“Would Sarad Nukpana trust this nachtmagus?”
“Probably,” Tam said. “It’s his uncle on his mother’s side—Janos Ghalfari.”
“Damn.”
“Trust me, something stronger would be infinitely more appropriate. I’ve seen Janos at work. There’s nothing he hasn’t done, or at least tried; and if he liked it, he did it again. And when he stepped off of that goblin ship, he had Khrynsani temple guards with him.”
“Do you think Sarad Nukpana might have gone to the embassy?”
Tam shook his head. “Not a chance. Until he’s fully regenerated, he’s vulnerable. Rudra Muralin is still goblin ambassador, and both would like nothing more than to see the other dead. No, Nukpana wants and needs privacy right now. He cannot—”
The door opened and a Guardian stepped inside. “There is a lady here to see you. Imala Kalis. She said that you’re probably expecting her.”
Tam snarled a curse in Goblin under his breath.
Vegard laid a hand casually on the pommel of his sword. “If she’s trouble, I can tell her to go away.”
“She’s most definitely trouble, but no one has ever successfully made her leave.”
Vegard grinned in a flash of teeth. “She’s never been persuaded by a Guardian.”
Tam’s laugh was a short bark. “And you’ve never met the head of the goblin secret service.”
Chapter 7
When we’d arrived, the street outside Sirens had been fairly busy. Now not a soul was in sight—except for my Guardians and an equal number of equally well- armed goblins. Goblins were normally tall; these guys were taller than that, and would probably have looked just as big without all that black body armor. It was way too quiet; we were in the middle of a city and the only sound was the uneasy shifting of horses’ hooves on the cobbles and the occasional equine snort. That was just wrong.
Everyone was on horseback except for Tam and me and the Guardians who had been inside Sirens. Rathdowne Street was more of a broad boulevard than a street, but it was still entirely too full of armed goblins for my taste.
The sun was down, leaving only the faintest glow, and the streetlamps had been lit. Damn, I hadn’t meant to stay this long. Grim-faced Guardians were alert to any move the goblins made or were even thinking about making. I could have cut the tension with a spoon. Somehow I didn’t think that the first move was going to be friendly handshakes.
I counted ten goblins in the street in front of Sirens, with a pair guarding—or blocking—both ends of Rathdowne Street. The same number of Guardians had moved to cover them. Mid was under a dusk-to-dawn curfew, so what would have normally been a crowded street in the middle of the entertainment district was conveniently empty of witnesses for whatever was about to happen.
Guardians and city watch patrolled the city to enforce the curfew. Overhead, periodic plumes of fire marked where Guardian sentry dragons prowled the sky over the city, nimble and quick enough that their riders could land pretty much anywhere they wanted. If anything happened down here, any one of the Guardians with me could instantly conjure and launch a flare. Backup was just a fireball away. One of the goblins occasionally glanced skyward. They knew what was up there. It might be a deterrent; it might not.
One horse and its goblin rider were slightly out in front of the others. Since she was the only woman in the group, I assumed that she was Imala Kalis. Unlike some of her men, she didn’t look in the least bit tense; in fact, the goblin was smiling. Her face was half in shadow, but since that smile gave everyone a good look at a pair of tiny, white, and obviously sharp fangs, her intention could have been anything. But it had been my experience that social calls generally weren’t made with an armed escort. Imala Kalis could have brought two dozen mounted and heavily armed men with her for protection, or it could have been for persuasion. My bet was on the latter.
“You’re not going to invite me inside, Tam?” Imala Kalis’s voice was like a silk-covered stiletto.
“You, possibly,” Tam said coolly. “Your muscle, highly unlikely.”
“You’ve refused my invitations, so if I wished to speak with you, you left me no choice but to come to your place of business. And considering the present political climate, I could hardly make a social call by myself.”
I stepped out of the shadows to stand next to Tam. I was certain he’d prefer if I stayed out of sight, but I wanted a closer look at Imala Kalis—and I wanted her to get a closer look at me. My family doesn’t like being intimidated, and while I knew Tam didn’t intimidate, I wasn’t going to stand in the shadows while the lady played her little games. I’d ditched the fake blades; my own razor-sharp ones were now strapped in clear view across my back. Imala Kalis’s guards shifted uneasily at the sign of an armed elf. I didn’t hide my magical power; I didn’t flaunt it, either. It never hurts to let them know you’re packing.
Imala Kalis didn’t look uneasy or even a wee bit nervous. Her smile just got wider. “Mistress Benares, I presume.”
