“Probably.”
I looked at the healer, and found him glaring at me again. That one was determined to be a problem. That was fine; I could be a problem, too. I met his glare and raised him a solemn promise. It wasn’t good to pick fights with people who thought you were in cahoots with a pair of suicide bombers, but he’d started it. Childish, I know. But I wasn’t going to be intimidated, and Chigaru’s goblins needed to know that from the start. Though it wasn’t the best way to convince them that I was on their side.
I looked away from the healer. I was taking the professional high road. I could always memorize his psychic scent from the bolt for later.
I turned my full attention to the bolt in my hands. As a seeker by trade, I’d done a lot of work for the city watch in Mermeia, where I’d lived until three months ago. More than once I’d been called to a crime scene only to find that the object I most needed to use had been handled by nearly every watcher on-site, contaminating it and rendering it useless for seeking. It was their emotional imprint I’d get, not the perpetrator’s. So the only person I’d find was the stupid watcher who’d last picked it up.
I should get three presences from the bolt: the healer, the prince, and the assassin. If any more than that had touched it in the last few hours, that could be a problem, but there was only one way to find out.
Tam glanced around. “You need someplace quiet.”
“At least where everyone isn’t looking at me like I’m the assassin.”
Phaelan pointed at somewhere behind me. “How about over there?”
I turned and looked. The office for the harbormaster’s men responsible for this dock. That’d work. I made for it, and found my way blocked by a big, burly, and belligerent dock worker.
“Sorry, ma’am. That’s for harbor personnel only.”
I didn’t think he looked sorry in the least, but he was about to be.
As soon as I opened my mouth to say something I probably shouldn’t, a familiar presence and voice came from right behind me.
“She’s on official Guardian business. Step aside.”
Mychael.
Suddenly all the chaos got less chaotic—at least people got a heck of a lot more polite.
A tall elven warrior wearing full battle armor tended to have that effect.
Mychael Eiliesor was the paladin and commander of the Conclave Guardians, the most elite magical fighting force in the seven kingdoms, protector of the Conclave of Sorcerers, and the top lawman on the Isle of Mid—which essentially meant if it happened on this island, it was his business.
A few weeks ago, we’d become each other’s business.
Not many people knew about that, and considering who and what I was, and who Mychael was, that information needed to stay as private as our activities.
“We need to talk,” Mychael said. No expression, no hint of what might be going on behind those tropical sea blue eyes, just four words that rarely meant anything good.
I’d just played tug-of-war with five goblin mages and a boat full of explosives. It’d been the first of three assassination attempts on a visiting goblin royal before he even set foot on dry land.
Oh yeah, Mychael definitely wanted to chat.
He looked at the bolt I had in my hands. “Can you find who fired that?”
“If I can get somewhere quiet enough to hear myself think, I should.”
Mychael glanced back at the prince and his wall of goblin muscle. “His healer seems to have things well in hand.”
“He’s working fast so he can come after me.”
“Pardon?”
“Nothing.”
Mychael nodded toward the harbormaster’s office. That had to be the best suggestion of the whole day. There had to be at least one chair in there, and after all the magic I’d just slung around, I needed to sit down. We went in and Mychael closed the door. The only furniture was a table, a couple of chairs, and a cot in one corner. The cot was tempting but the sheets looked like if they’d ever been washed, it’d been in the harbor. With a groan of pleasure, I sank into the nearest chair and treated myself to closing my eyes.
“Are you all right?”
I opened one eye. “What? No ‘why are you in the middle of an angry mob?’ ”
Mychael almost thought about smiling. “The answers to some questions are obvious. There’s an explosion, then you and Phaelan are in the middle of an angry mob. Obvious.” He took another chair for himself. “That and I had men watching the waterfront this morning.”
I did smile. “I thought I detected a tail.”
“As you should have since you weren’t supposed to leave the citadel without an armed escort—and I told them not to bother hiding.”
“I had a meeting,” I said. “A private meeting. One that wouldn’t have been private if I’d been leading a parade of Guardians.”
“Did your meeting have anything to do with that explosion?”
“Not directly.” I hesitated. “It was about our family project.”
Mychael knew exactly what I was talking about. I’d told him weeks ago that if it was the last thing I ever did, I was going to ruin not only Taltek Balmorlan, but anyone else who had the poor judgment to pick that scumbag for a business partner.
“This is the other cousin you’ve told me about?” Mychael asked.
“That’s the one. Phaelan’s big brother. Apparently he’s also Chigaru’s personal banker.”
Mychael blinked. “A Benares banker?”
I grinned. “He uses the name Peronne. But yeah, a Benares banker. Great, huh?”
“And convenient. However, he was nearly the late Chigaru’s former banker.”
“Came damned close. You hear what all happened?”
Mychael arched an eyebrow. “My men are trained observers.”
“Did they observe that those bombers were Khrynsani assassins?”
“A few were close enough to detect the glamours.”
“Too bad most every goblin on the waterfront isn’t as gifted.” I told him about my role in the boat tug-of-war and the messy results.
Mychael frowned. “Khrynsani assassins and a weather wizard. Was he a goblin?”
“Couldn’t tell. He was cloaked, hooded, and gloved.”
“He’d have to be a goblin. I can’t see Khrynsani assassins trusting a human at their backs. Sounds like I’ve got a Khrynsani nest to find and clean out.” Mychael indicated the folded cloth in my left hand. “Is that something else Imala and Tam want you to look at?”
I nodded. “The dart that took Chigaru in the back of the neck.”
“The back?”
“Fired by one of his own courtiers. Imala wants to know who.” I carefully peeled away the cloth, exposing what was essentially a black needle that was no longer than my last finger joint.
The dart still had the prince’s blood on it, as did the bolt. Any contact with that blood and I’d be sharing Chigaru’s shoulder-puncturing, virtually drowning experience. But if I wiped any of the blood off, some of the assassin’s residue could be wiped off with it.
“Can you find out who fired it without touching it?” Mychael asked.
I winced. “Wish I could.”
Mychael knelt on the floor next to me, and I could sense the heat of his body even through his armor. He wrapped his fingers around my hand holding the dart, keeping it steady to get a closer look.
“I can’t see any residue of poison,” he murmured. “But that doesn’t mean—”
Some things could be resisted, but why?
I closed the distance between our lips. I had a bolt in one hand and a dart in the other and didn’t dare drop either one, but my lips didn’t need any help; they were doing a satisfying job all by themselves. I pulled away from the kiss only when the terror of nearly being blown up was replaced by wondering how I could get past Mychael’s armor, and how long we’d have until someone started banging on the door.
There was nothing more life affirming than lust.
Mychael’s grin was slow and wicked. “I would ask what that was for, but it doesn’t matter. Thank you.”