Lisa Shearin - Raine Benares 02 (8 page)

From
the moment he came through the door, Ronan Cayle had been stalking around the
edge of the room like a hound on a fresh scent. “Not for your last song, they
weren’t.” He never took his eyes off the walls. “And the shields on this room
weren’t disabled. They were cut.” Cayle stopped in front of a section of wall
near the air vent. “A careful, surgical cut,” he said, sliding his hand up the
wall. His hand stopped. “A cut that started right here.” He quickly pulled a
chair over, stood on it, and moved his hand slowly over the metal grille of the
vent, careful not to touch it. “And it extended right into the air vent.”

Piaras
looked like he had stopped breathing or had forgotten how. “A cut? But I would
have known if someone slashed the shields.”

“Not
if someone very talented didn’t want you to know,” Cayle said, never taking his
eyes off the vent. He carefully placed his fingertips on the grille. “And that
someone took great care so you would not know—and chose the air vent so your
song would reach the most people.” Cayle sounded like he almost admired the
bastard’s work.

“Where
could they have cut the shields from?” I asked.

“Since
they were cut while Piaras was singing, it wasn’t from inside this room,”
Mychael said. “They would have worked from the other side of the wall.”

“What’s
back there?”

“Two
rooms. The reception area for visitors and a common room where the men relax
when they’re not on duty.”

“So
it was guests or Guardians.”

Mychael’s
eyes were blue frost. “None of my men would have done this,” he said quietly.

“Then
one of your guests was up to no good,” I told him.

“Who’d
want all the Guardians to take a nap?” Phaelan asked.

Mychael
and I looked at each other. Nightshades or Khrynsani. Take your pick. The
Nightshades wanted to kill Mychael. The Khrynsani wanted me alive. Both would
love to get the Saghred. Sleeping Guardians would make getting any of the above
a whole lot easier.

Mychael
glared at the wall. “Whoever did it simply walked out through sleeping
Guardians.”

“Or
has blended back into the woodwork,” I said. A lot of things didn’t make sense
to me right now, but two questions demanded asking. “Well, whoever it was, how
would they’ve known Piaras would be in here, and what spellsongs he’d be
practicing?”

Piaras
cleared his throat. “I reserved the room last night, and I had to give a
reason.” He paused apologetically. “I wrote ‘sleepsongs.’ ”

“The
logbook is on a desk down the hall,” Mychael told me.

I was
incredulous. “Anyone could have seen it?”

“It’s
a book to reserve time in a music room, Raine. A spellsinger practicing is
hardly a state secret.” Mychael looked at the air vent. “Is it still asleep?”

I
didn’t need to ask who “it” was. There was no pressure in the center of my
chest from the Saghred. I still hesitated before answering. “Yes.”

“You
don’t sound sure.”

“I’m
sure it’s asleep. I just don’t trust it.”

Cayle
spoke. “If it is asleep, the king’s ransom question is how long will it stay
that way.”

“A
century or two would be nice,” I muttered.

Piaras
looked from one of us to the other, now scared
and
confused.

“Should
we tell Piaras what he just did?” I asked Mychael.

“He
needs to know.”

Out
in the corridor, Guardians were getting to their feet in response to their
paladin’s voice; some of them had thrown an arm over a brother’s shoulder for
support. It was starting to look less like nap time and more like the morning
after a night out.

“You
mean that?” Piaras asked. He sounded a little sick.

“I’m
afraid you did more than that,” I told him.

“I
did
more
?”

“Mychael
and Maestro Cayle were spellsinging the Saghred to sleep, but you beat them to
it.”

“Maestro?”
Piaras whispered in sheer terror.

Somehow
I didn’t think Piaras had heard anything past “Maestro.”

Mychael
spoke. “Ronan, this is your audition for tomorrow.”

Cayle’s
amber eyes were locked on Piaras. “So you’re Master Rivalin. Audition, hell.
There’ll be no audition.”

Phaelan
came to his feet. I was about to punch Ronan Cayle.

