Then there was the warm greeting of the Mal’Salin royal guard in full battle armor standing at attention, illuminated by the blaze of the torches. They were spaced every twenty feet or so on both sides of the canal, and in addition to the usual curved daggers and sabers, each carried a slender spear with a particularly lethal-looking hooked blade at the top.

Piaras’s hand had started to sweat. Or maybe it was mine.

“This was not a good idea,” Piaras said from between clenched teeth.

“There’s nothing wrong with the idea,” I tried to reassure him—and me. “Just the welcoming committee.”

I was determined not to be scared. The trappings of terror decorating the canal banks had Sarad Nukpana’s name written all over them. Once again, he was only trying to frighten me so that I couldn’t fight him. I wouldn’t let him succeed.

But that didn’t stop him from doing a damn fine job.

The steps of the goblin embassy extended down into the canal. As we neared the steps, the gondola pilots guided their boats into a single line. When their passengers had safely disembarked, they pulled away, making way for the next guests. I say safely, because due to both the costuming and masks, maneuverability and visibility were at a minimum for some partygoers. There were goblin footmen there to assist, but I wasn’t about to take any proffered hands, especially if they belonged to someone working for the Mal’Salin family. I would rather risk going for an unexpected swim. I needn’t have worried. Mychael jumped out first and gallantly offered his hand to me. And once he had it, he didn’t let go. Considering where we were, I didn’t mind.

Piaras stepped from the gondola by himself without a stumble. Just before we had disembarked, he had given my hand a firm squeeze, then stood resolutely, his jaw set. My little brother was growing up.

I looked at Mychael standing by my side—and kept looking. He was magnificent. Regal in the purple and gold of an ancient Pengorian knight, the paladin’s surcoat looked almost black in the flickering torchlight, entwined vines and leaves finely embroidered in gold thread on the soft suede. Mychael’s mask was etched gold, the perfect setting for those glorious blue eyes. The costume, the embassy, a king’s masked ball. Mychael clearly belonged here. I didn’t.

He caught me looking. I quickly glanced away.

I felt him raise my hand to his lips. “You’re beautiful,” I heard him murmur.

I didn’t know what to say. I’d never been very good at compliments, especially those addressed to me.

He smiled and kissed my hand again, taking his time before draping my arm over his to escort me inside.

To get inside, all of the guests had to walk up the stairs flanked by yet more royal guardsmen sporting enough enameled steel to anchor a ship—or sink one. They didn’t seem to mind the weight. They also didn’t seem to blink. Eerie. Though I’m sure the Mal’Salins frowned on such displays of weakness. And when a Mal’Salin royal frowned, heads rolled, or so I’d heard.

At the top of the stairs, I saw a small goblin lady, her bearing regal, wearing a gown of the most ethereal fabric that I had ever seen. The color shifted and shimmered with the torchlight. Her hair and face were completely covered by a pale cloud of a veil that fell past her shoulders. Beneath that, she wore a mask as well. She reached out one tiny, gloved hand and placed it lightly on the arm of a goblin who was dressed as a jester, but he apparently had left his good humor at home. His bearing was straight, either from naturally good posture or tension. Considering where we were, it could have been both. I might not be the most nervous person here tonight, but I think I had the most reason.

The lady tilted her head to look up at her escort as he said something to her.

I knew her.

I tried to get as close to Mychael’s ear as possible. Not easy in my hat.

“The couple at the door, the small goblin lady…”

“Yes?”

“A’Zahra Nuru.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“Do you recognize her escort?”

“No, but he’s probably one of the prince’s courtiers. He’s too short to be the prince.”

“Well then, let’s see if they get in.”

I wasn’t anywhere near as casual about it as Mychael, but on a positive note, at least I knew what the primari was wearing. Chances were once she was inside, she would be meeting Prince Chigaru. If I couldn’t avoid my enemies this evening, it’d at least be nice to spot some of them before they spotted me.

The goblin primari gave her invitation to one of the guards at the door. He looked at it and then at her. He returned it to her and the door opened. She started to step across the threshold, then paused, glancing back over her shoulder. The beacon still vibrated happily inside my bodice. I fought the urge to cover it with my hand. I knew the gesture wouldn’t do any good and would only draw attention.

A’Zahra Nuru paused a moment longer, then she and her escort entered the embassy.

Now it was our turn.

The guard gestured us forward. Mychael swept up the steps without hesitation. Piaras, Garadin, and I followed with Vegard and Riston Kirkwode, the dark-haired Guardian from Tam’s place.

The guard scrutinized the invitation then our masked faces, each in turn. I hope the Count of Eilde, or his politics, hadn’t bought us more problems than perks. The guard turned to confer with a superior. The officer was checking another invitation, and the guard had to wait until he was finished. Next to me, Piaras took a breath and held it. While he did that, I entertained myself by wondering which was closer—the dagger in my bodice, or the throwing knives in the hidden pockets of my gown.

Mychael waited seemingly without a care in the world. He even began humming a tune currently popular in the eastern kingdoms. He had nerve. The humming continued, and with it came a smile. It was contagious. A corner of the goblin guard’s mouth turned upward. He turned away from the still-busy officer and returned the invitation to Mychael.

“There’s no need to keep you waiting, sir. On behalf of His Royal Majesty, King Sathrik Mal’Salin, I bid you and your guests welcome. Please enter.”

Chapter 20

“It’s not the song that matters, but how you sing it. Or in this case how you hum it,” Mychael was explaining to an amazed Piaras. “A light and friendly tune to inspire light and friendly thoughts.”

I really didn’t care how he did it, I was just grateful that he had. I kept telling myself that there was probably nothing to the sentry’s reaction to either our invitation or to us. But it would take more than my own assurances to convince my heart rate to return to normal. Call me insecure.

While we waited our turn to enter the ballroom, I took the opportunity to familiarize myself with the lay of the land. Others were obviously doing the same thing, but I was probably the only one, or at least one of the few, looking around in case I needed to make a quick getaway. The floorplan of the goblin embassy was similar to that of other great houses along the Grand Duke’s Canal. The first floor was reserved for entry and less important rooms. Mermeia was prone to flooding, and no noble wanted to constantly have to rescue the ancestral portraits and Great Aunt Gertrude’s favorite chairs from rising waters.

We were in a lavish reception area, with an imposing staircase that swept up to a landing in front of a massive stained-glass window, again featuring the House of Mal’Salin crest. From there, the stairs split to either side to continue to the third floor, and the grand ballroom. All around us, guests were removing the outer cloaks they had worn to protect their finery. Piaras and I had left ours in the gondola. We had no intention of leaving the way we had come in. Since the count had been nice enough to loan us everything we needed for the evening, it would be rude to knowingly leave behind something we had borrowed. In my mind that also included returning the costumes we were wearing without any unsightly slashes, holes, or bloodstains.