Garadin had completed a quick circuit of the room and was making his way back to me.
“Prince Chigaru has people all over the place,” I told him.
“Where?” He was calm, which was more than I could say for myself.
“The spellsinger, for one. He was at the estate in The Ruins night before last.” I decided to leave out the part about Rahimat being Tam’s nephew. Garadin already disliked Tam, no need to toss fuel on that fire.
“Then there’s the primari and her escort,” I added, “along with more than a few goblins not wearing black—any of whom who could be allied with either brother and up to no good.”
“These are goblin aristocrats,” Garadin pointed out. “Not many of them are up to any good. Like I said, there’s nothing like an assassination to liven things up. No one would blame us for seeking the safety of the gardens. If things get too lively here, we’ll have plenty of company to use as cover.”
Out of the frying pan and into the fire.
Mychael appeared at my side. That was disconcerting. I didn’t even realize he had gone. I had let myself be distracted. That wasn’t going to happen again. The goblin spellsinger had just finished his song, and the musicians were playing the first few notes of a favorite Mermeian dance tune, with a dark goblin twist, of course.
Mychael held out his hand to me.
“It would appear strange if the count did not dance with his bride.” His voice was low and for my ears only. “I also need to locate any Khrynsani in the room. A few turns around the dance floor should suffice.”
I fought down a surge of panic. Not the life-and-death kind, but the die-of-embarrassment kind. It was ironic. I was surrounded by Mal’Salins, and I was afraid of dancing. But that didn’t stop my mouth from being suddenly dry.
“I don’t dance.”
“You’ll be fine.”
“No, really. I don’t dance.”
“No lady of any court moves with more grace than you.” He raised my hand to his lips. “Trust me, you dance. Your feet will be fine.”
I took his arm. It wasn’t my feet I was worried about. It was the shoes and the hem of the gown that would trip both of them.
“I’ll keep Master Tamas company,” Garadin said just loud enough that a Mal’Salin retainer passing close by could hear. “You two children run along and have fun.”
Mychael merged effortlessly into the swirl of dancing revelers, and swept me along with him. My gown’s wrist loop worked as promised, keeping my train off the floor and out from under my feet. Surprisingly, after the first minute or so, I had yet to land in a heap on the floor. With my nerves and complete lack of dancing skills, it was nothing short of a miracle. Either that, or Mychael was that good a dancer.
More than one goblin in the room wanted the necklace I wore around my neck, and were more than willing to take my head to get to it. Dancing next to them didn’t seem to be the best way to remain inconspicuous. But at least I was moving, which helped me to feel less like a sitting duck.
Mychael’s hand was firm against the small of my back; the other enfolded one of my hands. He drew me close and attempted to steer me in the direction he wanted to go.
“Raine?” he said softly.
I looked up at him. “Yes?”
“Some people find dancing enjoyable.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “I’m dancing backward, in a gown and shoes that aren’t mine, in a room full of goblin nobles. This is as relaxed as I’m going to get.”
He smiled back. “Then I’ll simply have to make do.”
After our first circuit of the dance floor, Mychael began humming softly along with the music. It was more of a counter-melody, in a slightly different key, and less discordant. I found myself relaxing a little.
I knew what he was doing, and he did it well. Having been taught by Garadin, I knew that music makes a magic all its own. The goblin king would only have the best musicians performing for him. Their talent was apparent as their music’s magic swirled with and in the air around the dancers.
Mychael was using the musicians to conceal a little musical magic of his own. It was similar enough to the tune being played to blend, yet different enough to do what he wanted—namely locating other mages in the room. I’m sure there were more than enough of them, but Mychael was looking for Khrynsani shamans. But there was only one Khrynsani whose location I wanted to know, and he was more than capable of hiding himself until he wanted to be found.
The song ended, and the dancers and those who were simply enjoying the music applauded politely. I wasn’t thrilled with where we ended up when the music stopped. The royal dais and the goblin king’s throne were only about ten steps to our right.
I also wasn’t thrilled with the scrutiny I suddenly found myself on the receiving end of. I thought I recognized the interested parties. Unfortunately, the same thought had occurred to them. They were goblins. They were black-garbed Mal’Salin courtiers. Prince Chigaru Mal’Salin’s courtiers. So much for whether the prince was going to crash his brother’s party. One whispered to the other, and the pair started toward us. I don’t think they had recognized me yet, but they wanted to get a closer look.
I turned toward Mychael. “Company,” I said in a warning singsong tone.
“I see them.” He took matters into his own hands—and me along with it.
Mychael gathered me to him in a kiss passionate enough to make me forget the goblins, forget the guests, and drop my fan. When I opened my eyes, I discovered it also had the equally desirable effect of making the goblins doubt they recognized me. A win-win for everyone. Anyone and everyone else who noticed were smiling indulgently at the love struck newlyweds.
I was a little short of breath. My corset wasn’t helping matters any. No wonder fainting couches were so popular with the upper classes. I absently wondered if one was nearby. Mychael gently cradled my face in his hands. His eyes were darker than I remember them being. I opened my mouth to at least attempt a protest.
“A valid tactical maneuver,” his lips moved against mine.
“So that’s what Guardians call it,” I whispered breathlessly.
I felt him smile. “To deflect attention of one kind, attract attention of another.”
“Works for me.” Even better, it worked for Chigaru’s courtiers. Apparently interrupting an intimate newlywed moment was in bad taste even for a Mal’Salin. One of them even bent to retrieve my fan for me before he scurried away in embarrassment. Mychael didn’t release me; he just readjusted his hold. I liked the way he readjusted. I told myself he was just staying in character, and it was simply another valid tactical maneuver. I told myself that, but I didn’t really believe it—and I didn’t mind that I didn’t believe.
There was movement on the gallery above as trumpeters stood in a flash of scarlet and black and blew a fanfare.
Mychael sensed what I wanted to do and anchored me to the spot, his arm firmly around my waist, his hand gripping mine. We must have looked quite the loving couple. But I knew he was right. Running would be suicidal. But that didn’t stop every muscle in my body from wanting to do it. Especially when I saw King Sathrik Mal’Salin and the solitary black-robed figure that entered immediately behind him. Who would have thought Sarad Nukpana was the party type? The goblin king was unmasked and dressed in black and silver formal-dress armor. It was his party, so he could wear what he wanted.
Mychael pulled me even closer. “Be still and clear your mind.” His voice was a bare whisper against my ear. “You’re the Countess of Eilde, just home from your honeymoon. You’re deliriously happy and honored to be here.”
Delirious I could do, happy I was not.
Still, I took a breath and let it out slowly, willing myself to relax.
Mychael gave my waist a quick squeeze. “Happy, darling?”
“I’m getting there,” I said from between clenched teeth.
“Good.”
The goblin king and the Khrynsani grand shaman passed close enough to touch, though that was the last thing on my mind. I held my breath as they passed, and I was sure I wasn’t alone. Something was wrong. Not really wrong, but different. Sathrik turned and seated himself on his throne, and the robed figure turned to stand at his left hand. I saw a shadow of a masked face beneath the cowled hood.