Lisa Shearin - Armed & Magical

“What the hell do you mean, ‘perhaps’?”

I stepped up to the maestro. “Uh, Ronan, a lot happened since you got snatched through that mirror at Sirens.”

“So tell me.”

I pulled him aside and told him. I included what had happened to Piaras this evening, who was responsible, and what they had wanted. I finished with how Mychael might not be in charge anymore—and who probably was. I motioned Katelyn over and as delicately as I could, told her that Rudra Muralin had used a spellsong to attack her grandfather. I left Piaras’s accused involvement completely out of it. He was innocent, so as far as I was concerned, it didn’t enter into the equation. To Katelyn’s credit, she controlled herself better than I thought she would; apparently she wasn’t Justinius Valerian’s granddaughter for nothing.

To Ronan’s professional credit, he didn’t vocalize the choice words he was thinking.

“Mychael Eiliesor is still in charge,” Ronan insisted. He insisted, but he didn’t sound completely confident. He’d been on the Isle of Mid long enough to know the kind of political, backstabbing crap that passed for civilized behavior around here.

We’d find out soon enough if Mychael was truly in command, or in command in name only. I knew he wanted to protect me, but with Carnades Silvanus in charge, he might have to lock me up in the citadel, and Piaras along with me. He’d see it as continuing to protect us while still obeying orders. To keep the Guardians from being reduced to ceremonial guards or disbanded all together, Mychael had to remain paladin, even if it was an empty title for now. Like Justinius, Mychael had to pick his battles carefully. I didn’t like it, but I understood it.

Sometimes the only way to keep what you had was to do something you didn’t want to do.

I wanted to keep my freedom. I also wanted be rid of the Saghred. Staying on the island was my best chance to get rid of my bond with the rock, but Mid was also full of mages and bureaucrats who would want me and Piaras kept securely under lock and key. Protect us from others, protect others from us, study us, use us—the reasons were different, but they all meant the same thing.

No freedom. No lives of our own.

No way in hell.

Piaras stepped closer to me. “So where are we going?” he asked softly.

“To see which way the wind is blowing.”

Phaelan had said he was going to wait for us across the street from the elven embassy. I had no desire whatsoever to get within miles of that place, but I soon found we didn’t have a choice. When I got a glimpse of the harbor, it was obvious that Tanik Ozal’s slip was empty. Taltek Balmorlan’s yacht was still there, as were the Khrynsani and Mal’Salin vessels, but no Tanik.

Either Tanik had to suddenly get out of port, which, knowing Tanik, was hardly surprising, or something more nefarious had happened while I was gone.

Walking gave my brain time to ponder even more disturbing possibilities. If Rudra Muralin had killed me, he would have regained control of the stone. That scenario was bad enough, but it raised some even uglier questions. Would that work only for Muralin, or could any mage powerful enough kill me and be able to command the Saghred? And would the rock take anyone, or was it picky, like taking only the mage most likely to feed it? My father had starved the Saghred and lived nearly nine hundred years.

I just wanted to live.

Worse still was a realization that rolled my stomach, and made me want to get as far away from these kids as possible. If a spellsinger or magic user was killed and a drop of their blood landed on me, would the Saghred slurp their soul, using me as the straw? Just as long as no one died in my immediate vicinity, I wouldn’t have to find out.

So many questions, way too few answers.

Answers that, unfortunately, I could only find here.

I felt a touch and jumped. It was Tam; his arm had brushed my shoulder. He’d come up next to me and I’d never heard him. I was still thinking about slurping and straws.

I stopped, and Ronan and the kids waited a little distance ahead, giving us some privacy.

“It’s best that I leave now.” Tam lowered his voice to a bare whisper. “Whether Mychael or Carnades is in charge, it’s dangerous for you to be seen with me.” He glanced back at where Talon stood with Tam’s mages. “And I can’t risk my son, or the men who risked their lives to help me.”

“A high-powered group of guys,” I noted.

“Yes, they are.”

“Old colleagues?”

“And good friends.”

Tam was right about not being seen now. The Conclave and possibly now the Guardians saw things in black and white. Tam was gray, but now he was sometimes black. They didn’t know what to make of him.

To tell you the truth, neither did I.

“Do you know what you do to me?” Tam whispered.

I remembered the cell block and the alley. “I think I’ve got a good idea. You do the same to me.” I forced my voice to be steady. “Tam, I’m going to get rid of my link to the Saghred; once that’s done, it won’t be an issue anymore. We can go back to the way things were.”

His dark eyes glittered in the streetlamps. “You don’t believe that any more than I do.”

“No, I don’t. But I do believe in denial. My family’s developed it to an art form. Much like goblins and deception.”

“Deception for your own good,” Tam corrected.

“I’d like to be the judge of that from now on.”

Tam looked straight ahead, his profile stern. “When I tell you to stay away from me, I expect you to listen.”

“Expect?”

He glanced down at me, a faint smile visible in the lamplight. “How about hope?”

“You can hope all you want, just don’t hold your breath.”

Tam was silent for a moment. “Just because I am no longer married into the Mal’Salin family doesn’t mean they don’t ask favors from time to time,” he said softly, and in Goblin. “They have, and they will continue to do so. Some favors I can comply with—others may prove more of a challenge.”

“Like me.”

His lips curled into a quick grin. “I’ve always considered you a challenge.” The grin vanished. “Rudra Muralin has nothing to do with the Mal’Salin family, and he’s merely using the Khrynsani to get what he wants. And the family’s connection to the Khrynsani is—shall we say—fluid.”

“Good old goblin ‘shifting alliances.’ ”

Tam nodded. “King Sathrik Mal’Salin wants the Saghred—and you. He has made no secret of that. The same can be said of his brother Prince Chigaru.”

I remembered the prince’s hospitality from last week; so did Piaras. For Chigaru Mal’Salin, the end justified any means. And Sarad Nukpana was, or used to be, Sathrik’s chief counselor. Both Sathrik and Chigaru wanted to get their hands on the Saghred and do some smiting of their own, starting with each other. Sathrik was a new king who wanted to prove himself; Chigaru was an exiled prince looking for a throne.

“Have they asked for a favor?” Namely me.

Tam’s answer was silence.

“So what are you going to do about it?”

“Favors imply a sense of obligation or loyalty, and asking is not the same as receiving.”

And for Tam, or any goblin, a response was not the same as an answer.

I shook my head. “I’m beginning to believe Phaelan has the right idea.”

“What’s that?”

“Trust no one.”

“Do you trust me?” Tam said it almost too softly to be heard.

I hesitated, sighed, then reached down and took his hand. Tam’s fingers wrapped warm and strong around mine. The magic sparked between us, though this time it was warm and tingling, not violent and lustful.

“Though you’re the last thing I need,” I muttered.