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.

It wasn’t Sarad Nukpana. I don’t know how I knew, but I did.

I started breathing again.

“It’s not him,” I said softly.

Mychael squeezed my hand to let me know he heard.

The goblin king began to address his guests, but I didn’t hear the words. Why would Sarad Nukpana send an impostor to stand at the king’s side?

I knew the answer as soon as the question asked itself. He had more important things to do, a full evening planned. A stone of power to secure, a mage to torture. I shivered as the tension I’d just released was replaced by fresh fear. Tarsilia. She had to be close. What was happening to her?

There was applause as Sathrik concluded his greeting, and the guests began taking the floor for the next dance.

“Are you unwell, darling?” Mychael asked, as only a solicitous new husband could. “You’re looking pale. Perhaps something to drink and some fresh air.”

I nodded tensely.

We made our way to the bar nearest the garden doors. Garadin, Piaras, and the two Guardians were already outside. A tall, elegant goblin was moving toward us—moving just like the big, dangerous cat he was.

Tam.

His chosen garb for the evening was a dark goblin mirror of Mychael’s own attire. The goblin primaru was every inch the Mal’Salin duke he used to be in a surcoat of midnight blue suede, with a mix of tooled gray leather and burnished steel armor beneath. Unlike most of the “knights” I’d seen on the dance floor, Tam’s armor was authentic. I had a feeling he had something other than dancing planned for this evening.

“You encountered no difficulty gaining admittance?” Tam asked us once he was close enough to speak without being overheard.

“Just the expected,” Mychael replied.

I didn’t mention that I had expected worse—and I certainly hadn’t expected Tam.

Tam looked down at me, or more to the point, at my bodice. “Nice dress.”

“Thanks.”

“Very flattering,” he murmured.

“I didn’t choose it.”

“Who did?”

I tilted my head toward Mychael. “He did.”

Tam glanced at Mychael. “You did?”

“I did.”

Neither of them showed any emotion, but the tension in the air went up a notch. Wonderful. Just what I didn’t need.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” I told Tam. “The company not to your liking and all that.”

“I’ve asked if he would assist us this evening,” Mychael explained.

“How?”

Tam leaned in close to me. “To rescue fair lady from foul fiend,” he said, his voice low and for my ears only.

Tarsilia. I breathed a little sigh of relief, then smiled at the irony.

“What?” Tam asked.

“She doesn’t like you, you know.” The “because of me” part I left unsaid.

Tam grinned. “I know.”

“Trying to earn some points?”

“Couldn’t hurt. And best of all, it would annoy the foul fiend.” He winked. “I take my fun when and where I can find it.”

That was Tam.

He took my hand and gallantly raised it to his lips, though the lips-to-hand contact lingered for far longer than was gallant. “Now if you will excuse me, the other fair lady awaits.”

“Good luck,” I whispered. “And thank you.”

“Luck to you, too.” He glanced at Mychael, and an unspoken something passed between them. Tam looked back to me, his expression solemn. “But you won’t need luck, you have your own brave knight.”

Then he crossed the crowded dance floor and was gone.

I suddenly felt woozy again. “I could really use that drink.”

“As my fair lady commands.”

I sat in one of the chairs arranged around a column while Mychael went to get drinks for us both.

“My brother’s taste in music is sadly lacking,” came a voice so close to my ear I could feel his breath.

Prince Chigaru Mal’Salin’s breath.

I stood, and he caught my arm in an iron grip.

“I thought Rahimat would be a welcome addition to this evening’s festivities,” he continued calmly as if we were friends having a chat.

Then Mychael was there.

“Come no closer, Paladin Eiliesor,” the goblin prince said softly for Mychael’s benefit and smiled fully for anyone who witnessed the exchange.

I felt a blade press against my ribs.

“I only require the beacon. Mistress Benares is no longer necessary.”