Lisa Shearin - Raine Benares 02 (27 page)

Phaelan
nodded approvingly. “Cheating to get what you want, ignoring the rules, and
defying authority. And to think some people are worried about the next
generation.”

The
dressing-room door opened and Piaras came out. Riston’s wife had gone shopping
for Piaras, too. I looked at him and just couldn’t stop looking. Formal and
formfitting black velvet doublet, black buckskin trousers, black boots. A fine,
white linen shirt gleamed through the slits in the velvet doublet. The clothes
were undeniably elegant.

And
Piaras was unmistakably grown up.

“Our
somber songbird is singing right after my exhibitionist self,” Talon was
saying. “That should soothe any offended sensibilities.”

Piaras
looked at me. “I wanted to go second.”

And I
knew why. The sooner he sang, the quicker we could leave.

Talon
clapped Piaras on the back and lowered his voice. “I knew which end of the box
the number two tile was in, so I helped him out.”

And
Piaras had to cheat to get it. First cheating, then possibly going on the run
from the law. I didn’t like that he was being forced to do any of it.

“Well,
I’m off to warm up my pipes,” Talon told me. “Don’t miss my act, gorgeous.”

“No
chance of that.”

Talon
left and it was just the three of us.

“Where
are the two of you going to be while I’m singing?” Piaras asked Phaelan and me.

“Right
here,” I promised him. “I’m not moving from this spot.”

Phaelan
was looking out into the theatre. “The old man just arrived.”

Justinius
Valerian was entering the best box in the house. Normally Mychael would be by
his side. Tonight it was Riston and three other Guardians I didn’t recognize.
Mychael was doing his best to be everywhere at once. If there was any trouble,
he wanted to either be there when it happened or just a few seconds away.
Vegard was backstage, along with enough Guardians to make me feel safe if we
decided to stay, or seriously outnumbered should we opt to leave. I wanted to
trust Mychael’s promised political asylum. Piaras and I had signed the papers
before leaving the citadel, but when push came to shove, some documents weren’t
worth the parchment they were scratched on.

In
the next box were Carnades Silvanus and a too-beautiful-to-be-real elven lady
wearing a gown of silver gossamer. Carnades had a date. I guess someone had to
find him appealing.

“I
need to go warm up, too,” Piaras said, and he didn’t sound excited about it.

I
didn’t want him to leave, and he clearly didn’t want to go.

“I’ll
be right here,” I promised. “Phaelan, I want you to go with Piaras.”

Neither
Phaelan nor Piaras liked that idea. I held up a hand to stave off any
arguments. “I’ve got a soul-sucking rock at my beck and call, and anyone who
wants to get their hands on me knows that. I’ve got plenty of magic muscle of
my own. And Vegard’s back there lurking somewhere in the shadows, aren’t you
Vegard?” I called over my shoulder.

“Lurking
and ready, ma’am,” came his voice from the dark.

I
spread my hands. “Plenty of firepower. Ample backup.” I lowered my voice.
"Phaelan, just take care of Piaras. And if things go to hell in a
handbasket later, just stick to the plan.”

I
stood on tiptoe and wrapped my arms around Piaras’s neck. He hugged me back,
tightly. We just stood there holding each other for a few moments; then I
stepped back, my hands on his upper arms.

“You’re
going to be magnificent,” I told him. I looked up into his dark eyes. “And
we’re going to be just fine,” I whispered. “Go warm up.”

He
and Phaelan disappeared into the area directly behind the stage where Ronan
waited to go through warm-ups with each of his students.

I
looked across the stage to the opposite wing. Tam was staring at me.

My
heart skipped a couple of beats. Of course Tam was here; it was his club. There
was nothing odd about him being backstage, nothing in the least. I
instinctively ran a hand down the side of my gown. One dagger, check.

