Wedding Bells, Magic Spells (28 page)

Tam stepped forward. “No hands necessary, Markus. I too must confer with my king, but I am certain that the goblin army will gladly and eagerly meet the Khrynsani and their new allies on the field of battle.”

“The warriors of Mylora’s clans will be honored to fight beside you,” Herryk Geirleif said.

One by one, the ambassadors pledged their kingdoms and armies to meet the invaders and defend our world.

Except Nebia.

Aeron Corantine turned on his heel and, without a word, left the room.

“In the vernacular of my people,” Herryk Geirleif said after the Nebian ambassador, “fu’qut yiu.”

I turned to Vegard. “What does that mean?” I whispered.

“Exactly what you think it does.” He grinned. “I told you my people get to the point.”

Mychael and I were to be married tomorrow morning.

For the past few weeks, I had been thinking of tonight as the make-or-break event between myself and my future in-laws.

However, nothing puts things in perspective like an impending invasion.

Impending, not immediate.

Magic makes noise. It doesn’t matter what kind. The sound of a spell being woven is less noisy than an incantation to create a magical construct. However, tearing a rift big enough for one of those battle dragons to fit through would deafen every magic sensitive within a hundred miles.

Tam and the Caesolian ambassador had proposed a theory that sounded more plausible with every passing hour. There was an uninhabited continent to the west of Rheskilia and Caesolia across the Sea of Kenyon. Explorers from both kingdoms had visited it over the centuries and found it to be dry, barren, and inhospitable—which was why no one had ever bothered to claim it. No one wanted to live there, but for an off-world invader looking for a base of operations from which to launch attacks on the Seven Kingdoms, it would be perfect. The Khrynsani would know about it, and a rift opened there would be far enough away that it wouldn’t be heard.

Perfect for an invader; better for us because it would give us time. Not much, but it was something.

Mychael and I had decided that unless the invaders were pounding on the citadel’s gates tomorrow morning, we weren’t putting off our wedding again. We’d get married and then prepare for war. All of us were overdue for a night off. Brant and Edythe Eiliesor had met me—now it was time for them to meet my family.

I had been dreading this moment since Mychael had asked me to marry him. Now, I was kind of looking forward to it in a finally-getting-it-over-with kind of way. I wanted everyone to like each other, or at least pretend they could get along, but there were more important things in my life right now, and at the tip-top of that list was Mychael Eiliesor—the man I loved, the man who loved me, and the man who was going to become my husband tomorrow morning. That made me unspeakably happy, and how my family and in-laws did or did not like each other no longer mattered. I couldn’t control it, I couldn’t change it, so I wasn’t going to concern myself with it any longer.

We’d be having a reception after the ceremony tomorrow for those attending the wedding, which meant our families and closest friends. Tonight’s party was to have been more of a political necessity. Mychael was paladin of the Conclave Guardians, sacred protector of the archmagus, the Seat of Twelve, and the Conclave of Sorcerers. I loved the archmagus, I adored half of the new Seat of Twelve, but the senior members of the Conclave who I’d met so far weren’t what anyone would call sociable. I told Mychael that if he could tolerate them for a few hours, so could I.

We had also extended invitations to the peace talks delegates. This morning, the Seven Kingdoms’ ambassadors had gotten a good look through that rift at what was coming for us. Between that and the peace talks, they deserved some fun. The delegations had accepted our invitation with the exception of the Nebians. No surprise there. The rest of the delegates actually seemed to be becoming friends. The threat of annihilation had turned antagonists into allies. The drugged ink had helped the Caesolian ambassador find his courage. The later realization that he’d gotten into a heated debate with Tamnais Nathrach and survived had helped him keep it. Though the first thing he’d done on arrival this evening was to apologize to Tam for his uncalled-for behavior. Tam had apologized in turn for any of his words that might have caused offense. Each graciously accepted the other’s apology—mostly because, thanks to the drug, neither remembered anything they’d said.

One thing we hadn’t bothered with tonight was a “no weapons” declaration. Asking any of my family to go anywhere without weapons would be like asking them to show up naked. Phaelan wouldn’t have minded—the naked part, not being weaponless—but the rest of my relatives wouldn’t have been amused.

