by Lisa Shearin
We both knew where we stood, nothing was going to change that, so why bother with banalities neither one of us would believe or accept?
“Brother,” Vidor said in greeting.
Lucan turned his attention to his brother without a change in expression.
“It’s good to see you, too,” Vidor continued. “No, no, don’t bother to offer us a seat; we can’t stay long.”
“How unfortunate.”
“Isn’t it, though? Perhaps next time.”
Now it was my turn. Oh goody. “Chief Librarian Kalta, the letter from Archmagus Valerian explains that we need—”
“But not why you need it.”
“There has been an incident, and we have reason to believe it was perpetrated in your ink shop.”
“My librarians are—”
“Not suspects at this time.” One good interruption deserved another. “We merely need to interview them to clear them of any involvement.”
“May I inquire as to the nature of this incident?”
“You may inquire, but I am not at liberty to tell. Archmagus Valerian does not want it known at this time.”
“Yet you know it.”
“As the investigator and the seeker on this case, I would need to.”
Silence.
I waited it out. Like Vidor had said, Lucan knew he had no choice but to cooperate.
“I will accompany you during your investigation,” he informed me.
I inclined my head in acquiescence. It was Lucan Kalta’s turf, and Justinius hadn’t stipulated in the letter that he couldn’t tag along. True to form, the chief librarian had located the loophole. The man had missed his calling as a lawyer. However, if he interfered with what I needed to do, I’d have his big brother escort him out. Lucan Kalta was a talented mage, but if it came down to a confrontation, I had no doubt as to Vidor’s superior skill. And according to Vidor, Lucan was well aware of his shortcomings in that area. I was the last person he’d want to be watching while big brother handed him his posterior on a platter.
Lucan Kalta would be annoying, but he wouldn’t get in my way.
But I was sure that he’d try.
More good times for me in the Scriptorium.
Chapter 26
Ideally, I needed the ink shop to be empty before I set foot in it.
Having the chief librarian sweep in would cause enough of a panic among the people working there. Add to that a man who looked suspiciously like their dreaded boss, along with six grim Guardians, the paladin’s second in command, and the elf woman who had been bonded to a soul-eating stone, and the emotional imprint left in the room would be so thick it’d take me forever to work through the layers of panic to find what I needed.
A psychic needle in a chaotic emotional haystack was a good analogy.
The Scriptorium’s ink shop and bindery was located on the building’s first floor. There was a small office outside the closed shop door. The office door was open and there was a robed man inside. Things were looking up.
“Is that the shop manager?” I asked Lucan Kalta.
“Yes, Patric Notte.”
“Good. I need to speak with him.”
Lucan Kalta stood in the open doorway and cleared his throat. The manager looked up, saw him, and his face completely drained of color. I could hardly blame him.
I stepped up next to the chief librarian and introduced myself.
My instincts told me that Patric Notte was a good man who prided himself on doing a good job. I was honest with him as to why I was there, or at least as honest as I had been with Lucan Kalta. Though when I got to the word “incident,” you’d have thought I’d said “bloody murder.”
“Neither you nor your staff are being accused,” I hurried to reassure him. “The archmagus and paladin are eliminating possibilities, and the ink shop is merely one of them. I’m a seeker.”
Notte swallowed, quickly following it up with a nervous smile. “Yes, ma’am, I am aware of that.”
That gulp told me he was aware of everything else that I was, too.
“I need some time alone in the shop to see if I sense anything out of the ordinary. Is there another way in or out other than that door?”
“No, ma’am. The windows can be opened from the inside, but only in case of an emergency, such as a fire. I lock and spellbind the door and windows personally at the end of each workday.”
“Have there been any signs of forced entry—or attempted entry—in the past week?”
“None.”
A single entrance and exit was good for another reason: no one could make a break for it out another door.
“Is there a room nearby where you and your staff could wait while I have a look around?” I asked him.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“If you could round up your staff and take them there now, I would appreciate it. Oh, and Librarian Notte, please don’t let them take anything with them; I need access to all of the room’s contents. I promise not to touch anything that I don’t need to. It should take no longer than half an hour.”