Tam
and his nightclub staff wore all black, but no one wore black like Tam. Unless
my eyes deceived me, his shirt didn’t have any buttons. When it came to Tam, at
least my eyes had never lied to me. The shirt fell open, treating me to a view
of smooth, silvery chest.

I had
weapons. Hell, I
was
a weapon. So what if Tam was stalking around
backstage? I’d protect myself any way I had to. Problem was, I didn’t know if I
could do that to Tam. Bigger problem was, I didn’t know if I really wanted to
protect myself.

Moments
later the house lights blinked, and those in the audience who hadn’t yet taken
their seats hurried to do so. The lightglobes in the backstage area dimmed to
near nothing. I looked back across the stage.

Tam
was gone.

Shit.

Propriety
be damned. I slid the velvet of my gown up to my thigh and put one of my
daggers where it belonged—in my hand.

The
house lights went down and unseen musicians began to play in the near darkness.
I slipped into the shadows near the stage curtains where I could see anything
coming at me. Drums and two other percussion instruments established a languid
beat, and then the low, vibrant tones of a goblin flute joined with the melody.

Talon
Tandu appeared in a single, silvery spotlight, his slender form lithe, his
movements impossibly smooth and slow. In the stage light, it was nearly
impossible to tell where Talon’s silver silk trousers ended and Talon began.
His hair cascaded in ebony waves to just above hips that moved slowly in time
with the music, languorous, hypnotic. Every ear in the room was enslaved to his
voice; every eye was on his body.

His
tenor voice was rich and vibrant. His words were Goblin, his intent seduction.
His song reached every corner of the theatre, but the intimacy of his words was
sung for each listener.

Part
of me wanted to throw a tablecloth over him. Another part wanted to see more.
One word described him— feral. Talon was generating enough sexual energy to
power every lightglobe in the club. It was almost too intimate to be watched,
but I couldn’t look away—and I didn’t want to.

The
stage’s shields were to diffuse the effect of the spellsingers’ songs. They ran
from the footlights to the rafters, invisible unless you saw them from the
stage wings. From where I stood, they shimmered like a silvery net.

None
of Ronan’s students were going to do anything potentially lethal. Talon’s song
would make everyone horny, then Piaras’s lullaby would make them sleepy. There
was nothing wrong with either one.

Once
Talon’s final note evaporated, the audience erupted in thunderous applause. If
anyone had been offended, it sounded like they’d gotten over it.

The
stage had gone dark and Talon exited off the other side. I could just barely
see Piaras walking out onto the stage. When he reached the center, he stopped
and bowed his head. He stood that way for a few moments, then raised his head,
the light coming up with him. The single light illuminating him looked like
moonlight. The effect was enchanting.

If
Piaras was scared to death, I couldn’t see or sense it. His voice was rock
solid. There was no sign of nerves whatsoever, no hesitation or lessening of
intensity in the higher notes, and his low notes were resonant waves washing
over the audience, again and again. If the shields hadn’t been at full power,
they’d all be asleep. I looked out over the sea of upturned faces. Piaras had
them all in the palm of his hand. He could have done anything with them and
they would have loved him for it.

I
heard a sibilant whisper, and goose bumps prickled at the back of my neck and
ran down my spine. Only one thing did that—magic, power of the worst kind. The
whisper evolved into a singing voice, heartbreakingly beautiful and hypnotic.

And
gleefully malevolent. The voice carried whispered promises of unbearable agony
or the heights of ecstasy. Or both.

An
instant later, that voice hit me in the chest like a battering ram, knocking
the air out of my lungs and driving me to my knees.

Not
this time, you bastard.

I
took short, shallow breaths and fought to stay conscious. I grabbed the velvet
curtain and hauled myself to my feet. The voice was coming from above me. A
metal catwalk spanned the width of the stage. I couldn’t see him, but he was up
there. I had his psychic footprint in the center of my chest to prove it.

I
tried to swallow. “Vegard?” I whispered.

No
response.

“Vegard?”

Silence.
Really bad silence.

