Lisa Shearin - Magic Lost, Trouble Found

“You need to know.”

I sat back and blew my breath out. “Tell me about it. That’s one of the reasons I’m going to see Tam in the morning. He’s had plenty of firsthand experience with goblin court politics.”

Garadin was wearing his concerned look. I didn’t know if the look was because of Tam, goblin court politics, or the mess goblin court politics had gotten me into.

He leaned forward. “I don’t suppose you’d consider staying here?”

I shook my head. “Markus’s safehouses are shielded well enough to resist a Gate. And if the Khrynsani do come knocking, I’ll at least have enough time to get out.”

“I don’t like this.”

“That makes two of us.”

Going home sounded good in theory, but so did a lot of things that ended up getting you killed.

Just because I was going home didn’t mean I was staying there. Quite the opposite. I wanted anyone and everyone who might be following me to see me arrive home and then leave home—with luggage. There were things in my rooms that I needed. Once I had those things, I wouldn’t be going back home until I knew I wouldn’t be bringing trouble with me.

Garadin insisted on walking me and Piaras home. Normally, I would have turned down his offer. This morning I had no problem with the extra company. I had Piaras’s safety to consider, and if anyone with less than honorable intentions decided to follow us, it would be nice to know that I didn’t have to fight off whatever came at me and protect Piaras by myself.

I also had no problem wearing one of Garadin’s old cloaks. It smelled of tobacco smoke, but it covered up the goblin blood on my clothes. For the most part, Mermeian locals are a jaded lot. But dried goblin blood tends to attract attention—especially when worn by an elf. When fresh, it’s the same color as the elven variety. But as it dries it gets brighter, and unless you have a tendency to wear scarlet, there’s no hiding it. I was definitely overdue for a bath. A long soak would be wonderful, but it would have to wait. I didn’t have the time. Not to mention, if the Khrynsani or Guardians caught up with me, I’d rather not be in the tub when they did.

The three of us crossed the Arbor Bridge into the mainly commercial section of the Sorcerers District. The sun was just rising over the lagoon, and the streets were still hidden in shadow. Those who were up and about were either too sleepy or too intent on their own business to notice us.

I’ve lived in Mermeia for ten of my thirty years, and for most of that time, I’ve called the Sorcerers District home. Being an elf, you’d think I’d be more comfortable among my own kind, but to tell you the truth, we don’t have all that much in common. I think my family might have had something to do with that. They’re thieves—whether from the deck of a ship or the back of a horse, it’s the same profession. Highborn elven families have galleries of ancestral portraits. Phaelan has a collection of framed wanted posters, and he’s just as proud of them as if they had been rendered in oil by a fussy, overpriced court artist.

Many of the old blood made their old money much the same way as my uncle’s family, but they’ve swept it under the nearest hand-knotted Nebian rug. My relatives flaunt it. They may be thieves, but at least they’re honest about it. As a result, my family isn’t exactly accepted by most members of polite elven society. But considering what I know about most polite elven society, that arrangement suits me just fine.

My stomach growled. Loudly. When the sun came up, my stomach had certain expectations. Like being fed. Those expectations hadn’t been met, and my stomach was making its displeasure known. Maira’s bakery was on the way home, and I saw no reason why we shouldn’t stop for sugar knots. I knew Tarsilia wouldn’t mind in the least if we brought some home, and it would go a long way toward improving how Garadin and I felt. Nothing like hot, deep-fried knots of sugar-dusted dough to start the morning right. Maira’s it was.

Maira Takis had started out her career as a Conclave mage, but had traded it all in for the more peaceful existence of a baker. Everyone who lived on our street was grateful for her choice. The smell of Maira’s sugar knots in the early dawn hours made waking up worthwhile. Maira’s bakery was also popular with the city watch. Fortunately, there were no watchers in Maira’s at the moment. I’d have a hard time explaining the goblin blood.

Piaras went in while Garadin and I waited outside. I smiled and waved at Maira through the window. She smiled and waved back, then her smile froze. I looked down at myself and pulled my cloak tighter. I definitely needed to change clothes. I looked back in the shop. Piaras was laughing at something Maira’s assistant had said. To see him now, you’d never suspect that a few hours before, he was conjuring perfectly imaged werehounds with just the power of his voice.

“Have you or Tarsilia spoken to his parents yet?” I asked Garadin. Piaras’s parents lived in Rina, but they had sent him to Mermeia to apprentice with his grandmother and to study spellsinging.

Garadin shook his head.

“Tarsilia said he’s starting to get restless,” I said. “I’ve seen it, too. You need a plan before that happens.”

“I know.” A tiny smile creased his lips. “I’m recommending that he study with Ronan Cayle on Mid.”

I was shocked and impressed and didn’t hide either. It was common knowledge that Maestro Ronan Cayle considered himself a legend who only taught future legends. It was also common knowledge that he turned out the finest spellsingers the Isle of Mid and the Conclave had to offer.

“Piaras is that good?”

Garadin’s smile broadened, and there was pride in it. “He’s that good.”

“Maestro Cayle hasn’t taken a new student in three years.”

“Five,” Garadin corrected.

“You’ve asked him?”

“I sent a messenger two weeks ago. I know Ronan from my Conclave days. My recommendation should at least get the boy an audition before classes start next term. Though I’m not worried. Once Ronan hears Piaras, he’ll accept him. But I wanted to wait until I’d heard back before I wrote to his parents—or got the boy’s hopes up.”

An audition was more than most got. Garadin once told me that Ronan Cayle thought nothing of keeping hopeful students cooling their heels at the base of his tower for a year or more. Since most of those students had ambitions to match their egos, they tolerated the wait. I couldn’t see Piaras in that kind of company. I knew talent like his didn’t belong behind the counter at an apothecary shop, and I certainly couldn’t see him working for a noble family singing lullabies to spoiled children, or for a pock-faced lord, singing love songs beneath some noble lady’s window in his stead. Yeesh. It wasn’t like I’d never see Piaras again. The Isle of Mid wasn’t far, and my family had plenty of ships—some of which could still venture into Mid’s harbor without inviting cannon fire.

Piaras came out of the shop carrying a bag in one hand and a half-eaten sugar knot in the other. My stomach growled in response to the sweet, buttery smell. Piaras heard and grinned crookedly.

“Me, too.” He popped another knot into his mouth. “Sorry I didn’t wait,” he said around a mouthful. He opened the bag. “As long as we leave a couple for Grandma, I don’t see why we shouldn’t have some.”

Garadin and I fell to without further encouragement.

Mintha Row, where Tarsilia’s apothecary shop was located, was off the beaten path enough that for the most part, the only people who see me are those I trusted to see me. But this morning I wasn’t going to take any chances. Like Garadin, I valued my privacy. Also like Garadin, I tended to attract undesirable elements who didn’t care that I’d rather not have anyone lying in wait for me when I got home.