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Authors: Lisa Shearin
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side, should that door suddenly decide to blow off its hinges. I’d seen it happen before. Better safe than squashed.
Phaelan leaned close to my ear. “Why are we still here?”
He was talking through clenched teeth again, a sure sign my cousin wasn’t happy in his present surroundings. I guess I really couldn’t blame him; a couple of the watchers were glancing at Phaelan’s wanted poster and then back at Phaelan. Sure, Mychael had given my cousin immunity from prosecution for any past legal indiscretions while on the Isle of Mid, but Mychael was questioning a demon right now. He wasn’t here. It was just me and Phaelan and a roomful of increasingly alert watchers.
Phaelan cleared his throat impatiently. I hadn’t answered his question yet.
“I could see those demons, but no one else could,” I told him, keeping my voice to a bare whisper. “A man is dead, and his killer said that he was honored by my presence and wanted me to go home with him. I want to know why.”
“Hmmm, let’s see . . . That makes you a possible demon ally and accessory to murder. So you thought you’d stand in the middle of city watch headquarters.”
I hadn’t thought of it that way. “It doesn’t sound too bright, does it?”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“Well, Sedge may not be through questioning us yet.”
“Did he say he wasn’t?”
“No.”
“Then he’s probably finished. I’ve talked to him. You’ve talked to him. The kids have talked to him. Vegard’s talked to him. I’d call that finished.”
“And if he’s not?”
“It’s easier to ask for forgiveness from a ship, than permission from a jail cell.”
I couldn’t argue with that logic.
The front doors opened and in strode the man Mychael had been expecting.
Oh crap in a bucket. I did not need this.
Carnades Silvanus wasn’t the type to drop by watcher headquarters for a friendly visit. He had a reason for being here, and that reason was me. And judging from the people who’d come in with him and the fanciness of their robes, it looked like he’d brought along some high-powered—or at least self-important—friends. Fancy robes just meant a mage had money. Fashion had nothing to do with firepower.
Either way, I wasn’t flattered that they’d all come to see me.
Carnades Silvanus saw himself as the champion of the elven people. I saw him as an uptight, self-righteous, narrow-minded jerk. Unfortunately, he also had the influence to convince a lot of powerful and dangerous people to see things his way.
Even before I’d set foot on the island, word had already arrived and spread about my link with the Saghred. Mages liked good gossip the same as everyone else. Some of those mages thought I had too much power. They couldn’t control me. I was a risk. I had to be stopped. Some favored a permanent solution. The squeamish ones wanted something less drastic. I didn’t think the five men and women behind Carnades were the ones with the weak stomachs.
No doubt Carnades considered himself the pinnacle of elven good breeding. The hair that flowed over his shoulders was the color of winter frost, eyes the pale blue of arctic ice, an alabaster complexion, a cold, sharp beauty. Pure-blooded high elf. His black and silver robes were understated and elegant, and clearly cost a small fortune. His only visible weapon was a curved and ornate silver dagger tucked into a silk sash. I knew better. Carnades Silvanus was a weapon.
With the archmagus temporarily out of commission, Carnades was in charge and he wasn’t about to let anyone forget it, starting with me—especially after that incident last week in the Conclave’s library. He called it assault; I called it entirely justified self-defense.
“Ma’am,” came Vegard’s tense warning from beside me.
“Thank you, Vegard. I see him.”
“I know you see him. That’s the problem.”
“I’ll behave if he does.”
“He won’t.”
“Then there’s going to be a problem.”
Vegard came to
Phaelan leaned close to my ear. “Why are we still here?”
He was talking through clenched teeth again, a sure sign my cousin wasn’t happy in his present surroundings. I guess I really couldn’t blame him; a couple of the watchers were glancing at Phaelan’s wanted poster and then back at Phaelan. Sure, Mychael had given my cousin immunity from prosecution for any past legal indiscretions while on the Isle of Mid, but Mychael was questioning a demon right now. He wasn’t here. It was just me and Phaelan and a roomful of increasingly alert watchers.
Phaelan cleared his throat impatiently. I hadn’t answered his question yet.
“I could see those demons, but no one else could,” I told him, keeping my voice to a bare whisper. “A man is dead, and his killer said that he was honored by my presence and wanted me to go home with him. I want to know why.”
“Hmmm, let’s see . . . That makes you a possible demon ally and accessory to murder. So you thought you’d stand in the middle of city watch headquarters.”
I hadn’t thought of it that way. “It doesn’t sound too bright, does it?”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“Well, Sedge may not be through questioning us yet.”
“Did he say he wasn’t?”
“No.”
“Then he’s probably finished. I’ve talked to him. You’ve talked to him. The kids have talked to him. Vegard’s talked to him. I’d call that finished.”
“And if he’s not?”
“It’s easier to ask for forgiveness from a ship, than permission from a jail cell.”
I couldn’t argue with that logic.
The front doors opened and in strode the man Mychael had been expecting.
Oh crap in a bucket. I did not need this.
Carnades Silvanus wasn’t the type to drop by watcher headquarters for a friendly visit. He had a reason for being here, and that reason was me. And judging from the people who’d come in with him and the fanciness of their robes, it looked like he’d brought along some high-powered—or at least self-important—friends. Fancy robes just meant a mage had money. Fashion had nothing to do with firepower.
Either way, I wasn’t flattered that they’d all come to see me.
Carnades Silvanus saw himself as the champion of the elven people. I saw him as an uptight, self-righteous, narrow-minded jerk. Unfortunately, he also had the influence to convince a lot of powerful and dangerous people to see things his way.
Even before I’d set foot on the island, word had already arrived and spread about my link with the Saghred. Mages liked good gossip the same as everyone else. Some of those mages thought I had too much power. They couldn’t control me. I was a risk. I had to be stopped. Some favored a permanent solution. The squeamish ones wanted something less drastic. I didn’t think the five men and women behind Carnades were the ones with the weak stomachs.
No doubt Carnades considered himself the pinnacle of elven good breeding. The hair that flowed over his shoulders was the color of winter frost, eyes the pale blue of arctic ice, an alabaster complexion, a cold, sharp beauty. Pure-blooded high elf. His black and silver robes were understated and elegant, and clearly cost a small fortune. His only visible weapon was a curved and ornate silver dagger tucked into a silk sash. I knew better. Carnades Silvanus was a weapon.
With the archmagus temporarily out of commission, Carnades was in charge and he wasn’t about to let anyone forget it, starting with me—especially after that incident last week in the Conclave’s library. He called it assault; I called it entirely justified self-defense.
“Ma’am,” came Vegard’s tense warning from beside me.
“Thank you, Vegard. I see him.”
“I know you see him. That’s the problem.”
“I’ll behave if he does.”
“He won’t.”
“Then there’s going to be a problem.”
Vegard came to
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