Lisa Shearin - Raine Benares 02 (40 page)

“Phaelan,
I need to speak with Raine in private,” Mychael said.

My
cousin looked at me. “Would you like to speak to the paladin in private?”

“I
think I need to.”

“Fine.
Just yell if you need me—or all of us.”

“I’ll
do that.”

“Come
on, Piaras. Let’s give our girl some space.”

I
waited until Phaelan and Piaras were mostly out of earshot before saying
anything. I also stayed well out of Mychael’s reach. Trust is a wonderful
thing; caution is even better.

“I
thought Carnades took over completely if anything happened to the old man.” I
kept my voice down in case there were any eavesdroppers I couldn’t see. This
was Mid; the freaking lampposts probably had ears.

“Under
normal circumstances he would be. Circumstances haven’t been normal since you
got here.”

I
couldn’t keep a little smile off of my face. “Most girls get flowers or candy.
I get a declaration of martial law. What’s Carnades going to say about this?”

“Magus
Silvanus has had his say. Until Justinius is fully recovered, Carnades is the
senior-ranking mage. But until this island is secure, he is under the
protection of the Guardians in the comfort of his town house.”

My
little smile turned into a delighted grin. “You’ve got Carnades under house
arrest?”

“At-home
security precautions for a senior mage.”

“Call
it what you want. You locked him up to keep him out of your way.”

“Six
of my Guardians were ambushed and killed with military precision behind Sirens.
Piaras was knocked unconscious and put into a coach.” Mychael’s voice was tight
with restrained anger. “Both of these acts were committed by elves. I have two
eyewitnesses.”

“Three
if you count Phaelan,” I told him. “They were embassy guards. Taltek Balmorlan
wanted Piaras, so he took him.”

“I
had assumed as much. That’s why I came here.”

“To
rescue Piaras?”

Mychael
nodded. “And you. If Piaras was here, I knew you wouldn’t be far behind.”

“Correct
on both counts.” I hit the high points of the rest of our night, culminating
with Rudra Muralin’s vanishing act.

Mychael
listened, his face expressionless, his mind working, no doubt separating our
multiple near-death experiences into cold, hard facts he could legally act
upon, and nonprosecutable incidents. I had a sinking feeling where most of them
would fall—under nonprosecutable incidents with untouchable perpetrators. And I
couldn’t be entirely sure that he didn’t consider Tam one of those
perpetrators.

“Balmorlan’s
going to walk, isn’t he?”

“Probably.
Diplomatic immunity being the first of a long list of reasons. The confession
Balmorlan wanted Piaras to sign was that he had attempted to assassinate the
archmagus. To virtually everyone in Sirens, that’s exactly what it looked like.
Piaras is an elven citizen. No doubt Balmorlan will claim he was acting in the
best interests of the elven people, and the Conclave.”

I
couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Then again, I could. “He only acted in the
best interest of Taltek Balmorlan. He wanted to take Piaras off of this island
because of his voice, not his guilt.”

“Unfortunately,
we can’t prove intent.”

I
spat a word that expressed my feelings perfectly.

“I
agree. But that doesn’t change the law.”

“Then
the law sucks.”

“Sometimes
it doesn’t.”

I
snorted. “How?”

“After
Piaras was taken and you disappeared, Carnades wanted to convene the Seat of
Twelve and discuss our next steps. I didn’t agree with his plan. The archmagus
was nearly assassinated by a Khrynsani spellsinger, Nightshades had kidnapped
five students and our top maestro, six of my Guardians were murdered, Piaras
was abducted, and the first person to be able to wield the Saghred in centuries
was missing. In my opinion, martial law was not only justified, but called
for.”

“So
you declared martial law.”

One
corner of Mychael’s mouth turned upward. “There’s a statute that says there has
to be a two-thirds majority vote from the Twelve before martial law can be
declared. It’s a safety measure to keep a paladin from wresting power from the
Conclave.”

I was
stunned. “Two-thirds actually voted for martial law?”

“No
paladin has ever declared martial law, so it’s a little-known statute.”
Mychael’s blue eyes gleamed in boyish mischief. “So I didn’t ask them.”

I
grinned slowly in delighted amazement. “You broke the law.”

“Not
broken, merely bent it in the direction it needed to go.”

“Until
it squealed. First I corrupt Piaras, now you.” I laughed. “I’m a bad influence.
You want me to go home?”

Mychael
reached me in two strides, gripped my shoulders, and pulled me to him in a kiss
of desperate relief and long-denied need. His hands slid down my arms and
around my waist and back, enfolding and crushing me against him.

Heat
flared and spread through every part of me, and I felt breathless and
disoriented. Though that may have been from being crushed against plate steel.
I didn’t mind. I also couldn’t feel my feet on the cobblestones. It took a
moment to register that Mychael had lifted me off my feet.

He
raised his head and gazed down at me, his sea blue eyes as dark as sapphires.
“I didn’t know where you were, who had you, if you were hurt or dead. I was
tearing this island apart looking for you.”

“You
trashed your island for me?”

