Wedding Bells, Magic Spells

by Lisa Shearin

  He took my hand and didn’t give it back. “We’ll have none of that.” He pulled me in for a hug. “Welcome to the family, Raine.”

  It was a genuine hug, warm and accepting—and it couldn’t have been further from what I’d been expecting. As a result, when he released me and I turned to face Mychael’s mother, I was too dazed to know what to do next.

  Edythe Eiliesor stepped forward, put her hands around my upper arms, regarded me for a few intensely uncomfortable moments, and then did the double-cheek-kissing thing.

  I didn’t know if I’d just passed a test, or she was reserving judgment for later. Then again, there was a section of southern Majaf where a double-cheek kiss was a challenge to a duel to the death. While I hoped it was the former, my instincts said she was reserving judgment. There was nothing wrong with that. I did it all the time.

  I had a feeling it was going to be a long ride back to the citadel.

  *

  “Mychael said the two of you have had quite the eventful three months,” his dad said when we were bounced into silence after the Guardian coachman succeeded in hitting yet another hole in Mid’s cobblestone streets.

  “Yes, yes we have.”

  Another bump, another few moments of silence.

  “They know everything,” Mychael told me.

  “Saghred?”

  “Saghred. And Sarad Nukpana, Rudra Muralin, Carnades Silvanus, Taltek Balmorlan, and the Demon Queen.”

  “Wow, you did tell them everything.”

  “While we have sorcerers on both sides of our family,” Brant continued, “neither Edythe nor myself have any magic, nor does Isibel.”

  “Trust me, it’s way overrated,” I told him.

  “Has Isibel arrived?” Edythe asked.

  “Yes, she has,” Mychael told her. “Yesterday morning.”

  He’d told his parents all about me, but wasn’t volunteering any information about his little sister. My trouble had come and gone. Isibel was still up to her neck in it. Mychael was treading carefully and running interference for his sister. I wholeheartedly approved of both.

  The hooves of multiple horses clattered on the cobbles directly behind us. Our coachman pulled to a stop. My hand instinctively went for the pocket in my gown, a pocket with a big slit in it that let me reach the daggers in my thigh sheath.

  Guardians.

  I relaxed my grip.

  Edythe Eiliesor noticed.

  “I believe in being prepared, ma’am.”

  “An admirable trait.”

  Again, the words said one thing but could imply another. My future mother-in-law would have made a fine goblin, though even I had enough sense not to tell her that.

  Mychael climbed out of the coach to speak with one of his senior knights. There were grim faces all around. I tried unsuccessfully to eavesdrop, but the late-afternoon city sounds all around us made it impossible. After about two minutes, Mychael came back to the coach, but made no effort to get back in.

  That didn’t imply anything good.

  “Raine, I need for you to take my parents on to the citadel. Something’s come up.”

  He didn’t elaborate, and I didn’t ask. I knew he would’ve told me had his parents not been there; at least I would’ve hoped so.

  One of the junior knights gave Mychael his horse, and within seconds they were headed back the way we’d come. I turned and looked out of the coach’s back window. At the next block, they took a left.

  Toward the center city, home of the Conclave government buildings, college campus—and the embassies.

  Nope, none of that was good.

  I turned back to my soon-to-be-in-laws, my expression saying that nothing out of ordinary had happened.

  I looked from one to the other and back again. “So, tell me about yourselves.”

  *

  A Guardian messenger was waiting in the citadel’s courtyard.

  “Ma’am, where’s the paladin? I have a message from the archmagus.”

  Crap.

  Trouble was coming from every direction.

  Justinius believed in handling his own problems. If for some never-good reason, he needed help, he’d call in Mychael. A crisis in the central city and here. That didn’t bode well for anyone’s evening.

  “One of your brothers beat you to him,” I said. “Intercepted our coach just south of the central city. It looked like that’s where he was headed.”

  “Good.” He handed me the envelope. “This is for both of you. The archmagus said he needs you there as well.”

  I broke the seal and read the message.

  It was the old man’s chicken scrawl all right.

  The Mylorans have an uninvited guest and need an exterminator.

  Oh crap.

  I turned to where my future father-in-law was assisting my mother-in-law out of the coach. They’d heard the exchange.

  “Don’t concern yourself with us,” Brant said. “We’d like nothing more than a quiet meal in our rooms. It’s been a long day.”

  A small squadron of servants stood ready to see to the Eiliesors’ every wish.

  My presence was clearly not needed.

  Nothing could have made me happier.

  Still, I couldn’t let it go that easily. “Are you sure that—”

  “I need to speak with my parents, Raine, and now is as good a time as any.”

  Isibel.

  She stood dwarfed by the citadel’s massive doors, looking somewhere between a daughter about to be reunited with her parents and a prisoner on her way to the executioner’s block.

  Isibel was taking one for the team.

  She had a lot to tell her parents, and I didn’t blame her for wanting as few people as possible in the room while she did it.

  Still, with my only other option being pest control at the Myloran embassy, staying here and baring my soul to my future in-laws might be more enjoyable.

  Chapter 19

  Mychael wasn’t at the Myloran embassy.

