Lisa Shearin - Magic Lost, Trouble Found

The beacon thrummed against my chest, as if sensing an impending reunion, a little thrill of excitement to add to its happiness. As a result, my stomach experienced a similar sensation, though it was neither thrilling nor happy. My hand went to my stomach again. The wave of nausea wasn’t a remnant from the gondola ride.

“Ocnus was right. That’s the place.”

Mychael was right, too. There were plenty of elaborately be-gowned and bejeweled ladies to keep me company. Next to some of them, my gown was downright plain. And those were just the guests waiting in the corridor to be announced.

That brought up another problem I had.

Protocol demanded that we be announced to the other guests before we entered the ballroom. For the duration of that announcement, every eye in the room would be fixed on us—and most of those eyes didn’t belong to friendlies. Some of them belonged to goblins who had seen me and Piaras two nights ago. Not nearly enough time for us to have faded from their memory.

I was masked, hatted, and garbed in yards of velvet and silk.

I felt as naked as the day I was born.

“Is this necessary?” I hissed to Mychael.

“It is if you want to get into the garden.”

I thought he’d say something like that.

“I thought you didn’t want to attract attention,” I reminded him.

“The wrong kind,” he clarified. “Entering without being announced would be extremely rude to our host. That would attract attention that we do not want.”

“Far be it from me to be rude.”

Mychael wisely chose not to comment.

We stepped up to the threshold.

When we were announced, everyone turned and looked—and kept looking.

I felt like a mouse in a room full of hungry cats.

The ballroom took up the entire back of the embassy with floor-to-ceiling windows opening out onto a panoramic view of the gardens and the brightly lit harbor beyond. It was full of ships and was an impressive sight in the moonlight. I guess that was one of the advantages of being rich, you could enjoy a harbor view without any of the sounds or smells of the real thing.

Piaras stood next to me looking out at the view, and at the swirling riot of color as the guests danced. His mouth dropped open. I hooked a finger under his chin and closed it for him.

“Sorry,” he said.

“It’s a nice view,” I told him. “Enjoy it while you can; we won’t be staying long.”

“Good.”

While Piaras was enjoying the view, I noticed that more than a few noble ladies, both goblin and elven, were enjoying the view of Piaras. I glared a few of them down; a few more appeared to be more determined—or patient. I knew as soon as I left Piaras’s side he’d have plenty of company. Company I was determined he was not going to have, and certainly not at an embassy ball crawling with Mal’Salins.

The glass that covered the south wall wasn’t all windows. There were also glass doors opening onto the terrace. From there, stairs led down into the ornamental gardens, and beyond that to the mausoleum. Tonight the doors were open to admit the cool, night breezes, but no one was on the terrace to enjoy it. Protocol had once again reared its ugly head. Until the goblin king had made his entrance, everyone was encouraged to remain in the ballroom. And being familiar now with the goblin sense of the dramatic, I was sure Sathrik Mal’Salin would want to wait until all of his guests had arrived, so that his entrance would have the maximum impact. That being the case, we were due for an extended wait. However, I couldn’t see Sathrik cooling his heels in an anteroom somewhere until midnight. I know if I were throwing myself a party, I’d want to be there to enjoy it.

Once the goblin king had made his entrance, the count’s bride would suddenly be in dire and desperate need of fresh air. Being from the provinces, it would be her first trip to her new home, and she would be understandably overwhelmed by all the pageantry and excitement. And as an elven lady of gentle birth, she could hardly be allowed to wander alone in the gardens at an embassy ball. After all, there were trees and tall shrubs. Apparently the upper classes considered close proximity to foliage a threat to a lady’s virtue, even a married one.

Once in the shadows of the garden, we’d elude any wandering guards, and get on with the business at hand. At least that was the plan. I took a wait-and-see attitude about its success. It wasn’t that any plan I had been a part of lately didn’t work; it was just that they had a tendency to go off in unexpected directions.

A small goblin orchestra provided the music for the evening from a raised stage on the far side of the ballroom. The music they played was distinctly goblin—dark, dramatic, and faintly discordant. A tall, slender goblin crossed the stage to stand in front of the musicians. He wore a mask and costume, neither of which were elaborate or brightly colored, made of midnight blue velvet. His glossy black hair was pulled back with a single, silver clasp at the nape of his neck. He began to sing, without accompaniment at first, then with music evolving softly behind him. His voice was as rich and openly seductive as the formfitting velvet he wore.

Rahimat. Tam’s nephew—and Prince Chigaru’s spellsinger.

“Is that who I think it is?” Piaras asked, his voice a bare whisper.

“I can’t imagine it being anyone else.”

“But he works for the prince.”

“He’s also a spellsinger. A gig is a gig.”

Piaras looked at me. “You don’t believe that, do you?”

“Not for a minute.”

I don’t know what Prince Chigaru was thinking by having his spellsinger at his brother’s party. The room was crawling with Khrynsani. If the spellsinger tried anything with his voice that could be perceived as a threat, his performance would be cut short—along with his life. Or perhaps he really didn’t work for the prince. Goblins thrived on what they referred to as intricate alliances. I called it double-dealing, but their name for it sounded better. To hear Tam talk, it was a favorite pastime at the goblin court.

Piaras’s dark eyes never left the stage. “He’s about to do something.”

“What?”

“I don’t know exactly. It’s very subtle.”

I could feel it. I’m sure other sensitives in the crowd could feel it, too, but no one gave any outward sign. The volume of conversation did drop, so that the spellsinger’s voice could be clearly heard. Maybe the kid just got tired of no one listening to him. Maybe.

Garadin had completed a quick circuit of the room and was making his way back to me.

“Prince Chigaru has people all over the place,” I told him.

“Where?” He was calm, which was more than I could say for myself.

“The spellsinger, for one. He was at the estate in The Ruins night before last.” I decided to leave out the part about Rahimat being Tam’s nephew. Garadin already disliked Tam, no need to toss fuel on that fire.

“Then there’s the primari and her escort,” I added, “along with more than a few goblins not wearing black—any of whom who could be allied with either brother and up to no good.”

“These are goblin aristocrats,” Garadin pointed out. “Not many of them are up to any good. Like I said, there’s nothing like an assassination to liven things up. No one would blame us for seeking the safety of the gardens. If things get too lively here, we’ll have plenty of company to use as cover.”

Out of the frying pan and into the fire.

Mychael appeared at my side. That was disconcerting. I didn’t even realize he had gone. I had let myself be distracted. That wasn’t going to happen again. The goblin spellsinger had just finished his song, and the musicians were playing the first few notes of a favorite Mermeian dance tune, with a dark goblin twist, of course.