Chapter 10

There were two types of ground in The Ruins—that which was solid, and that which only looked that way. I hoped our captors knew the difference.

Few remembered what The Ruins’ real name was. It had once been the most exclusive address in Mermeia—until about a hundred years ago, when a personal vendetta between a pair of retired Conclave mages got out of hand. It had been a lush island park in the middle of the city, home to only the most wealthy. When creatures out of a nightmare began haunting the dead mages’ estates, Mermeia’s social elite decided to take their high living elsewhere. Grand villas and sprawling gardens fell into piles of stone and swamp as the trees and lagoon reclaimed their own. Ruins were all that remained of the once beautiful mansions, and the name had stuck.

Since then, The Ruins had become a favorite haunt of criminal gangs and rogue sorcerers looking for a hiding place and privacy for their work and experiments. The descendants of a few of those magical experiments gone awry still roamed The Ruins’ depths. In the course of my work, I’d seen a few of them firsthand, and had secondhand knowledge of others. I was in no hurry to repeat either experience.

Several unfortunate incidents had forced the city’s leaders to take action. A high, iron fence topped with spikes was erected to keep The Ruins’ inhabitants in, and the general populace of Mermeia out. Protecting the stupid from themselves hadn’t been a popular use for taxes. Many citizens, myself included, felt that if someone wasn’t bright enough not to go wandering into The Ruins, they had every right to cut themselves from the herd, and we shouldn’t go wasting taxpayer coin trying to stop them.

A walk through The Ruins was bad enough without being bound, blindfolded, and led by armed goblins. I had been here before, though it wasn’t my first choice then and it certainly wasn’t where I wanted to be now. I couldn’t see a thing either through or underneath the blindfold, but my other senses were telling me that things hadn’t improved any since my last visit.

Daytime in The Ruins was generally quiet, as most of the things that made their home there needed the dark in order to venture out. As soon as the sun set, those things began to wake up—hungry things whose first order of business was to find food. Unfortunately, Piaras and I qualified as food. Muffled shrieks and calls erupted from nearby. A guttural moan materialized from above us, only to be abruptly silenced. I wasn’t sure which was worse, whatever the goblins had planned for us, or being an evening snack for what was now growling to my immediate right.

Escaping wasn’t an option I considered for very long. Even if we could get away, it was dark, we were blindfolded, our hands were securely bound behind our backs, but most importantly, I knew what was out there. When it came to The Ruins, I’d consider our captors the lesser of two evils until they proved otherwise.

Piaras was being herded by a second group of goblins on the trail behind us. They didn’t want me talking to him. That became obvious to me the moment I tried. My jaw still ached from where a goblin fist had abruptly made its acquaintance. Apparently a punch hurts a lot more if you don’t have the advantage of seeing it coming.

The goblins set a quick pace. Apparently they didn’t like leisurely nighttime strolls through The Ruins either. I was grateful for the speed, but it didn’t make it easy to keep my feet under me. My captors didn’t care. With a firm grip on my upper arms, they just lifted me over whatever obstacle lay in their path. I guess it was faster than letting me fall down on a regular basis.

Our captors finally slowed down. From that, and the feel of flagstones beneath my boots, I guessed we had arrived at one of the abandoned villas. I hardly expected to find a goblin who could afford the muscle accompanying us camping out in a fisherman’s hut, and I had to admit it was the perfect hiding place.

I heard more goblins as we were led up a short stair and into what I assumed was our destination. I dimly saw flickers of light beneath the cloth of my blindfold as we were taken down a long corridor. I heard goblin voices. One suddenly drowned out the others in a flash of anger. I couldn’t make out the words, but the voice’s owner clearly wasn’t happy. A door grated open on long-unused hinges, and my arms involuntarily tensed in my captors’ grip. The voice abruptly lowered to a terse, sibilant whisper. We were pushed forward and the voice fell silent.

A gloved hand removed my blindfold. Once I finished blinking against the light, I found myself in what looked to have once been a gentleman’s study. The dark wood walls were dull with age and neglect. What furniture remained was of the finest quality, before time and damp swamp air had taken their toll. Much of it was covered with either sheets or equally pale and filmy cobwebs. That told me that the goblins hadn’t been here long, and they weren’t planning to outstay their welcome. The room was lit by candles, and the sole source of heat was a small fire dwarfed by the massive marble fireplace that contained it.

Our host stood before the fireplace. He was a tall goblin, his beautiful face a carefully emotionless mask. Except for its blue black shimmer, his waist-length hair was unadorned. His eyes were dark and intense, with hardly any white exposed. He took a breath and a forced calm settled over him. I wasn’t fooled. I also knew exactly who he was. Prince Chigaru Mal’Salin may be a fugitive on the run from his brother, but he was going to do it in style, and he could certainly afford the muscle that had brought us here and now loomed directly behind us.

Some of the goblins in the room with him also wore their black hair loose, while others wore theirs in braids, elaborately entwined with silver chains and caught at the base with jeweled clasps. They wore earrings with fine chains linking them to cuffs attached to the ear near the pointed tip. All were stylishly attired in dark silks and velvets; and like their prince, some wore intricately tooled leather and blued-steel armor in addition to their finery. All were armed.

Street thugs they weren’t. They looked like what they probably were: a royal court in exile.

I inclined my head to the tall goblin by the fireplace. “Your Highness.”

“Mistress Benares.”

Sarad Nukpana and a Mal’Salin prince knew my name. That was more than a little alarming.

“Yes, I know who you are,” the goblin prince said. His gaze landed on Piaras. “Who is this?”

“Bait,” one of the guards told him.

Piaras’s dark eyes flashed in anger. Good for him. He hadn’t panicked, and he had been given ample opportunity. From what I’d heard about the Mal’Salins, things would probably get worse before they got any better. If they got any better.

The prince’s black eyes locked with mine for several long moments. “Untie them,” he said quietly.

One of the guards approached and sliced through my bindings. I rubbed my wrists to restore the circulation. Piaras did the same.

“I apologize for any inconvenience or affront to your dignity. I assure you neither was intended. I needed to speak with you, and you have been most persistent in avoiding me.”

Avoiding him? I didn’t even know he was looking for me. Though I shouldn’t be surprised. It seemed like everyone else in Mermeia was looking for me. The prince’s voice was polite, but strained. He was under control, but only because he wouldn’t allow himself to be otherwise, at least not yet. Something was going on here, and I didn’t think I wanted to know what it was.

“I regret I had to resort to such crude means to bring you here, but I am running out of time, and you left me with no choice. It was fortunate that you happened along when and where you did. If you had not, we would have had the regrettable task of proving that we had your young friend. We probably would have had to do something drastic.” He paused. “That would have been unfortunate.”