My knife passed straight through.

It was a mirage. What kind of sick mage bastard creates a mirage of Sarad Nukpana?

The sentries behind me had drawn steel, and all of it was pointing at yours truly. I froze, keeping my hands where they could see them.

“Stand down,” Mychael ordered. “Miss Benares was startled by the mirage. Sheath your weapons.”

They did, and so did I.

“Dismissed,” Mychael told them.

They saluted, left, and closed the door behind them.

“My mirage hasn’t dissipated yet,” Ronan Cayle told me. “My apologies if it startled you.”

Piaras was standing next to a raised music stand. “Maestro Cayle was helping me improve my repelling spellsongs. He wanted to know what I was most afraid of.”

Phaelan was right—Ronan Cayle was a mean bastard.

“An amazing likeness, don’t you think?” The flame-robed maniac was actually pleased with himself.

My empty knife hand twitched. “Yeah, amazing. Uncanny even.”

Mychael moved between me and the maestro. He didn’t think I was going to do anything; he was just being prudent. I knew I wasn’t going to do anything, either, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t thinking about it.

“Raine, a spellsinger must be able to stop anything in its tracks,” Mychael said. “And they can’t let their fears get in their way.”

“If you can’t think, you’re dead,” I muttered.

“Exactly.”

“So what’s wrong with using spiders and snakes?”

“I’m not afraid of spiders and snakes,” Piaras said. “I’m afraid of Sarad Nukpana.”

Yeah, me, too. I understood Cayle’s motivation, but that didn’t mean I liked him subjecting Piaras to his little exercise in terror.

“So, did you stop him?” I asked Piaras.

“It took a couple of tries, but, yes, I stopped him.” He sounded pleased—and relieved.

“A couple? You’ve done this more than once?”

“Three with the Nukpana mirage,” Cayle chimed in. “Five with Magh’Sceadu. After a number of attempts, the fear begins to fade and the exercise isn’t as effective.”

My knife hand started to twitch again.

Magh’Sceadu were a Khrynsani creation made from goblin elemental magics. They were tall and hulking, almost hobgoblin in shape—if hobgoblins were made of black ink. They absorbed magic in those who had it, the life force of those who didn’t, and the bodies of both. Khrynsani shamans used what was taken to power their own sorceries.

Piaras had taken on six Magh’Sceadu last week—and had failed to stop them. That had been the first of only two times that I’d directly used the Saghred. I had destroyed all six Magh’Sceadu.

“Did you stop the Magh’Sceadu?” I asked Piaras.

He winced. “Not exactly. Apparently I think they’re scarier than Sarad Nukpana.”

I nodded. I could understand that. Sarad Nukpana had only wanted to plunge a sacrificial dagger through Piaras’s heart. The Magh’Sceadu wanted to suck his soul out one slurp at a time.

“You did fine, Piaras,” Mychael told him. “You’ve made definite improvements.”

Piaras smiled and blushed slightly at the compliment. “Thank you, sir.”

“I need to speak with you,” I told Mychael quietly.

“Concerning?”

I hesitated. “The missing students.” I didn’t say “kidnapped” since I wasn’t sure if that had been made public knowledge. Piaras knew some of it. I didn’t know about the maestro.

Ronan Cayle froze. “They’ve found Megan?”

“You know her?”

“She’s one of my best students. Have they found her?”

I looked to Mychael.

“It’s all right. I’ve told Ronan you’re helping us.”

"I linked with her this morning,” I told the maestro. "She’s unharmed.”

His amber eyes bored into mine. “Do you know where she is?”

“Unfortunately I haven’t been able to see enough to pinpoint their location.” And most unfortunately, my way had been deliberately blocked. “I did see another prisoner,” I told Mychael. “A boy. Student age, dark hair cut short, hazel eyes, athletic build. Does that match any new missing-persons report?”

Mychael shook his head. “I met with Sedge this morning. No students or citizens have been reported missing in the last twenty-four hours. I’ll send a man to watch head-quarters with the boy’s description. Something may have come in by now.”

Ronan Cayle took the music off of Piaras’s stand and filed it in a leather case, and apparently his emotions along with it. “Master Rivalin, why don’t you get some water and rest for a few minutes, and we’ll meet downstairs in an hour to go to the dress rehearsal.” He was brisk and all business.

I blinked. “Pardon?”

“For the recital tomorrow night,” Cayle said.

“What…?”

“At the beginning of each school year, Ronan’s students give a recital for select alumni and parents, and returning faculty,” Mychael explained.

“It’s turned into a gala event over the years,” Cayle added. “Only my best students are invited to perform.” His lips tightened. “Megan Jacobs was one of them. Master Rivalin may be my newest student, but after what happened here yesterday, many have expressed an interest in hearing him perform.”

Damn. I’ll bet they have.

“A few of them have asked to attend the dress rehearsal.”

And I was going to be right there with them. I glanced at Mychael, he looked at me, and the battlelines were drawn. There was no way in hell Piaras was walking into that without me.

“It’s a courtesy that I extend to certain choice patrons,” Ronan continued.

“If you don’t mind, maestro, I’d like to go with Piaras.” I gave him what I’d been told was a winning smile. “Moral support and all that.”

Ronan beamed. “I would love for you to hear—”

“Ronan, it would be safer if Raine remained in the citadel,” Mychael told him, and me.

Piaras shot me a look. “You’re not safe outside the citadel?”

I shrugged. “Safe is relative.”

He knew what I meant. I’d told him the same thing last week when we’d been between near-death experiences and had about a mile between us and Sarad Nukpana or anyone with the last name Mal’Salin.

I turned to Mychael. “With Vegard, Riston, and the boys, I think I’ll be safe in a concert hall.”

“We won’t be using my concert hall,” Ronan told me. “It’s being renovated. Tamnais Nathrach, the proprietor of Sirens, has graciously agreed to host the festivities. Next to my concert hall, Sirens has the best acoustics on the island.”

So that was Mychael’s real reason. I understood it, but that didn’t mean I was going to agree to it. Tam had been a busy boy—from possible Khrynsani conspirator to gracious gala host.

“I’ll be going to Sirens with Ronan and Piaras,” Mychael told me, his expression giving nothing away, least of all that he and Tam were going to have a long talk, and he was determined that talk was going to be without me.

I smiled at Piaras and Ronan. “Would you gentlemen excuse us for a moment?” I crooked a finger at Mychael. “Paladin Eiliesor, a moment of your time in private, please?”

If Ronan hadn’t resumed putting away music in a rustle of papers, I could have sworn I heard Mychael growl. He may have growled, but he did follow me to a corner of his office.

“I won’t go anywhere near Tam,” I assured Mychael in my most emphatic whisper. “Hell, I won’t even look at him.” Tam wasn’t important right now; sticking to Piaras like glue was.

“Good, because you’re not going to Sirens.”

“Mychael, somebody slashed those shields while Piaras was practicing. Now there’s suddenly a lot of interest in hearing him sing. Powerful people kind of interest. I’d like to see just who these choice patrons are.”

Phaelan’s opinion of why those shields had been disabled was sounding more like truth than theory every second. And I’d seen it more times than I’d care to count in my line of work. Talented magic users kidnapped to be used and exploited by the rich and powerful. For obvious reasons, alchemists had the top spot on the list of mages most often kidnapped, but spellsingers ranked right up there. I’d done more than my share of magic user “seek and rescues.” Piaras was not going to be one of them.