Tonight was about celebrating a marriage, not laying down a bunch of hopefully unnecessary rules. Considering that these were mostly our family and friends, no one should be drawing steel on anyone else.

There were at least a hundred people gathered in the closest thing the citadel had to a ballroom. We’d told our families and friends what we had seen this morning through that rift and what it meant. We also warned them that Sandrina Ghalfari and her shapeshifter could still be on the island. Of the guests, fourteen belonged to the Benares family, all of whom could and would kill with steel. Then there was my adoptive family, all of whom could and would kill with spells—and of course, Tam who would gladly drop a hopeful assassin with one word. Rounding out our party guests were some of the most powerful mages in the Seven Kingdoms, and enough Guardians to make me feel warm and fuzzy. Vegard was close by and keeping watch, but not so close as to impose on any conversation.

Tonight I was wearing one of several gowns Alix had made for me. I was about to become the paladin’s wife, and there would be occasions that required—or at least strongly suggested—formal attire. I’d wear gowns for those events, and Alix had made them to my specifications. I’d had the Guardians’ armorer make an armored bodice for me that would fit under any of Alix’s creations. Sometimes a girl felt safer wearing a little steel between herself and a potentially hostile outside world. Considering that we were on the verge of an invasion, tonight was one of those times. In addition, the present fashion of long, voluminous skirts left all kinds of options open. For the foreseeable future, my idea of formalwear would involve form-fitting trousers under detachable skirts. Yes, you heard me. Detachable. My life was worth more to me than any snooty mage or professor’s idea of propriety. Not to mention, as far as I was concerned, my body was absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. For confirmation on that opinion, I’d gone straight to the top. I’d asked the paladin himself. He’d wholeheartedly agreed that I could shuck my skirts anytime I wanted to, and would look good before, during, and after I’d done it.

The particular gown I was wearing this evening didn’t have the detachable skirt option, but it did have room for my armored bodice, and pockets in the side of the skirt that would let me access the daggers strapped to my thighs. The gown itself was a stunning shade of peacock blue, my hair was up in an intricate twist, and for the first time in a long time, I felt gorgeous. Mychael came up behind me and nuzzled my neck. Again, the paladin wholeheartedly agreed.

“So far, so good,” he murmured against my neck.

“At least there hasn’t been any bloodshed.”

“And there won’t be any. I think it’s going exceptionally well.”

I had to agree.

We’d started Mychael’s parents out light by introducing them to Garadin and Tarsilia. That had gone well, so we moved on to Eamaliel. He’d utterly charmed both of them, so we’d thrown caution to the wind and introduced them to my Uncle Ryn and Aunt Deira, and then to Phaelan and his brothers and sisters. However, as long as the peace talks were underway, we couldn’t introduce Mago as a Benares. Isibel introduced him to her parents as elven diplomatic attaché, Mago Nuallan, and the last I’d had seen, he was working his magic on them both.

Mychael stole another kiss, then sighed. “We don’t want any of our guests to feel neglected, so we need to try to speak to as many as we can. I’ll go to the right, you go to the left, and we’ll meet at the bar. How does that sound?”

“It sounds like a plan. I have to do some small talk, but there’s a reward at the end.”

“Me?”

“And a stiff drink.”

I started on my rounds. Markus was here and feeling much better than this morning. The director of elven intelligence had two dates this evening—Brina and Dalis—and neither was about to let him out of their sight.

Thanks to the Rak’kari infesting the Void, Brina Daesage had only had the clothes on her back, so I’d given her access to my wardrobe, and she’d chosen an outfit of head-to-toe black. Leather. We were about the same size, but let’s just say that Markus’s bodyguard was more abundant in certain areas than I was. So while my leathers fit, we’d had to adjust the lacings. The results had not gone unnoticed—especially by Phaelan, who’d just come up beside me.

“Who is
that
?”

“Brina Daesage, Markus’s chief of security, and the woman who will run you through if you so much as look at him wrong.”

Phaelan flashed a quick, wicked grin. “What if I look at her right?”

“She’ll probably run you through twice.”

Phaelan’s eyes glittered in unspoken challenge.

“Uh, what about Isibel?” I asked.