“I
thought I’d lost you.”

“You
almost did.”

He
briefly rested his lips against my forehead. “And I still could.”

He
gently set me back on my feet and reluctantly took his arms from around me, but
he didn’t step away. I was glad he didn’t. I could still feel his warmth—and I
wanted it.

Mychael
was worried about losing me to someone like Rudra Muralin or Taltek Balmorlan.
I didn’t tell him about the Mal’Salin family—and Tam and goblin favors and
shifting alliances. He’d probably find all that out soon enough.

Mostly
he meant the Saghred.

“Are
you ready to go home?” he asked quietly.

I
knew what he meant. The citadel. I knew I didn’t have a home anymore. Home was
where you felt safe, and until I felt safe in my own skin, I couldn’t call
anyplace home. Oddly enough, that didn’t bother me nearly as much as I thought
it would. In fact, it was liberating. I started to smile. Must be the Benares
seafarer in me.

“You’re
smiling.” Mychael’s voice was a husky whisper. “What is it?”

My
smile broadened and I took a step back from him. “No.”

He
was confused. “No, what?”

“No,
I’m not ready to go home. Mychael, I’m not going to be locked up, put in
protective custody, safe keeping, whatever. That’s not home. I can’t live that
way, and I won’t.”

He
stood utterly still. “Then you might not live.”

I put
my hand gently on his armored chest. “My choice,” I whispered. “And it has to
stay mine.”

“What
is your choice?”

I
thought for a moment. “For now, I’ll stay on the
Fortune
.”

“But
I can’t protect—”

“Mychael,
you can’t protect me anywhere. No one can.” I chuckled. “I’m way beyond protection.
You could lock me in the deepest containment room you had and I wouldn’t be
protected.” I paused and looked into those sea blue eyes. “You know that.”

I
took his silence as a yes.

“I
want my family around me right now,” I said.

“Then
Phaelan’s told you.”

I was
instantly wary. “Told me what?”

“Apparently
Phaelan’s father was on his way to Mermeia in case the two of you needed to
make a quick getaway.”

I
grinned crookedly. “That I knew.”

“He
also told his father that once he made port in Mermeia and if he hadn’t heard
from either Phaelan or you in three days, that he was to sail directly here.”
Mychael blew out his breath; it came out as a long-suffering sigh. “If the
wind’s good, you’ll have all the family
I
can handle by sun-down
tomorrow.”

“Uncle
Ryn’s coming to visit!” I couldn’t keep the excitement out of my voice and I
didn’t even try.

“And
he’ll stay as long as it takes,” came Phaelan’s voice from behind me. “The
paladin here has said there are mages on this island who can help you. Dad and
I will be around to ensure that it happens. The quicker it happens, the faster
we’ll leave. If the high-and-mighty mages don’t want pirates in their harbor
and town, they’d better start looking for some solutions to your problem. The
good paladin has agreed to uncloak and unward the
Fortune
. Kind of
defeats the purpose of having a ship if it’s just a big, wooden float.”

I
turned to Mychael. “And you approved this?”

“With
the understanding that Ryn Benares is here only as your concerned uncle, not as
Commodore Benares.”

I
snorted. “And you actually believe that’ll happen?”

“Yes,
it will,” said the steely-eyed paladin. “This island isn’t secure—but it will
be.”

If it
could be done, Mychael would do it; of that I had no doubt.

And
he was right—Mid was anything but secure.

Rudra
Muralin wasn’t going anywhere. Neither were the Khrynsani unless their lawyers
could work some serious legal magic. No one had seen Banan Ryce, but vanishing
into the woodwork was what Nightshades did best. Banan didn’t lead by example;
he led from behind. At the first whiff of Khrynsani, Banan had probably bolted.
No body, no Banan. The Nightshades we found in the embassy basements had been
goblin bait, pure and simple. Banan had lost some; he’d just recruit more.
There were always plenty of goblin-hating elves to fill his ranks.

Once
it became known that Piaras didn’t assassinate the archmagus and that we both
had played a big role in rescuing the spellsingers, some of Carnades’s
supporters might just switch sides. But the same ones who condemned us one day
and congratulated us the next could be back to witch hunting tomorrow.

And
some of them would never stop.

My
life’s goal was to get rid of the Saghred. Until I could get rid of my link to
it, to keep my life, I had to fight for the rock. Meanwhile, the temptation
would be there. The danger sure as hell wasn’t going anywhere.

I
could live with that.

Like
a starved monster crouching in a dark corner, the Saghred was waiting for me to
yield to temptation, turn my back, make a mistake, let my guard down.

I
smiled. I had some bad news for the rock—and worse news for anyone who tried to
take either it or me.

I’m
Raine Benares. My guard never comes down.

About the Author

Lisa
is the editor at an advertising agency. She has been a magazine editor and
writer of corporate marketing materials of every description. She lives in
North Carolina with her husband, two cats, two spoiled-rotten, retired racing
greyhounds, and a Jack Russell terrier who rules them all.

For
more information on Lisa and her books, visit her at
www.lisashearin.com
.

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