Piaras’s eyes were intent on my face, noting every change in my expression. I hadn’t bothered to keep what I was thinking from showing on my face.

“Tell me.” He kept his voice down, but his tone told me he wanted to know. Now.

Piaras knew about the first three spellsingers. He didn’t know who had been taken this evening—and that Katelyn Valerian was one of them.

“The spellsingers may be down here. I need to check.”

Tanik had told me the basic layout of what lay beneath the elven embassy. Piaras and I were in the main basement, directly beneath the embassy building. More than likely the dead Nightshades had been trying to get upstairs for help. They obviously hadn’t made it. If they had, Giles Keril would have been looking for a place to hide, not for his specs.

Beyond this room were storerooms of various sizes on several levels. Naturally, it wasn’t a straight shot from where we were to the tunnel. We had to go through some of those storerooms, and down three levels. Tanik hadn’t mentioned any rooms with prison cells. But from Piaras’s encounter tonight with elven government hospitality, I’d be willing to bet there was a prison block tucked away down here somewhere. A place where inquisitors wouldn’t have to worry about screams disturbing the nice bureaucrats upstairs.

I didn’t have Megan’s brush or Ailia’s locket with me, but I’d linked with both girls a few times. If they were close by, finding them shouldn’t be a problem.

“Keep watch,” I mouthed silently to Piaras.

He nodded.

Seeking was quiet. If Muralin or Ryce were down here, they wouldn’t hear what I was about to do.

I didn’t close my eyes, but stared instead at the side of the crate. I clasped my hands loosely together as if I actually held Megan’s hairbrush. I remembered the sharpness of the bristles against my bare palm, the cool smoothness of the silver, the feel of the intricate scrollwork.

I linked and I saw.

Khrynsani shamans had the spellsingers, and they were all in one cell. Katelyn was kneeling next to an unconscious Ronan Cayle, wrapping what looked like a strip of fabric from her gown to bind a nasty gash on the maestro’s head. Talon was pacing in feline fury. I had been able to hear the spellsingers before, but not now. Was Rudra Muralin using stronger wards? He’d been sacrificing spellsingers for a long time. If anyone knew how to protect himself from terrified spellsingers who knew they were going to die, it would be Muralin.

I couldn’t see Rudra Muralin.

That could be good—or that could be really bad. He had to be somewhere, and just because I couldn’t see him in that cell block didn’t mean he wasn’t down here.

And down here was dark. Really scary dark.

The spellsingers were somewhere below us. There was no doubt in my mind. The link pulled at me through the soles of my feet like weights attached to my ankles, dragging me down.

I didn’t want to go down; I wanted to get out. But no one had asked me what I wanted.

No one had asked those kids or Ronan what they wanted, either.

I unclasped my hands and broke the link. “All six spellsingers are down here.” I sounded about as enthused as I felt.

Piaras looked confused. “Six? I thought you said there were—”

“There were three; now there are six.” I really didn’t want to tell him, but he needed to know. “After you were arrested, three more were taken from Sirens: Talon Tandu, Maestro Cayle… and Katelyn.”

Piaras’s face drained of all color. It wasn’t from fear. It was all rage, cold and focused.

“Now the Khrynsani have taken them from the Nightshades,” I said. “A goblin named Rudra Muralin is their leader.” I didn’t mention that Muralin was ancient and psychotic. I was holding on to the slim hope that Piaras wouldn’t be finding that out. “He’s a shaman and a spellsinger. He used to wield the Saghred, and now he wants it back.” I paused. “He’s also the goblin who used your song against the archmagus.”

Piaras’s dark eyes narrowed. “What did you see?”

“The spellsingers are in one cell. Ronan is unconscious.”

It was my turn to watch the thoughts flow across Piaras’s face. Frustration put in an appearance several times. Piaras was realizing what I already knew only too well.

We were the only hope of help for those six spellsingers.

“Even if we could get out of here, we couldn’t go to the paladin or the watch.” Piaras didn’t ask it as a question. He knew the answer as well as I did. “We’d be arrested if we showed our faces in the city.”

I nodded. “And if we didn’t get ourselves arrested, they still couldn’t help. We’re under the elven embassy. That makes what we’re standing on sovereign elven soil. Mychael’s an elf, but he’s also the paladin. Neither he nor the city watch can search the embassy grounds—or what lies under it.”

“They’d never find the spellsingers.”

“No, they wouldn’t. And with Justinius incapacitated—”

“Or dead,” Piaras cut in bitterly.

“Or dead… Carnades Silvanus is acting archmagus. He commands the Guardians now.”

Piaras couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Paladin Eiliesor has to take his orders from him?”

“If he doesn’t, Carnades can charge him with treason and lock him up in his own containment rooms.”

“So it’s just the two of us.” Piaras’s voice was steady and resolute. He’d already decided what he was going to do.

“I’d rather it be just the one of me.”

“Not this time. I want to help.”

I want to help.

I’d said the same words to Mychael only a few days ago; it seemed like so much longer. I wanted to help find Megan Jacobs. I had been determined, I knew I could help, and I refused to take no for an answer.

Just like Piaras was doing now.

He was ready to do everything he could, anything he had to do. I almost smiled. All he needed now was a suit of shining armor. It would have looked good on him. He’d get himself killed unless I had a damned fine plan going in—the kind of plan that would work regardless of how the situation changed. It’d been my experience that bad situations rarely changed for the better. They had an annoying tendency to go from bad to worse.

I didn’t have a plan, damned fine or otherwise, at least not yet. If I was left with no other choice, I had firepower. The odds of success—or survival—without using the Saghred were next to none, the risk we’d be taking was too high, and failure was a virtual certainty.

Having an intact soul was overrated anyway.

Chapter 25

Something really bothered me. Aside from the near certainty of impending death or lingering insanity.

Rudra Muralin had the spellsingers, but he didn’t have the Saghred to feed them to. Now I wasn’t an expert on evil master plans, but it seemed to me that Muralin had a very large crimp in his. Maybe his age was getting to him. Maybe he just wasn’t a strategic thinker.

Probably there was something going on that I didn’t know about.

If Carnades Silvanus was acting archmagus, he had the final say over what was done with the Saghred. Knowing how he felt about goblins, there’d be icicles sprouting in the lower hells before he’d give Rudra Muralin the slightest chance to get his hands on it.

Somehow I didn’t think Muralin’s plan involved making an appointment with Carnades and asking nicely for the Saghred.

Piaras looked down the dark tunnel we were about to walk into. There were entirely too many unknowns, but one certainty—if we weren’t at the top of our game, we were dead.

It looked like a tunnel, but as dark as it was, we could be walking into a dead-end alcove for all I knew. But that’s where my seeking instinct told me we had to go. Just because it was the right direction didn’t mean it was the best or healthiest direction. My seeking instinct didn’t pay any attention to little things like dead ends or death-inducing goblins along the way. It just told me the most direct route and expected me to take it. Avoiding death and dismemberment was my job.