Piaras
stood perfectly still, his breathing shallow. “I no longer have an audition.”
He didn’t ask it as a question, and he clenched his jaw against any further
show of emotion. He was devastated, but he was going to keep his dignity. “I
understand, sir.”

Phaelan
stepped up beside me, and I laid a restraining hand on his arm. If he was going
after Cayle, he’d have to get in line behind me.

“No,
you don’t understand,” Cayle told him. “You don’t knock out half the Guardians
in the citadel and then audition.” He walked slowly around Piaras, assessing
what he saw and what he could not see.

The
Piaras I saw was tall, had liquid brown eyes and tousled dark curls, and was on
the verge of becoming a handsome young man. Piaras saw awkwardness and a voice
that would always be less than perfect. I think Ronan Cayle was seeing a
powerful, loose cannon who’d taken out most of Mid’s main line of defense.

“Yes,
you’re very dangerous,” the maestro said softly.

His
voice was velvet-covered steel. “With the right song, you’d be lethal. You’re
unpredictable, impulsive, and you have absolutely no idea of your potential.”

Piaras
swallowed. “Potential, sir?”

“Potential.”
Cayle stopped in front of Piaras and smiled slowly. “For the good of the seven
kingdoms, I’d better take you as a student.” His smile broadened and those
amber eyes glittered. “As to auditioning, you just did.”

Piaras
gaped in disbelief. “You’re accepting me?”

“I
am.” Cayle chuckled softly. “You’ve left me no choice.”

“And
without a formal audition,” Mychael told Piaras, his lips curling into a small
smile. “That’s a first, isn’t it, Ronan?”

“It
is. Be at my tower at exactly eight bells tomorrow morning,” Cayle told Piaras.
“Mychael can tell you where it is.” The smile vanished. “And come prepared to
work.”

Piaras
smiled like the sun had just come out. “Thank you, sir.”

Ronan
Cayle laughed, a short bark. “We’ll see how thankful you are after tomorrow.
And by the way, my students are expected to sprint to the top of my tower in
three minutes or less. Builds lung capacity.” There was an evil glint in those
amber eyes. “You’re going to need it.”

“A
cut shield explains Piaras spellsinging my men to sleep,” Mychael said. “But it
doesn’t tell me who did the cutting, or why. It also doesn’t tell me how Piaras
sang the Saghred to sleep. That was a battlefield sleepsong; it shouldn’t have
worked.”

Piaras
blinked. “I did what?”

“Your
voice put the rock to sleep,” I told him. “
That
was that other thing you
did.”

“How
could . . . ? I never meant to . . . I was up here; the Saghred is down there.”
Realization dawned on him. “There are air ducts in the containment rooms.”

Mychael
nodded. “We could hear you loud and clear.”

“Sir,
I’m sorry,” Piaras hurried to explain. “I never meant to—”

Mychael
held up a hand. “I know you didn’t, and I’m not blaming you. This room stays
shielded to prevent exactly what just happened. The sabotage was not your
fault. And regardless of how you did it, you did put the Saghred to sleep, and
for that you have my thanks.”

“It
was almost like the Saghred wanted to go to sleep once it heard you,” I told
Piaras. “It liked what it heard.” I paused uneasily. “A lot.”

“It
liked
Piaras’s song?” Phaelan asked.

“The
Saghred and those
inside
the Saghred liked Piaras’s song,” I clarified.
“And I’m not sure if either is a good thing.”

Piaras
didn’t move. “What do you mean?”

“I
got the feeling the Saghred’s inmates enjoyed your song a little bit too
much—and so did the rock.”

“Is
the rock asleep?” Phaelan asked.

“Yes.”

“If
it’s asleep, it doesn’t really matter what its taste in music is.”

Logic
was all well and good, but Phaelan wasn’t the one with a growing, evil fan
base.

Piaras
was clearly creeped. “I don’t want the Saghred’s inmates to like me.” He
lowered his voice. “Especially you know who.”