Patric Notte smiled, and it was genuine. “Thank you for your consideration, ma’am. When you’re finished, if you have any questions, my staff and I will be at your disposal.”
I returned his smile and nodded.
The manager opened the shop door and went to do as I’d asked while we remained in the hall. As the men and women filed past us, there was plenty of shock, but I didn’t detect any guilty panic.
When they had gone, I stepped into the room. Lucan Kalta started to follow.
I stopped and turned around, blocking the doorway with my body.
“Chief Librarian Kalta, I need you to leave as well. Magic users are a distraction to me while working. As you no doubt understand, the archmagus needs me to get to the bottom of this now.”
“Come on, Lucan,” Vidor told his brother. “The lady needs privacy.”
“Vegard, would you wait just outside the door?” I asked.
“Yes, ma’am. Do you need for me to close it?”
“Yes, please.”
Within seconds, I was blissfully alone.
I could have done this with everyone still in the room, but I didn’t want to risk missing anything. While I’d worked around nervous and guilty people before, I didn’t want anyone with me now. I could talk to the staff afterward if necessary to probe for a sense of guilt—or merely understandable paranoia, considering they worked for Lucan Kalta.
But the main reason I wanted to be alone was that I hadn’t attempted to use my seeking skills to this extent since the Saghred had taken my magic. Vegard knew this. Having him in the room, feeling anxious while I worked, wanting me to succeed…That would be even more of a distraction than a possible poisoner in the room.
I went to the exact center of the room, closed my eyes, and steadied my breathing.
I didn’t know anything about ink-making, or how the ink could have been drugged, so I didn’t know what I was looking for. I assumed that if this person was clever enough to have drugged the peace delegates’ ink, they wouldn’t leave a bottle marked “POISON” lying around. Imala had once said that she could track a Khrynsani by smell. I’d been in the Khrynsani temple, with all the associated incense. I wouldn’t be so lucky here. There hadn’t been a Khrynsani in full temple robes skulking around the Scriptorium’s ink shop drugging the ink bottles meant for the peace talks. Someone hired by the Khrynsani, on the other hand, an expert at…
I gasped and opened my eyes.
The Saghred had been stolen for Sarad Nukpana by a master shapeshifter, thief, and assassin by the name of Nesral Hesai. The goblin had been codenamed Chameleon and rightfully so. Hesai could shift shapes and sexes. He’d shapeshifted into Mychael and even I had been fooled. I knew that what had been done here hadn’t been Nesral Hesai’s work. He was dead. I knew that because I’d killed him, indirectly. Hesai had been trying to push me through a Gate into Sarad Nukpana’s waiting arms. I’d stabbed his foot through
the top of his boot with a dagger he’d intended for me. The wound wasn’t fatal, but the poison Hesai had put on the dagger had been.
But if the Khrynsani considered a shapeshifter to be such a valuable resource, they wouldn’t have only one in their employ. That would explain how an outsider could have gained access to a building as secure as the Scriptorium. If that was what had happened, one of Patric Notte’s workers was now dead. To assume another’s identity, you needed to ensure they wouldn’t appear at an inconvenient time and blow your cover. Working for the Khrynsani meant taking no chances. To the Khrynsani, murder wasn’t a crime; it was a solution to an inconvenience.
The surveillance gem in the citadel’s chamber had shown an older man refilling the ink wells and replacing the pens. Mychael had said his name was Niall Reeves. I remembered his face well enough to know that he hadn’t been one of the people who had filed past me in the hall a few minutes ago.
I looked around the shop until I located the large bottles that looked like the one Niall had used to refill the ink wells. He wouldn’t have wanted to risk drugging any ink other than that going to the peace talks. I hoped he hadn’t had time to be tidy.
There were five empty bottles on a table next to an ink vat, and they hadn’t been cleaned yet. Good.
