Lisa Shearin - Raine Benares 01 (38 page)

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.

“Raine?”
Piaras ventured from the plush upholstered seat next to me.

“Yes?”

I
couldn’t see his face, but I didn’t need to. Just hearing him say my name told
me he probably looked as scared as he sounded. I squirmed in my bodice in a
vain attempt to get a decent lungful of air. If I looked as uncomfortable as I
felt, we were quite a pair.

“How
much farther?”

From
the sound of his voice, he didn’t want to be any closer. The only place he
wanted to be was home. I’d like to be there myself. Under my bed sounded like a
nice, cozy spot. Piaras had never been into the heart of the Goblin District.
Piaras had never wanted to go, even on a dare from his friends. Not that his
friends would go themselves, or would many other elves, for that matter.

“We’re
almost there.” I reached out and gave his hand a squeeze. His fingers curled
around mine and didn’t let go. I was glad he didn’t.

“Are
you scared?” he asked quietly.

“Yes.”
I’d have to be seven types of insane not to be afraid of where we were
going—and who would be there waiting for us. I had an extra reason to be
terrified that had nothing to do with psychotic goblins. I’d be getting up
close and personal with the Thief of Souls.

Piaras
seemed to know what I was thinking and squeezed my hand reassuringly. “It’ll be
okay. We’ll all be there with you.”

That
would have been a comforting thought, except for the gnawing fear that having
my friends anywhere near me was as far from okay as it was possible to be.

The
Guardians guided the gondola around the corner at the clock tower that marked
the entrance to the Goblin District. I had always found it to be an inspiring
sight. On a normal night it would inspire a better than average case of the
creeps. Tonight it inspired that along with awe, intimidation, and a goodly
dose of terror. Maybe it was the circumstances, though I imagine it was exactly
the effect the Mal’Salin family was going for. No doubt Sarad Nukpana had a
hand in the party decorations that met King Sathrik’s guests as they made their
way up the Grand Duke’s Canal to where it flowed past the steps of the goblin
embassy.

The
buildings in the Goblin District were of arched stone and gleaming marble—both
were dark and built to be as imposing as possible. At least that was my
impression of goblin architecture. But for all I knew, goblins thought it was
cozy and reminded them of home. Gates were of intricately twisted wrought iron,
and the tops of most, if not all, ended in a sharpened point. The streetlights
glowed a dim blue. Supposedly the lighting was for the comfort of sensitive
goblin eyes. That may be the case, but in my opinion, the goblins just did it
to discourage visitors. It worked. I certainly wouldn’t come here for an
evening out.

Apparently
the goblin king’s party planner was looking to maximize the effect tonight.
Caged torches mounted on tall metal spikes were spaced at regular intervals on
both sides of the canal. The torches blazed with blue flames easily two feet
high. The long shadows cast from those flames gave the impression that the
buildings were looming out over the canal—and over the guests’ gondolas that
traveled it. Mounted on the spikes were twin banners in the crimson and black
of the House of Mal’Salin. Between the banners was a burnished shield that was
easily an arm’s span wide. The shields were emblazoned with the family crest
that Piaras and I were all too familiar with—the double serpents surmounted by
a crown. The crests were inlaid with red enamel that glowed with a life of
their own. In the torches’ light, the snakes on the crests seemed to writhe
against the steel.

Then
there was the warm greeting of the Mal’Salin royal guard in full battle armor
standing at attention, illuminated by the blaze of the torches. They were spaced
every twenty feet or so on both sides of the canal, and in addition to the
usual curved daggers and sabers, each carried a slender spear with a
particularly lethal-looking hooked blade at the top.

Piaras’s
hand had started to sweat. Or maybe it was mine.

“This
was not a good idea,” Piaras said from between clenched teeth.

“There’s
nothing wrong with the idea,” I tried to reassure him—and me. “Just the
welcoming committee.”

I was
determined not to be scared. The trappings of terror decorating the canal banks
had Sarad Nukpana’s name written all over them. Once again, he was only trying
to frighten me so that I couldn’t fight him. I wouldn’t let him succeed.

But
that didn’t stop him from doing a damn fine job.

The
steps of the goblin embassy extended down into the canal. As we neared the
steps, the gondola pilots guided their boats into a single line. When their
passengers had safely disembarked, they pulled away, making way for the next
guests. I say safely, because due to both the costuming and masks, maneuverability
and visibility were at a minimum for some partygoers. There were goblin footmen
there to assist, but I wasn’t about to take any proffered hands, especially if
they belonged to someone working for the Mal’Salin family. I would rather risk
going for an unexpected swim. I needn’t have worried. Mychael jumped out first
and gallantly offered his hand to me. And once he had it, he didn’t let go.
Considering where we were, I didn’t mind.

Piaras
stepped from the gondola by himself without a stumble. Just before we had
disembarked, he had given my hand a firm squeeze, then stood resolutely, his
jaw set. My little brother was growing up.

I
looked at Mychael standing by my side—and kept looking. He was magnificent.
Regal in the purple and gold of an ancient Pengorian knight, the paladin’s
surcoat looked almost black in the flickering torchlight, entwined vines and
leaves finely embroidered in gold thread on the soft suede. Mychael’s mask was
etched gold, the perfect setting for those glorious blue eyes. The costume, the
embassy, a king’s masked ball. Mychael clearly belonged here. I didn’t.