My cousin’s eyes stayed on Brina as his brain tried to process what I was asking—and who I was talking about. His brow creased with the effort. Phaelan was a brilliant tactician, a cunning strategist, and you did
not
want to play cards with him, but when he saw a woman he was interested in…Well, his mind didn’t cease to function; but all his cunning and brilliance was rerouted to below his sword belt.

Phaelan looked at me, his dark eyes surprisingly lucid. “I’m a pirate. It’s all I know how to do, and I’m good at it.”

“Very good,” I agreed, a little confused as to where this was going.

“Isibel Eiliesor is an ambassador. It’s what she’s always wanted to do.” Phaelan glanced over to where Isibel and Mago were laughing at something the Caesolian ambassador had just said. “And she’s good at it,” he added quietly. My cousin’s smile was wistful. “Could you in all honesty see the two of us together?”

I smiled fondly and tucked my arm through his. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but no.”

Phaelan nodded toward his older brother. “I could see Isibel and Mago together.”

I considered the possibility for a moment. “Me, too.”

My cousin lowered his voice. “He told me that if Markus’s offer is still good, he’ll turn in his resignation at the bank.”

“Really? I knew he was thinking about it. He’s ‘thought’ about changing careers before, but it’s never gone any further.”

Mago and Isibel were making their way through the crowd, and my cousin’s hand was on the small of Isibel’s back.

My smile broadened.

It appeared my cousin the banker wouldn’t be a banker for much longer. The threat of war made you realize what was important, and sitting in a corner office playing with other people’s money wasn’t it. Mago could do a lot of good working for Markus. I stifled a chuckle. I could only imagine what the possibility of another Benares with another Eiliesor would do to Edythe.

Phaelan straightened his doublet. “I should pay my respects to Markus.”

I glanced over to Markus—and Brina—and raised an eyebrow. “To Markus?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sure he will appreciate your consideration.”

My cousin picked an imaginary bit of lint from his velvet sleeve. “I thought he would.”

Phaelan cautiously made his way to where Markus was seated. Brina’s eyes locked on his approach. Her hand didn’t need to go to her sword’s hilt; it was already there. Phaelan judiciously kept his hands palms forward and away from any of his weapons. It wasn’t how most men would begin a courtship, but Phaelan wasn’t most men—and Brina Daesage wasn’t most women.

I stood on tiptoe to see Mychael. He was already halfway to the bar. As paladin, he’d gotten to be an expert at small talk and efficiently working a room.

This isn’t a competition, I told myself.

I spotted Edythe through the crowd—and she spotted me.

Oh crap. So much for getting to the bar first.

I’d already spoken to her and Brant twice. Brant was fun and friendly. Edythe was not. I still had no idea how she felt about me, but I thought I was about to find out. I wondered if I could get Vegard to go to the bar and bring me that drink. I took a deep breath and moved aside to one of the few clear spots on the floor that was also near an open door leading out onto a terrace, or whatever it was called in a fortress. There was cool air flowing in. My gown wasn’t hot, but all these people in one room were, and if Edythe was finally ready to speak her mind, at least I’d be comfortable while she did it.

I glanced over to where Vegard stood. He’d seen Edythe approaching. He gave me a questioning look; I replied with a nod. He backed off a little farther to give us privacy to talk, but not before giving me a thumbs-up and an encouraging smile.

Edythe walked toward me, smiling brilliantly, and holding out her arms. “My dear, I’ve been meaning to tell you how lovely you look this evening.”

Brilliant smile? My dear? Incoming hug?

Her lips were smiling; her eyes were the flat black of a shark. My right hand went into my skirt’s pocket and came out with a dagger.

This was not
Edythe Eiliesor.

It was Sandrina’s shapeshifter.

“Clever girl,” the fake Edythe murmured. “Let’s take a nice
walk outside.”

I slowly circled off to the left. “I don’t think so.”

The woman stepped off to the right. “I am but one of many here.”

More shapeshifters.

The blade of her small stiletto was concealed in the palm of her hand. The blade was wet, whether with drug or poison didn’t matter. Either way I didn’t dare take my eyes off of her. While both of us were wearing gowns, the shapeshifter had the misfortune of having had to copy Edythe’s dress, down to the heavy brocade skirts.