I picked up the first one and gazed through the glass bottle, unfocusing my physical eyes and opening my seeker vision. I got an image of a hallway lined with offices, both unfamiliar. I let out a shaky breath of relief. My seeker abilities were working as per normal. At least something was going right.
I repeated that with the second and then the third bottle. One showed me more offices; the other a large room lined with long tables, illuminated with lamp-mounted lightglobes. There were a few students in the room. Most were studying; two had their heads down on their books, sleeping.
I picked up the fourth bottle and nearly dropped it.
The man accepting the small vial of liquid and pouring it into the ink bottle was Niall Reeves, or the Khrynsani-hired shapeshifter who had taken his place.
I knew the person who was giving him the vial.
Sarad Nukpana’s mother.
Sandrina Ghalfari.
Chapter 27
As much as I wanted to run back to the citadel and tell Mychael that Sandrina Ghalfari either had been on the island or still was, I needed to determine if we had a master shapeshifter on the loose.
I opened the door. Vegard was there, waiting. The others were further down the hall.
“Sandrina,” I told Vegard out of the side of my mouth, and kept walking, moving quickly down the hall. I passed Lucan and Vidor and went directly to the room where Patric and his staff waited. I did a quick survey of the room. No, Niall Reeves definitely wasn’t there. I gestured Patric aside.
“Was Niall Reeves supposed to be working today?” I asked quietly.
“Yes, but he hasn’t been feeling well for the past few days. He was out three days ago, but returned yesterday saying that he was feeling better.”
“When he came back to work, did you notice anything odd about him?”
“How so?”
“Not quite acting like himself.”
“As a matter of fact, he asked which ink would be going to the citadel. We only make two colors here, due to the volume. The archmagus has always insisted on the midnight blue.”
I nodded. “And Niall would know that.”
“Absolutely, ma’am. He’s always done the deliveries to the citadel.”
I gestured Vidor over. Lucan came with him, and I didn’t try to stop him. The damage had been done.
“Vidor, I need for you to contact Sedge Rinker and have him check…” I turned back to Patric Notte. “Would you tell Nachtmagus Kalta where Niall Reeves lived?”
The ink shop manager blanched. “Lived?”
I winced. Good old past tense. Way to be subtle, Raine. “I believe he may no longer be alive. In all likelihood, the person who returned to work was a shapeshifter. Vidor, would you go with Sedge and investigate what you find?” He knew what I meant. A dead body. A body that might be able to tell a master nachtmagus like Vidor Kalta who had killed him, when, and how.
I already knew why.
The murderer could have been the shapeshifter, or Sandrina Ghalfari might have paid Niall Reeves a personal visit.
“Of course,” Vidor said.
Lucan Kalta snorted and started to say something. I cut him off. I did not have time for this. None of us did.
“Vegard, we need to get back to the citadel. Now.”
*
Just a month ago in the Khrynsani temple, Sandrina Ghalfari had been moments away from achieving her lifelong dream—seeing her son destroy all of his enemies and ascend to the goblin throne, with her as the power behind it.
I’d shattered that dream the instant I’d shattered the Saghred. Her son, Sarad Nukpana, had conjured a monster to kill Tam. When I’d destroyed the Saghred, Sarad’s concentration had faltered for an instant and he had lost control of his creation. The demon that Tam had summoned had seen its chance, and taken Sarad Nukpana back to the Lower Hells with it.
Within seconds, Sandrina had lost both her twisted dream of ultimate power and the tool she had used to achieve that power—her son Sarad.
Now she was putting her revenge into motion.
I didn’t know how. I didn’t know the full extent of the plan.
But I knew why—she blamed us all for Sarad’s death and her downfall.
And I knew where she would be.
There was only one place on the Isle of Mid where she could be, where as a mother she would have to go.
The highest tower in the citadel, where her son’s body was entombed.