“I
don’t want him to like you, either.” Neither one of us felt the need to say the
name out loud. Sarad Nukpana was asleep. Probably. Saying his name right now
didn’t seem like a good idea, kind of like summoning an evil genie out of a
bottle.

Last
week, Sarad Nukpana had given me a choice: either I gave him a demonstration of
the Saghred’s power, or he would sacrifice Piaras to the Saghred. Piaras was
alive. Nukpana was inside the Saghred. Now Nukpana let Piaras sing him to
sleep. I needed to know why, and I needed to know now. If the Saghred had gone
to sleep of its own volition, it’d probably wake up the same way.

I
pulled Mychael aside. “So, is there a user’s manual for the Saghred?” My words
were for his ears alone. Thanks to our saboteur, I didn’t know who could be
listening.

He
looked honestly baffled. “A what?”

“User’s
manual, directions, instructions, why the damned thing fought two master
spellsingers, but rolled over and went to sleep when Piaras sang to it.”

“The
Scriptorium has several books on the Saghred.”

“Good.
I want to read them.”

“They’re
in Old Goblin.”

“Not
a problem. I read Old Goblin.”

Mychael
seemed reluctant. I knew why.

I
waited a few seconds until my voice wouldn’t sound as exasperated as I felt.
“Yes, the Saghred’s been in my head,” I said through only partially clenched
teeth. “And I am well aware that you can’t entirely trust me as long as there’s
a chance it will come back. But do you really think it’s going to help our
cause to keep me locked away
and
stupid? If any of those books can tell
me how to unhook myself from that rock, I want to know about it. And I’m not
the only one in danger here.” I glanced at Piaras; he was talking earnestly
with Ronan Cayle. I lowered my voice even further. “I want to know everything
that Sarad Nukpana knows, and then some.”

Mychael
hesitated, but not for long. “I’ll make the arrangements.”

“Sir?”
came a familiar voice from the doorway.

It
was Riston. I couldn’t help but notice that he had a bad case of bedhead, and
he still looked a little dazed. Piaras winced apologetically. Phaelan’s laugh
came out as a snort.

“Sir,
the chief watcher is here to see you.” Riston looked puzzled. “And he said he
brought you a hairbrush.”

The
man in Mychael’s office was wearing enough leather armor
and blades to make him feel secure in the nastiest
sections of town. I’d once found out the hard way that when a man was that big
and that heavily armed and wearing an expression that grim, it was good to wait
and be properly introduced.

Mychael
greeted him with a warm handshake. I couldn’t help but notice that Mychael’s
entire hand vanished in the man’s enormous paw.

“Raine,
this is our chief watcher, Sedge Rinker. Sedge, this is Raine Benares.”

I
crossed the office and cautiously extended my hand. Members of my family were
generally greeted with hand-
cuffs
by law enforcement, not hand
shakes
.
Rinker hesitated a moment, then took my hand in a firm yet surprisingly gentle
handshake.

“I
was in the square this morning and saw what you did.” Rinker’s voice was a
basso rumble. “Impressive work—and I don’t mind saying a little scary.”

I
grinned. I couldn’t imagine anything scaring this man. “I scared me, too,” I
told him.

Sedge
Rinker didn’t look like a man who sat behind a desk all day. His dark beard was
trimmed neatly enough, but he hadn’t fussed with it. His hair was efficiently
short, but style wasn’t something he bothered with or cared about. However, his
armor and weapons were of the highest quality and in immaculate condition. I’d
seen his like among watch officers many times—they were utterly devoted to
their work and the people they protected.

“Did
you get anything useful from those two Nightshades?” he asked Mychael.

I
gave Mychael a sharp look. “You took two alive?”

“We
did.”

“And?”

“And
our investigation is ongoing.”

It
was his paladin voice, the voice that wasn’t about to tell me anything. His
expression wasn’t volunteering information, either.

Rinker
looked uneasily from Mychael to me. He’d assumed Mychael trusted me. So had I.