Lisa Shearin - Magic Lost, Trouble Found

I stifled an unladylike word. The Benares in me made a small sound and reached for the strand. Maybe the gown wasn’t so bad after all.

I pulled my hand back. “But I can’t take the beacon off.”

Mychael moved behind me with the diamonds. “You don’t have to. If I may?”

I swept my hair up and away from my neck. I didn’t know what he was doing, but he seemed to, and since what he was doing involved the most diamonds I’d ever worn in my life, I decided to give him the benefit of a doubt.

“Pull the beacon out of your shirt,” he said.

I did.

“Hold it against your chest and remove the chain.”

I turned my head and looked at him. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. It’ll be fine.”

“I’m not worried about it; I’m worried about me.”

He was grinning like a little boy again. Irresistible. “Just do it.”

I held the beacon against my breastbone with one hand and slipped the chain out of the loop at the top of the beacon with the other. Mychael’s hand came around from behind and handed me the end of the jeweled rope. I looped it through. It could have been my imagination, but the beacon’s happy purring sounded just a little bit happier. Looked like I wasn’t the only one who liked diamonds.

Mychael fastened the clasp, his hands warm against the back of my neck. That felt even nicer than the weight of the diamond rope. I lowered the beacon back into my shirt, my hand lingering on the diamonds. A masked ball might not be so bad.

Piaras wasn’t going to be spared the indignity of fancy dress either. Mychael had suggested a substitute. One of his Guardians was about the same height and build as Piaras, and in costume, would pass as the spellsinger until it was too late for Nukpana to do anything about it once, or if, he found out. Piaras didn’t insist on reading the letter, but he had insisted on this. He said that the goblin would know instantly that it wasn’t him, and he wouldn’t endanger his grandmother by unnecessarily angering the goblin grand shaman. I agreed with his reasoning, but I didn’t like having him within a hundred miles of Nukpana. Piaras said that he was willing to take that risk. Everyone else would be risking their lives, he wouldn’t be an exception.

The door opened. We all turned to look.

It was a six-foot-tall peacock.

“Tell me you’re joking, sir,” the peacock said to Mychael.

The voice was Piaras’s, but I didn’t recognize anything else. I just stared in open-mouthed astonishment. My second of the evening. Mychael and Garadin just looked stunned.

Piaras was dressed in golden brown, vibrant blue, and iridescent emerald green. His doublet was rich blue velvet, short and formfitting with delicate silver embroidery representing peacock feathers and a dark jewel at the center of each feather’s “eye.” The cloak was a matching blue silk covered entirely with actual peacock feathers. It was tied dueling cloak style with a silver cord, under his sword arm and over the opposite shoulder. Of course with the goblin king’s request, Piaras wouldn’t be carrying a sword. The trousers were formfitting golden brown suede with matching high boots. The silver mask was inlaid with sapphire and emerald enamel, and was adorned with more feathers that curved to conceal some of Piaras’s dark curls.

To say the costume was a bit much would have been the ultimate understatement, but both it and the young elven spellsinger were breathtakingly beautiful.

I had to say something. “Now you can’t tell me that won’t attract attention.”

Mychael looked like he was reconsidering his grand scheme, or at least Piaras’s part of it.

A victory. Yes. At this point, I’d take what I could get.

The goblin king’s masked ball was being touted as the event of the social season. Call me a pessimist, but I couldn’t help but think of it as hunting season, with me as the prized catch being delivered dressed and trussed to the hunter’s front door.

The beacon seemed to think it was about to get what it wanted. At least that was the impression I got. It was hard to believe it had only been three nights since Quentin had stolen the beacon and given it to me for safekeeping. Ever since then, the beacon had either been completely silent, or trying to kick a hole in my chest. After we set out from the count’s palazzo, the beacon had settled down to a gentle hum in time with my heartbeat. Glad to know one of us was happy with our destination.

To help keep gondola traffic moving on the canals, and to avoid any flaring tempers that might result from gridlock or clashing cultures, classes, or magic, the mayor of Mermeia had ordered all members of the city watch, not otherwise assigned, to traffic duty. I know the watchers loved that. They were angry, they were armed, and most importantly, there were five of them at every major waterway intersection. There were more than a few aristocrats in town for Sathrik’s little get-together; aristocrats who felt entitled to go where they wanted, when they wanted, and to answer to no one when they went there.

Our city’s finest were there to tell them otherwise.

In an elaborately draped and gilded gondola to our port side, a Pengorian noble was being issued a stern warning for failure to yield to a smaller vessel. It probably wouldn’t have gone any further than a warning, but when the indignant Pengorian in question started shrieking about his privileges in this and any other city, the watcher said nothing else and promptly began writing him a ticket. As we turned the corner at the bell tower, I could still hear the noble’s shrill protests.

It warmed my heart.

Though what filled me with less than a glowing feeling was the rolling motion caused by the heavier than normal traffic on the canals. My normal—and entirely rational, I might add—fear of drowning had little to do with my present discomfort. I tried to focus on the unmoving building in front of us, rather than the all-too-moving water undulating below me. My eyes believed the deception. My stomach didn’t buy it for a second.

In addition to his house and invitations, the count had given Mychael the use of his gondolas. While thankfully not as extravagant as some of the floating palaces attempting to make their way to the embassy without tipping over, the count’s gondolas were sleek and tastefully elegant. Some of Mychael’s Guardians were outfitted in the count’s house livery of blue and white, and were piloting the gondola Piaras and I were in along with Mychael. The count’s other formal gondola was to our starboard, also with a full complement of Guardian oars-men with Garadin and Vegard looking miserable in his borrowed finery.

Weapons wouldn’t be allowed in the embassy, and any who tried to defy the royal edict would be denied entrance. We all needed to get inside, so we played by the rules—to a point. Elaborate costuming allowed for all kinds of places to conceal a small blade or two, or three or four, or more in my case. I was wearing enough steel to make me feel as comfortable as possible, considering the circumstances. And I made sure Piaras was similarly armed. The problem being, I was sure plenty of King Sathrik’s guests were thinking along the same lines. So unless Sathrik wanted to kick most of his guests out, he was going to have to make a few concessions.

Piaras and I were both masked and wore dark, hooded cloaks. Mychael had determined, and Garadin agreed, that with most of the high nobility from the seven kingdoms in attendance, Piaras’s costume wouldn’t stand out in the least. Besides, it was the only costume in the count’s trunks that fit him. I took a wait-and-see attitude. I had to admit that this was one time I didn’t want to be able to say “I told you so.” However, as an extra precaution, Mychael had asked us to sit in the section of the gondola near the stern that was draped from view. Neither of us had objected.