Three days after the Saghred had bonded itself to me, to save Piaras, myself, and everyone I loved from death or worse at Sarad Nukpana’s hands, I’d tricked him into touching the Saghred with his bloody hand. The stone had taken him as a sacrifice and absorbed him, body and soul. Weeks later, when Nukpana’s soul had escaped from the Saghred, he’d regenerated his body using the blackest of black magic. Then, in an act of unspeakable cruelty, Sarad Nukpana had abandoned his own regenerated body to possess Tam’s, to ensure that Tam would take the blame for the acts Nukpana would commit once the Saghred was his. The only way to force Nukpana’s soul out of Tam’s body had been to kill Tam. Tam had begged me to do it. I’d killed him with a crossbow bolt through the heart. At the instant of Tam’s death, Sarad Nukpana had abandoned Tam’s body for the newly dead body of his uncle Janos Ghalfari.
Sarad Nukpana’s regenerated body was entombed in the citadel’s highest tower in a crystal coffin woven with spells to keep it from being opened from the outside—or the inside.
Justinius and Mychael hadn’t wanted to take any chances.
One of the spells inside the coffin had been to preserve his corpse. The mortician who had prepared the body and worked the spell had called it “perpetual repose.”
I called it creepy as hell.
When it had been done, I had gone to see him. Sarad Nukpana was still perfect, still darkly beautiful. He had a shadow of a smile on his face, as if he knew something we didn’t, something that was about to bite us all in our collective ass.
I had no doubt that he did.
And now I knew what that was, or at least some of it. Regardless of what happened, his Khrynsani had a backup plan, a plan that would ensure they survived—and their enemies did not.
The stairs to the tower crypt could be revealed by a spell that only Mychael and Justinius knew. The circular room had one door, no windows, and had been lit bright as day.
That had been my request.
Goblins didn’t like bright light. I did. And for some irrational reason, I had also liked knowing that Sarad Nukpana wasn’t lying in the dark. Bad things happened in dark places. Sarad Nukpana had most definitely been a bad thing.
I’d wanted the body destroyed and the ashes scattered to the winds in the far reaches of al
l Seven Kingdoms. But we’d kept it. King Chigaru’s late brother, Sathrik, had sent Justinius a letter stating that unless Sarad Nukpana’s body was returned undamaged to Regor within the month, he would declare war against the Guardians, the Conclave, and the Isle of Mid, and come and get the body himself. Mychael and Justinius had no intention of returning Nukpana’s body, but it never hurt to have an ace in the hole just in case. Hence the mortician’s creepy reposing spell.
Sathrik was dead, Chigaru was king, and the Khrynsani had been overthrown.
Now Sandrina Ghalfari had come to claim her son.
*
Mychael was waiting for us at the gates of the citadel.
With our bond, he’d sensed something had happened and that I was coming back to the citadel as fast as our horses could get through Mid’s streets.
I quickly dismounted and tossed my reins to a waiting groom. “It’s Sandrina.”
“I know,” Mychael said. “Tarsilia and Imala determined the drug was—”
“No, I mean she’s here. In the citadel. The tower.”
“It’s sealed.”
“If she hasn’t gotten in, she’s tried. She’s got a shapeshifter working with her.”
Mychael spat a curse and started shouting orders. Within minutes the two of us, Vegard, and at least a dozen armed Guardians were running through the citadel to the north tower. When we got to what looked like a solid wall, Mychael murmured a brief incantation, exposing a door.
“The seal spell was still in place,” he told me.
“That’s good, but I still want to check.”
He incanted a few more words and the door opened. “I wasn’t suggesting otherwise.”
I’d insisted checking the tower; Mychael insisted on going up the stairs first. Vegard and I were relegated to the middle of the pack.
I had no problem with that. I didn’t need to get there first; I just needed to see that Sarad Nukpana’s body was still there. I had no idea how Sandrina would have gained access to the tower or, if she had gotten in, how she could have gotten her son’s body out. I only knew what my gut was telling me, insistently—that we were going to find something in the room at the top of the tower that we did not want to see.