  That meant and confirmed that we had two emergencies.

  My escort waited outside and Vegard came in with me.

  I’d been in the elf and goblin embassies and, quite frankly, never wanted to set foot in either one ever again. Both were cold, formal, and imposing—and that was before I’d come close to being tortured in one and dying in the other.

  Mylorans were a different kind of people altogether.

  They didn’t share a border with any of the other six kingdoms, they didn’t want anything anyone else had, and they could not have cared less what the other people and races thought of them.

  Two guards opened the doors for us. That they were out here and not inside said that it couldn’t be too bad, at least not yet.

  Mylorans were big, and they lived large and loud. Their embassy was furnished for their taste and comfort—with stone, wood, leather, and fur. But what I liked most about the Myloran people was that it took a lot to rattle their collective cage.

  Including me.

  They knew who I was, they knew what I was, and when they’d first arrived last week and we’d been introduced, they’d looked happy to meet me. Though to put it in perspective, these were people who wrestled polar bears for fun.

  Vegard and I stepped into their front reception hall and were met by the completely unexpected.

  There was no bloodshed, battle cries, or hacking blades. And no Rak’kari.

  Mylorans and Brenirians were in the front hall, drinking horns in hand. Tables groaned with food. I recognized the Brenirian delegation—and the Caesolian delegation.

  It was a party.

  I was confused.

  “Little nephew!” boomed an impossibly tall and broad, leather-clad man. He was bearded, blue-eyed, and thrilled to see whoever it was he was bellowing at.

  Vegard stopped. “Wybjorn?”

  I gaped. “You’re little?”

  “Compared to that.”

  What followed more closely resembled my bodyguard being mauled by a bear than a
family reunion.

  Vegard managed to pull some air into his lungs. “What are you doing here?”

  The man set Vegard on his feet and slapped him on the back. “Keeping our delegation out of trouble.”

  “They haven’t been arrested yet; you must be doing a fine job.”

  “I thought it would be a good idea to keep the drinking in the embassy.”

  “An even better idea.” Vegard turned to me. “Ma’am, this is my Uncle Wybjorn Rolfgar.”

  “So I gathered.”

  “Uncle Wybjorn, this is—”

  Wybjorn waved a massive paw, and the air it displaced snuffed out a nearby rack of candles. “I know who she is.” He proceeded to engulf both of my hands in one of his. “I’d heard she was a tiny thing, but I didn’t expect—”

  I grinned up at him. “Looks are deceiving.”

  The huge Myloran barked a laugh. “We’ve heard that, too.”

  “I know your people get along with the Brenirians, being neighbors and all, but how did you get the Caesolians here? Now that’s diplomacy.”

  “One of the Caesolian delegates has a cousin who is a friend of the Brenirian ambassador’s brother.” Wybjorn nodded solemnly. “The Caesolians are shy. They go from the citadel back to their embassy, nowhere else. So, we invite them to share our food and drink.” He glanced over to where the almost smiling Caesolian ambassador was draining his drinking horn. “Our mead makes them not shy.”

  “We’re doing this all wrong,” I said. “We should be serving mead at the talks.”

  “The quicker they sign this treaty, the quicker we get home,” Wybjorn said. “The hunting season is ending, and a certain saber-toothed ice cave bear has been spotted near the Magnild Glacier. I don’t want to miss a chance at Old Hugi.”

  I fought back a smile. “So you’d rather go hunting than put up with a bunch of bickering diplomats.”

  Wybjorn half winced. “Peace is important. Though a good war can be a fine thing. I didn’t mean that—”

  I did some hand-waving of my own. “No, no. I understand completely. If everyone would agree to play nice, not steal anyone else’s toys, and keep their hands and armies to themselves, none of us would have to be here—and I could get married in peace.”

  The Myloran’s teeth flashed in a grin. Jeez, even his teeth were big.

  “I’ve congratulated Paladin Eiliesor on his good fortune in taking such a fierce battlemaid for a wife.”

  “Uh, thank you.”

  The sound of cheers came from beyond a closed doorway at the end of the vast main hall.

  “Come,” Wybjorn told us. “We are missing the fun.”

  *

  The Myloran embassy staff’s idea of fun had apparently involved luring a Rak’kari out of the embassy mirror—and when it got here, giving it a hearty welcome.

  The men and women in the embassy’s mirror room were armed with an assortment of swords, axes, and clubs—more than half of them glowing with magic—and appeared eager to use any and all of them.

  The mirror stood in the corner, a crack running from top to bottom. That spider wasn’t going out the way it’d come in.

  In the center of the room, the Rak’kari was perched on top of what looked like a stone totem pole that was carved with Myloran gods, though I didn’t think you could call something a pole that was as big around as Wybjorn and three times as tall.

  The Rak’kari was making no move to come down off of that totem.

  Smart spider.

  “This is fun?” I asked Wybjorn without taking my eyes from the Rak’kari.

  “We do not use our mirror. We prefer to travel by ship the way our gods intended.”

  “So do I,” I said fervently.

