would always be less than perfect. I think Ronan Cayle was seeing a
powerful, loose cannon who’d taken out most of Mid’s main line of defense.
“Yes,
you’re very dangerous,” the maestro said softly.
His
voice was velvet-covered steel. “With the right song, you’d be lethal. You’re
unpredictable, impulsive, and you have absolutely no idea of your potential.”
Piaras
swallowed. “Potential, sir?”
“Potential.”
Cayle stopped in front of Piaras and smiled slowly. “For the good of the seven
kingdoms, I’d better take you as a student.” His smile broadened and those
amber eyes glittered. “As to auditioning, you just did.”
Piaras
gaped in disbelief. “You’re accepting me?”
“I
am.” Cayle chuckled softly. “You’ve left me no choice.”
“And
without a formal audition,” Mychael told Piaras, his lips curling into a small
smile. “That’s a first, isn’t it, Ronan?”
“It
is. Be at my tower at exactly eight bells tomorrow morning,” Cayle told Piaras.
“Mychael can tell you where it is.” The smile vanished. “And come prepared to
work.”
Piaras
smiled like the sun had just come out. “Thank you, sir.”
Ronan
Cayle laughed, a short bark. “We’ll see how thankful you are after tomorrow.
And by the way, my students are expected to sprint to the top of my tower in
three minutes or less. Builds lung capacity.” There was an evil glint in those
amber eyes. “You’re going to need it.”
“A
cut shield explains Piaras spellsinging my men to sleep,” Mychael said. “But it
doesn’t tell me who did the cutting, or why. It also doesn’t tell me how Piaras
sang the Saghred to sleep. That was a battlefield sleepsong; it shouldn’t have
worked.”
Piaras
blinked. “I did what?”
“Your
voice put the rock to sleep,” I told him. “ That was that other thing you
did.”
“How
could . . . ? I never meant to . . . I was up here; the Saghred is down there.”
Realization dawned on him. “There are air ducts in the containment rooms.”
Mychael
nodded. “We could hear you loud and clear.”
“Sir,
I’m sorry,” Piaras hurried to explain. “I never meant to—”
Mychael
held up a hand. “I know you didn’t, and I’m not blaming you. This room stays
shielded to prevent exactly what just happened. The sabotage was not your
fault. And regardless of how you did it, you did put the Saghred to sleep, and
for that you have my thanks.”
“It
was almost like the Saghred wanted to go to sleep once it heard you,” I told
Piaras. “It liked what it heard.” I paused uneasily. “A lot.”
“It liked Piaras’s song?” Phaelan asked.
“The
Saghred and those inside the Saghred liked Piaras’s song,” I clarified.
“And I’m not sure if either is a good thing.”
Piaras
didn’t move. “What do you mean?”
“I
got the feeling the Saghred’s inmates enjoyed your song a little bit too
much—and so did the rock.”
“Is
the rock asleep?” Phaelan asked.
“Yes.”
“If
it’s asleep, it doesn’t really matter what its taste in music is.”
Logic
was all well and good, but Phaelan wasn’t the one with a growing, evil fan
base.
Piaras
was clearly creeped. “I don’t want the Saghred’s inmates to like me.” He
lowered his voice. “Especially you know who.”
“I
don’t want him to like you, either.” Neither one of us felt the need to say the
name out loud. Sarad Nukpana was asleep. Probably. Saying his name right now
didn’t seem like a good idea, kind of like summoning an evil genie out of a
bottle.
Last
week, Sarad Nukpana had given me a choice: either I gave him a demonstration of
the Saghred’s power, or he would sacrifice Piaras to the Saghred. Piaras was
alive. Nukpana was inside the Saghred. Now Nukpana let Piaras sing him to
sleep. I needed to know why, and I needed to know now. If the Saghred had gone
to sleep of its own volition, it’d probably wake up the same way.
I
pulled Mychael aside. “So, is there a user’s
powerful, loose cannon who’d taken out most of Mid’s main line of defense.
“Yes,
you’re very dangerous,” the maestro said softly.
His
voice was velvet-covered steel. “With the right song, you’d be lethal. You’re
unpredictable, impulsive, and you have absolutely no idea of your potential.”
Piaras
swallowed. “Potential, sir?”
“Potential.”
Cayle stopped in front of Piaras and smiled slowly. “For the good of the seven
kingdoms, I’d better take you as a student.” His smile broadened and those
amber eyes glittered. “As to auditioning, you just did.”
Piaras
gaped in disbelief. “You’re accepting me?”
“I
am.” Cayle chuckled softly. “You’ve left me no choice.”
“And
without a formal audition,” Mychael told Piaras, his lips curling into a small
smile. “That’s a first, isn’t it, Ronan?”
“It
is. Be at my tower at exactly eight bells tomorrow morning,” Cayle told Piaras.
“Mychael can tell you where it is.” The smile vanished. “And come prepared to
work.”
Piaras
smiled like the sun had just come out. “Thank you, sir.”
Ronan
Cayle laughed, a short bark. “We’ll see how thankful you are after tomorrow.
And by the way, my students are expected to sprint to the top of my tower in
three minutes or less. Builds lung capacity.” There was an evil glint in those
amber eyes. “You’re going to need it.”
“A
cut shield explains Piaras spellsinging my men to sleep,” Mychael said. “But it
doesn’t tell me who did the cutting, or why. It also doesn’t tell me how Piaras
sang the Saghred to sleep. That was a battlefield sleepsong; it shouldn’t have
worked.”
Piaras
blinked. “I did what?”
“Your
voice put the rock to sleep,” I told him. “ That was that other thing you
did.”
“How
could . . . ? I never meant to . . . I was up here; the Saghred is down there.”
Realization dawned on him. “There are air ducts in the containment rooms.”
Mychael
nodded. “We could hear you loud and clear.”
“Sir,
I’m sorry,” Piaras hurried to explain. “I never meant to—”
Mychael
held up a hand. “I know you didn’t, and I’m not blaming you. This room stays
shielded to prevent exactly what just happened. The sabotage was not your
fault. And regardless of how you did it, you did put the Saghred to sleep, and
for that you have my thanks.”
“It
was almost like the Saghred wanted to go to sleep once it heard you,” I told
Piaras. “It liked what it heard.” I paused uneasily. “A lot.”
“It liked Piaras’s song?” Phaelan asked.
“The
Saghred and those inside the Saghred liked Piaras’s song,” I clarified.
“And I’m not sure if either is a good thing.”
Piaras
didn’t move. “What do you mean?”
“I
got the feeling the Saghred’s inmates enjoyed your song a little bit too
much—and so did the rock.”
“Is
the rock asleep?” Phaelan asked.
“Yes.”
“If
it’s asleep, it doesn’t really matter what its taste in music is.”
Logic
was all well and good, but Phaelan wasn’t the one with a growing, evil fan
base.
Piaras
was clearly creeped. “I don’t want the Saghred’s inmates to like me.” He
lowered his voice. “Especially you know who.”
“I
don’t want him to like you, either.” Neither one of us felt the need to say the
name out loud. Sarad Nukpana was asleep. Probably. Saying his name right now
didn’t seem like a good idea, kind of like summoning an evil genie out of a
bottle.
Last
week, Sarad Nukpana had given me a choice: either I gave him a demonstration of
the Saghred’s power, or he would sacrifice Piaras to the Saghred. Piaras was
alive. Nukpana was inside the Saghred. Now Nukpana let Piaras sing him to
sleep. I needed to know why, and I needed to know now. If the Saghred had gone
to sleep of its own volition, it’d probably wake up the same way.
I
pulled Mychael aside. “So, is there a user’s
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