. Inside those granite walls was the largest and most complete collection of books, scrolls, tablets, and anything else you could write, scratch, or engrave words on in the seven kingdoms. Impressive would be an understatement. Overwhelming sounded about right. Not to mention the place stank to high heaven, magic-wise. I’d spent time in some mages’ private libraries, and while their bedtime reading material could pack quite a magical punch, it had nothing on the Scriptorium. Too long in this place could send a sensitive into magic overload that’d make your worst hangover pale in comparison.