I bared my teeth to match hers. “Presumption correct.”
“I expected you to be taller.” She swung a graceful leg over her horse’s neck and dismounted, landing lightly on the cobbles.
Damned if she wasn’t shorter than I was. The streetlamps gave me a good look at her face. I have to admit I was surprised there, too. The head of the goblin secret service, the agent at the top of the ladder, the lady in the big office was . . . well, cute.
Her face was oval, delicate, and pretty. It’d been my experience that goblin women were tall and coldly beautiful. Imala Kalis was petite and perky. She looked like someone’s cute little sister, someone’s cute and deadly little sister. And I wasn’t the only one packing magic. Imala Kalis had nowhere near the level of talent that the Saghred had cursed me with, but it was obvious that she knew her way around a spell or two. She might be petite, but magically speaking she was no lightweight. Large, dark eyes shone with a keen intelligence and secrets, lots of secrets. One look at this lady told me that she probably had schemes and plots piled on top of motives, and she didn’t bother with alibis, or care who she had to kill. In other words, a perfect goblin.
Imala Kalis stepped forward and extended her hand. It was gloved; so was mine. A handshake between mages was more than a greeting. Skin-on-skin contact combined with a quick questing spell could let a mage assess the true power of another. That was one reason when mages got together there was a lot of head nodding and bowing going on.
I took two steps and accepted her hand, and there were hisses, a couple of growls, and one “shit” when I did it. The last one came from Vegard. I shook Imala Kalis’s hand because I wanted to and it would be rude not to. I also had three reasons why it was perfectly safe. One, I was wearing thick gloves; two, thanks to the Saghred, I was packing more than enough power to protect myself; and three, if Imala Kalis tried a questing spell on me, I’d be using my fist on her.
She looked in my eyes, and I think she knew all three. Her smile turned into a grin, and I swear the woman had dimples. A cute killer goblin with dimples. Damn.
“You are not what I expected, Mistress Benares.” She actually looked happy about that.
“You’re not exactly what I envisioned, either.”
“I get that comment quite often.”
“I’m sure you do.” And looking into those sharp, intelligent eyes, anyone would be making a fatal mistake if they underestimated her for one second. I wondered if those dimples had been the last thing some people had seen before being dispatched to their great reward. I shrugged. “What you see is what I am.”
“I very much doubt that.” Imala Kalis raised her voice to address her men. “Gentlemen, this is the lady who tricked Sarad Nukpana into feeding himself to the Saghred.”
The goblins with her grinned; a few chuckled darkly. I wasn’t sure if either was a good thing since both involved me seeing a lot of fangs. If a goblin wanted to kill you, they would prefer a single, efficient slash or stab; but like I said, in a down-and-dirty fight, they would use their fangs to fatal effect. I’d seen the aftermath before; it wasn’t pretty.
Tam stepped forward to stand at my side, so close I could feel his tense disapproval. He didn’t want me here.
“There is no love lost between the secret service and Sarad Nukpana—and his Khrynsani,” he explained. His voice was preternaturally calm, which meant that Tam wasn’t.
“Not to put too fine a point on it, Mistress Benares,” Imala Kalis said without taking her bright black eyes from Tam. “We each curse the ground the other walks on.”
I assumed she was talking about Nukpana and the Khrynsani, not Tam, but I wasn’t entirely sure.
Tam didn’t bat an eye. “It’s one of the few viewpoints we have ever agreed upon.”
Score one point for Imala Kalis’s people, though I wasn’t going to be in a hurry to give them any more. Like I said, she hadn’t brought that many guards with her because she was afraid of being mugged. This tiny woman didn’t get to where she was by being afraid of much, if anything. Tam towered over her by a good foot, and she showed no sign of stepping back; if anything, the lady looked challenged and happy about it.
“It is indeed convenient that you are here, Mistress Benares,” she said. “I’ve been asked to deliver this to you.”
She drew an intricately folded piece of parchment out of her sleekly tailored doublet and extended it to me.
I made no move to touch it. “And this is from . . .”
“Ambassador Rudra Muralin.” Imala Kalis flashed her dainty fangs. “Excuse me, my mistake—Ambassador Rudra Mal’Salin. False identities are so inconvenient to remember.”
Imala Kalis hadn’t forgotten a thing. I knew it and so did she. Rudra Muralin was a thousand-year-old goblin, the blackest of dark mages who had used the Saghred to slaughter thousands and enslave thousands more.
Rudra Muralin wanted the Saghred. He needed me dead.