  “Since the mirror is not used, we did not know that it was unlocked. This one came in. We have contained it in this room. Our Caesolian and Brenirian guests are not hunters, and would not understand the sport.”

  “No, they definitely would not,” Vegard agreed.

  I snorted. “And I can do without hearing the Caesolian ambassador scream.”

  On the floor next to the room’s massive fireplace was a side of beef with a big chain looped around it.

  “We attempted to lure it down with food,” Wybjorn explained. “It seems to prefer its food alive.”

  And not surrounded by gigantic, axe-wielding Mylorans.

  Like I said, smart spider.

  “We sent a messenger to Archmagus Valerian,” Wybjorn said. “Our people do not wish to stand here all night.”

  “Not when there’s a party out there.”

  Wybjorn smiled. “Yes! You understand.”

  “More than you know.” I needed a horn of mead right now, too.

  “We thought the Saghred slayer would be able to help.”

  I just looked at him. “Saghred slayer?”

  “You have to admit, ma’am, it has a ring to it,” Vegard said.

  My bodyguard was hoping I could do something about all this. So was I. My first Rak’kari encounter had been only a web strand around Mychael’s neck. I’d acted in rage to protect the man I loved. This afternoon, I’d been staring death and a lunging Rak’kari right in the face. That was self-preservation and protection of Tam and Imala.

  I didn’t know if my new magic was something I could simply call up. But I did know that I didn’t want to find out—and possibly fail—here in front of a room full of Myloran embassy staff.

  I looked up at the giant spider. The giant spider looked down at me. At least I think it was looking at me. The thing had eight eyes, so who knew?

  “I don’t suppose you’d want to come down and just go back where you came from?” I muttered in its general direction.

  The Rak’kari responded by turning its back and firing two webs out of its spinnerets and down at me.

  The three of us dove out of the way. The webs struck the floor like black steel cables, and faster than I could get back to my feet, the Rak’kari slid down the webs.

  I rolled just as the spider slammed into the stone floor where I’d been seconds before.

  The ten Mylorans instantly had it surrounded and were doing a dart, distract, attack combination that wouldn’t have been out of place with an enraged ice cave bear. Vegard and Wybjorn joined them.

  A dozen Mylorans versus one giant spider.

  My money was on the Mylorans.

  The Rak’kari’s thorax was armored, but apparently its face, or whatever it was on the front of its head, was not. A couple of axe and club hits at least made it stagger. I was impressed. I was even more impressed by the Mylorans’ bravery and tenacity. They weren’t about to give up or even think about retreating.

  I was concentrating with everything I had to summon some Saghred-spawned, dark red magic.

  It wasn’t happening.

  Vegard darted around the spider and away from the Mylorans for an attack.

  The Rak’kari saw its chance and took it.

  Time slowed to the speed that gives you time to figure out how not to die horribly.

  Or how to save the life of your bodyguard and friend.

  The Rak’kari used the tip of one of its legs and swept Vegard’s legs out from under him. Vegard hit the floor, and the spider attacked.

  So did I.

  Instinct took over. The instinct that told me what should be done to a poisonous spider.

  I glanced up at my target. The Mylorans were out of its range. Vegard was too, just barely.

  I reached out with my mind, my will, and my magic…

  …and yanked that totem pole down.

  The entire embassy shook, the floor cracked, and dust fell from the ceiling when several tons of rock squashed the Rak’kari flat.

  Vegard staggered over to me, coughing from the dust. “We’ll have to tell the Chancellor.” He nearly had to yell over the Mylorans’ cheering.

  I was still dazed from the thought of what I’d just done. “What?”

  “He said Rak’kari are indestructible.” Ve
gard looked at the squashed spider and gave me a huge grin. “I’d say you just destructed one.”

  I couldn’t help but smile. Not too shabby for an itty-bitty battlemaid in a dress.

  *

  Mychael looked down at my handiwork. He’d been at the goblin embassy two buildings down when he’d actually heard the boom of the stone totem hitting the floor.

  He’d had a feeling I was involved.

  There hadn’t been a giant spider at the goblin embassy, but there had been news Imala wanted Mychael to know immediately. News he didn’t want to tell me until we’d left the Myloran embassy.

  Walls had ears. I understood that.

  I gazed out over the room full of broken rock. “It seemed like the right thing to do at the time,” I told him. “It did make one heck of a mess.”

  Though describing a monster spider squashed under a massive, toppled totem as a heck of a mess was the ultimate understatement.

  He wrapped an arm around my shoulders, pulled me close, and kissed me on top of my dusty head.

  “It’s beautiful and so are you,” he told me.

  The door was closed, and the party continued virtually uninterrupted on the other side. Wybjorn had announced that one of the staff—the one who’d wielded a giant club, the largest human I’d ever seen in my life—had accidentally knocked over the totem. He’d poured plenty of mead around it to appease the gods, and as a result, divine retribution would not be forthcoming. There were more cheers at that, and the party had continued.

  Gotta love Mylorans.

  “I tried to do what I did before,” I told Mychael. “You know, with the red sphere, but it didn’t work.”

  “Sounds like you weren’t scared enough.”