I didn’t like his plan already. “Everyone else?”

“The goblin king’s masked ball? The social elite of your city are in a frenzy. You might have noticed.”

“The masked ball,” I said, without enthusiasm.

“Tonight at the goblin embassy,” Mychael finished for me. “It couldn’t be more perfect—everyone will be wearing masks.”

I didn’t think anything about it was perfect. Not only would I be going into the equivalent of a dragon’s den, I had a feeling I’d be doing it wearing something I ordinarily wouldn’t be caught dead in. Though if I was lucky, or if Mychael was as good as everyone seemed to think, I’d end up neither caught nor dead.

“I, and a few of my men, will be attending as representatives of the Archmagus.” Mychael backed off a step, and executed a courtly bow. “I would be honored if you would accompany me as my guest.”

All I could manage was, “Is this a date?”

That must not have been the response he was used to. He thought for a moment. “You could call it that. If you’re concerned about your reputation, we’ll both be masked so no one will recognize us.”

“The only damaged reputation would be yours,” I told him. “I’m a Benares, remember?”

“That doesn’t concern me.”

Another surprise. A really nice one. “It doesn’t?”

“Not in the least. However, you’re also probably an Anguis.”

Of course. That meant I was only half criminal. My father was a Conclave Guardian. That made the other side of my family marginally acceptable. I was sure he didn’t mean it like it sounded. Few people did, but that didn’t stop them from saying it—or more often, thinking it. Either was just as bad. Snow in the Nebian desert. The paladin of the Conclave Guardians with a Benares. Both ranked in probability right up there with the lower hells freezing over. I looked around for something to kick. Where was Ocnus when you needed him?

There was a knock at the door.

“Come,” Mychael called.

It was the blond ax wielder, whose full name I’d discovered was Vegard Rolfgar. “Sorry to interrupt, sir. But we have a message from the Khrynsani.”

Mychael stepped forward to take the wax-sealed paper. “How was it delivered?”

Vegard came in and shut the door behind him. “It wasn’t. Hugh and Teris were on watch at the goblin embassy when two shamans stepped outside and tacked this to the gates.” He grinned. “Hugh kind of thought it might be for us, so they retrieved it. It’s addressed to the lady,” he said, indicating me. The blond Guardian removed a long, narrow cloth-wrapped bundle from his belt. “The goblins used this for a nail.”

Mychael took the bundle and carefully unwrapped it. From his expression, he knew what it was. I had a good idea myself. The last fold of cloth fell open. It was a Khrynsani ceremonial sacrificial dagger. I hate it when I’m right. Judging from the dark gems encrusting the grip above the nearly foot-long triangular blade, and the single ruby topping the pommel, it probably belonged to Sarad Nukpana himself. I knew then that whatever words were written on the parchment, it was just an invitation to play. The real message was the dagger. Though if Nukpana had ordered this one used to tack a note to a gate, at least he couldn’t use it for more twisted purposes. But I was sure he had a spare. The crazies always did. The dagger was a personal challenge, and I took it as one.

Mychael studied the envelope. It was sealed with black wax, and appeared to be harmless enough. But we both knew better. Nothing that Sarad Nukpana produced could be harmless. I let Mychael finish his inspection. He included a scan that made me feel more confident about his results. After another moment or two he passed it to me, his distaste apparent.

“It seems to be safe,” he told me. “Not clean, but safe.”

It was as much as I expected. I accepted it, and to Mychael’s bemusement, still did a scan of my own. I valued my life more than the Guardian’s feelings, but I got the impression that considering the author of the message, Mychael didn’t take my caution personally.

The pale cream parchment felt smooth beneath my fingers. I had my suspicions regarding its origin, and looked up at Mychael. His lips were pressed into a tight line. So much for his distaste. I was pretty sure I knew what kind of skin the parchment was made from. I steeled myself and took out a small dagger to use on the seal. Just because I had to open it didn’t mean that I couldn’t touch it as little as possible. I needed to read the message, and that would be difficult to do with the letter in the fireplace and me cringing in the opposite corner of the room. I could tell myself that the elf or human whose skin had been used for Sarad Nukpana’s personal stationery was long dead. It didn’t make it any better, just almost bearable.

I broke the seal. Nothing happened. No doubt Nukpana was saving all of his unpleasant surprises for a more personal encounter. The letter was written in goblin, which wasn’t a problem for me. His choice of ink was another matter altogether. I had a big problem with that. It was blood, and it had to have been fresh. Focus on the message, I told myself, not the ink source.

I read it. I didn’t want to focus on the message either. I felt more than a little lightheaded at the words scratched on that parchment. Sarad Nukpana wrote them to terrify me now, so I wouldn’t be able to fight him later. He wanted Piaras at our meeting. If he wasn’t, the deal was off, Saghred or no Saghred. He went on to assure me that killing a spellsinger so young and gifted would be a waste and was the last thing on his mind. Then he told me exactly what was on his mind, in calm, clinical detail. I clenched my jaw, sending my rage back to the hard knot in the pit of my stomach where it had come from. I wasn’t going to keep it penned up for long. Venting would come later, when I had Sarad Nukpana’s throat between my hands.

“What is it?” Mychael asked.

I handed the letter to him. “He’s getting greedy. Do you read goblin?”

“I do.”

“Good.” I wasn’t about to read it to him, not with Piaras in the room, or even with Piaras out of the room. I didn’t want to give life of any kind to the goblin’s twisted words.

Mychael scanned the page. From the expressions that flowed across his face, his reaction was much the same as my own. The Guardian just went up a couple of more notches in my estimation. Protective instincts in a man could sometimes be more of a hindrance than a help, but considering who and what Sarad Nukpana was, I’d take all the protective instincts from others that I could get, especially if that someone was a Guardian paladin.

“What is it?” Piaras was on his feet, and walking toward Mychael. “What does it say?”

I blocked his way. “No!”

My vehemence shocked even me. It froze Piaras in his tracks. From the look on his face, you’d have thought I had slapped him.

“I’m sorry, but you don’t need to read that.” My volume backed off, but not the intensity.

I had taught Piaras to read goblin myself. But I had taught him for mixing herbs for medicines, not to read the perverse ravings of a monster.

The young elf’s expression hardened. “Why not? If it’s about Grandma—”

“The only mention of your grandmother is to set up the trade.”

That wasn’t entirely true, but I didn’t want to tell Piaras that either. Sarad Nukpana had made another reference to Tarsilia, detailing precisely what would happen to her should we not promptly comply with his wishes. Then at the point of her death, he would use what remained of Tarsilia’s life to fuel another Gate to come and get Piaras and me himself. Piaras was not going to read that.

“The trade for you?” Piaras asked quietly.

“Yes.” I told myself a half truth was better than none at all.

Piaras didn’t respond immediately. He just looked at me. He knew there was more, and he didn’t need any magical talent to tell him. If I had reacted that strongly, chances were he really didn’t want to know. But he felt he should. And as much as I didn’t want to admit it, I wasn’t all that sure he was wrong. The world was full of ugliness. Piaras was going to have to find out about it sooner or later. I just didn’t want it to be now, and like this.