I
muttered my personal shields into place. I pushed down the pain and forcibly
dragged air into my lungs.

There
was a ladder mounted against the wall and I used it. I clenched my dagger
between my teeth, hiked up my gown, and climbed as fast as I could. Anyone
looking up from below would get one hell of a view.

I
reached the top and stepped out onto the catwalk.

There
he was, standing directly over the center of the stage. He was young and he was
perfect, like a fine sculpture, and just as ageless. His youthful beauty was no
glamour, no spell to trick the eye; it was all him. He turned and looked at me,
and the air between us wavered, his eyes becoming pools of darkness I could
gladly fall into and never want to find my way out of. I shook my head and
pressed the pommel of my dagger into my thigh until the pain was greater than
the desire to drown in those black eyes. I clenched my teeth and reminded
myself that those eyes had been the last thing thousands of elves had seen
before they were slaughtered in bloody sacrifice.

Rudra
Muralin smiled at me, never ceasing his poisonous song. He pointed in a direct
line out into the audience, and his smile broadened until his fangs were
showing.

The
stage’s shields were solidly in place—except for the foot-long gash where
Muralin had aimed his voice. I looked where the goblin proudly pointed.

Justinius
Valerian staggered to his feet, his hands clutching his chest—just as Piaras
finished his lullaby.

I
stared in dawning horror. I knew what he’d done. Rudra Muralin had attached his
song like a malignant leech to Piaras’s voice. A true master spellsinger could
kill with a lullaby. It was all in the intent.

To
everyone in Sirens, it looked like Piaras had just assassinated the archmagus.

There
were gasps from the audience and then the screams started.

“Two
birds with one stone,” Rudra Muralin said. “Or in this case, one song.” His
beautiful black eyes glittered. “Now it’s your turn.”

My
horror turned to disbelief as armed Guardians grabbed Piaras and forced him off
the stage. He had no idea what had just happened. The Guardians thought they
knew.

“
No!
He’s up here!” I screamed at them.

“They
can’t hear you, Raine. Even if they could, they wouldn’t believe you.” Muralin
chuckled. Even his chuckle was beautiful. “No one believes you.”

The
smarmy punk was right. He was also between me and the quickest way to Piaras.
He closed the distance between us and I let him. When he was close enough, I
tossed my dagger from my right hand to my left. When the goblin’s eyes
involuntarily flicked to the blade, my right fist took him hard in the temple.

The
cocky ones never shielded. I smiled in a baring of teeth.

The
ancient goblin absorbed the punch, and then he smiled right back at me.

Oh
crap.

I
never saw his fist coming. My shoulder and head slammed into the catwalk’s
metal grille. This is really bad, I thought while I could still feel my head.
My dagger clattered down the catwalk behind me, well out of reach. Then
Muralin’s full weight was on top of me, his lean body warm, his lips next to my
ear, whispering, discordant, feeding my disorientation, softly seducing me into
submission, coaxing me into unconsciousness.

Son
of a bitch! I raised my head and sank my teeth into his ear.

His
whispers turned to screams, then hissing. The spellsong lost its hold on me, my
vision cleared, and I used my knees and fists anywhere on Muralin that I could
reach. My growls joined the goblin’s hisses. I let go of Muralin’s ear and,
using every bit of body weight and leverage I had, shoved him off of me. I
tried to get to my feet, but my legs tangled in my gown. No gowns again.
Ever
. The goblin grabbed for me. I rolled away and out into empty air.

I
desperately grabbed the railing at the base of the catwalk. I didn’t fall, but
I was dangling at least thirty feet above the stage. A fall would either break
my legs or kill me. The backstage area suddenly erupted in shouts and panicked
screams. Terrified female shrieks.

The
dressing rooms. The spellsingers.

Muralin’s
hands grabbed my arms just above the wrist. Hands that felt like living stone:
cold, hard, and unyielding. I gripped the railing harder.