Lisa Shearin - Raine Benares 01 (39 page)

I
didn’t like it one bit.

I
wasn’t just being paranoid. I was being watched. The black-garbed Mal’Salin
guards and courtiers blended in all too well with the decorative shadows. They
were watching me; but to be fair, they were also watching everyone else. And
just because the official color for Mal’Salin guards was black didn’t mean
there weren’t watchful loyalists lurking around wearing silver gossamer or pink
butterfly wings. I was certain the embassy was positively seething with those
alert for troublemakers, and especially watching for me. While Sarad Nukpana
hadn’t requested that we attend the ball, I know he had to have been expecting
it.

Garadin
hovered by my side. Vegard was an oddly comforting presence just behind my
right shoulder. The blond berserker was as armed as he could be and not clank.
If all hell broke loose at some point in the evening, as a Guardian, Vegard was
more than qualified to acquire any weapons he needed from one of the many
Mal’Salin guards taking up useful space. I welcomed his company.

I
leaned over to Garadin. “You’d think if Sathrik was that paranoid about someone
trying to stick a knife in his ribs tonight, he would have just stayed home.”

“Murder
and intrigue are as natural to the Mal’Salins as breathing,” he told me.

“Then
Sathrik’s in for the time of his life tonight.”

I
tried to locate A’Zahra Nuru without being obvious. Considering the vision
restriction of wearing a mask, and the plumed velvet enormity that was the hat
on my head, doing anything subtle was next to impossible. But I tried, and I
looked, and I didn’t see the goblin primari. That was good and bad. I didn’t
want to run into her, but I also wanted to keep anyone who I knew was after me
in my line of sight. The beacon was no help. It just continued to hum happily.
I would have liked to have shared its positive outlook, but my other senses
that I had had for far longer, and trusted far more, told me otherwise.

I
just wanted to find the Saghred before Sarad Nukpana found me.

“Are
you ready?” came a deep voice close enough to touch.

It
was all I could do to keep both feet on the floor.

It
was Mychael.

“Don’t
do that!” I managed, once I got past my heart in my throat.

“Shall
we?” he said, offering me his arm.

I
hesitated, then placed my hand on top of his. “Let the fun begin.”

As we
made our way up the black marble staircase, I hoped that we didn’t draw too
much attention clumped together as we were. We were supposed to be the Count of
Eilde and his new bride just home from their wedding and honeymoon in Rina.
Accompanying them were her younger brother, Tamas, his tutor, and a pair of
bodyguards. Fortunately there were others who were similarly grouped. I guess
when most of your guests are from the aristocracy of various kingdoms, there
will be more than your fair share of burly types looking uncomfortable in
unaccustomed finery. That being the case, Vegard and Riston didn’t look in the
least bit out of place fidgeting with their embroidered collars.

Once
on the landing, I saw that the portion of the window not taken up with the serpent
crest was clear glass and gave me a good view of the gardens behind the
embassy. The moon was on the wane, but still provided ample light. On the edge
of the trees was a stone wall approximately head height.

Mychael
paused next to me. “That’s the outer wall of the temple ruins. The mausoleum is
at the center.”

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.

Mychael
held out his hand to me.

“It
would appear strange if the count did not dance with his bride.” His voice was
low and for my ears only. “I also need to locate any Khrynsani in the room. A
few turns around the dance floor should suffice.”

I
fought down a surge of panic. Not the life-and-death kind, but the
die-of-embarrassment kind. It was ironic. I was surrounded by Mal’Salins, and I
was afraid of dancing. But that didn’t stop my mouth from being suddenly dry.

“I
don’t dance.”

“You’ll
be fine.”

“No,
really. I don’t dance.”

“No
lady of any court moves with more grace than you.” He raised my hand to his
lips. “Trust me, you dance. Your feet will be fine.”

I
took his arm. It wasn’t my feet I was worried about. It was the shoes and the
hem of the gown that would trip both of them.

“I’ll
keep Master Tamas company,” Garadin said just loud enough that a Mal’Salin
retainer passing close by could hear. “You two children run along and have
fun.”

Mychael
merged effortlessly into the swirl of dancing revelers, and swept me along with
him. My gown’s wrist loop worked as promised, keeping my train off the floor
and out from under my feet. Surprisingly, after the first minute or so, I had
yet to land in a heap on the floor. With my nerves and complete lack of dancing
skills, it was nothing short of a miracle. Either that, or Mychael was that
good a dancer.

More
than one goblin in the room wanted the necklace I wore around my neck, and were
more than willing to take my head to get to it. Dancing next to them didn’t
seem to be the best way to remain inconspicuous. But at least I was moving,
which helped me to feel less like a sitting duck.