He
caught me looking. I quickly glanced away.

I
felt him raise my hand to his lips. “You’re beautiful,” I heard him murmur.

I
didn’t know what to say. I’d never been very good at compliments, especially
those addressed to me.

He
smiled and kissed my hand again, taking his time before draping my arm over his
to escort me inside.

To
get inside, all of the guests had to walk up the stairs flanked by yet more
royal guardsmen sporting enough enameled steel to anchor a ship—or sink one.
They didn’t seem to mind the weight. They also didn’t seem to blink. Eerie.
Though I’m sure the Mal’Salins frowned on such displays of weakness. And when a
Mal’Salin royal frowned, heads rolled, or so I’d heard.

At
the top of the stairs, I saw a small goblin lady, her bearing regal, wearing a
gown of the most ethereal fabric that I had ever seen. The color shifted and
shimmered with the torchlight. Her hair and face were completely covered by a
pale cloud of a veil that fell past her shoulders. Beneath that, she wore a
mask as well. She reached out one tiny, gloved hand and placed it lightly on
the arm of a goblin who was dressed as a jester, but he apparently had left his
good humor at home. His bearing was straight, either from naturally good
posture or tension. Considering where we were, it could have been both. I might
not be the most nervous person here tonight, but I think I had the most reason.

The
lady tilted her head to look up at her escort as he said something to her.

I
knew her.

I
tried to get as close to Mychael’s ear as possible. Not easy in my hat.

“The
couple at the door, the small goblin lady…”

“Yes?”

“A’Zahra
Nuru.”

“Are
you sure?”

“Positive.”

“Do
you recognize her escort?”

“No,
but he’s probably one of the prince’s courtiers. He’s too short to be the
prince.”

“Well
then, let’s see if they get in.”

I
wasn’t anywhere near as casual about it as Mychael, but on a positive note, at
least I knew what the primari was wearing. Chances were once she was inside,
she would be meeting Prince Chigaru. If I couldn’t avoid my enemies this
evening, it’d at least be nice to spot some of them before they spotted me.

The
goblin primari gave her invitation to one of the guards at the door. He looked
at it and then at her. He returned it to her and the door opened. She started
to step across the threshold, then paused, glancing back over her shoulder. The
beacon still vibrated happily inside my bodice. I fought the urge to cover it
with my hand. I knew the gesture wouldn’t do any good and would only draw
attention.

A’Zahra
Nuru paused a moment longer, then she and her escort entered the embassy.

Now
it was our turn.

The
guard gestured us forward. Mychael swept up the steps without hesitation.
Piaras, Garadin, and I followed with Vegard and Riston Kirkwode, the
dark-haired Guardian from Tam’s place.

The
guard scrutinized the invitation then our masked faces, each in turn. I hope
the Count of Eilde, or his politics, hadn’t bought us more problems than perks.
The guard turned to confer with a superior. The officer was checking another
invitation, and the guard had to wait until he was finished. Next to me, Piaras
took a breath and held it. While he did that, I entertained myself by wondering
which was closer—the dagger in my bodice, or the throwing knives in the hidden
pockets of my gown.

Mychael
waited seemingly without a care in the world. He even began humming a tune
currently popular in the eastern kingdoms. He had nerve. The humming continued,
and with it came a smile. It was contagious. A corner of the goblin guard’s
mouth turned upward. He turned away from the still-busy officer and returned
the invitation to Mychael.

“There’s
no need to keep you waiting, sir. On behalf of His Royal Majesty, King Sathrik
Mal’Salin, I bid you and your guests welcome. Please enter.”

“It’s
not the song that matters, but how you sing it. Or in this
case how you hum it,” Mychael was explaining to an
amazed Piaras. “A light and friendly tune to inspire light and friendly
thoughts.”

I
really didn’t care how he did it, I was just grateful that he had. I kept
telling myself that there was probably nothing to the sentry’s reaction to
either our invitation or to us. But it would take more than my own assurances
to convince my heart rate to return to normal. Call me insecure.

While
we waited our turn to enter the ballroom, I took the opportunity to familiarize
myself with the lay of the land. Others were obviously doing the same thing,
but I was probably the only one, or at least one of the few, looking around in
case I needed to make a quick getaway. The floorplan of the goblin embassy was
similar to that of other great houses along the Grand Duke’s Canal. The first
floor was reserved for entry and less important rooms. Mermeia was prone to
flooding, and no noble wanted to constantly have to rescue the ancestral
portraits and Great Aunt Gertrude’s favorite chairs from rising waters.

We
were in a lavish reception area, with an imposing staircase that swept up to a
landing in front of a massive stained-glass window, again featuring the House
of Mal’Salin crest. From there, the stairs split to either side to continue to
the third floor, and the grand ballroom. All around us, guests were removing
the outer cloaks they had worn to protect their finery. Piaras and I had left
ours in the gondola. We had no intention of leaving the way we had come in.
Since the count had been nice enough to loan us everything we needed for the
evening, it would be rude to knowingly leave behind something we had borrowed.
In my mind that also included returning the costumes we were wearing without
any unsightly slashes, holes, or bloodstains.

The
lighting in the embassy was dim enough for goblin comfort, but bright enough so
that the elven or human guests wouldn’t bump into each other. As in Tam’s
place, the lighting was purely for theatrical effect. Playing tricks on the
eyes with light and shadow.