“I’m in the same house with a goblin who wants to kill me and an elf who may have sold me and mine down the river, and I’m supposed to keep me and the rock on an even keel?”

“Raine, you don’t have a choice. Anger or fear will give us away and so will the Saghred. We’ll be invisible in every sense—”

“Unless I lose control.”

“You lose control; I lose the shield.”

“We lose our lives.”

“Good reason to keep your temper under control, isn’t it?”

I nodded. “I’m motivated.”

“I hoped you would be. Let’s go.”

There weren’t any goblins in the kitchen. However, there were lots of knives. I silently helped myself to a pair of long carving knives, tucked one in my belt, and kept the other in my right hand in case it needed to make itself useful in the next few minutes. I walked two paces behind Mychael on his right side and out of his way.

We encountered the first Khrynsani temple guard leaning against a doorway. His bosses were on the other side of the house, and he was left to stand watch over a lot of empty space that, with the arrival of me and Mychael, suddenly wasn’t so empty anymore. He was confident and complacent right up until the instant Mychael’s whispered voice sent him sliding down that doorway onto the floor. He never knew what hit him.

Mychael’s spellsinging voice was softer and more soothing than a whisper, gently nestling into the place between sleep and wake. It was low, it was velvety, and if he’d been aiming at me, I’d be in a happy little puddle on the floor. Damn, he was good. I’d known that for some time; the Khrynsani guards got to find out the hard way.

Mychael flowed smoothly through the house. We had no time to lose, and Mychael wasn’t wasting a second. Nukpana and Ghalfari hadn’t brought as many Khrynsani guards with them as I would have expected. Normally this would be good news, but normally there would be someone for them to guard or kill.

There weren’t any elves, dead or otherwise.

Markus Sevelien was the newly appointed head of elven intelligence and Mychael said that he’d brought his own security with him from Mermeia. So where were they? All we saw as we worked our way through the house were Khrynsani. I didn’t see or sense a single elf. There were a lot of things wrong with that, and every last one of them smelled like a setup. Mychael took out the next four goblins we encountered in the exact same way and just as easily.

We’d reached the entry hall. There were doors leading to several rooms, but only two interested me: the one that led outside and the one directly across from us. The massive front door was guarded from the outside by a pair of Khrynsani. Mychael’s voice did its thing and I dimly heard a pair of thumps as the goblins hit the ground.

Mychael inclined his head, indicating the door directly across from us. It was stately, beautifully carved, and behind it was evil incarnate. Sarad Nukpana had gone through that door; I knew it as surely as if I’d seen him do it myself. The front door was tantalizingly close. Instant escape. All I’d have to do was not trip over the unconscious Khrynsani when I ran out.

I heard a voice. Cultured and velvety.

Sarad Nukpana.

He was talking to someone. I couldn’t hear his words and I didn’t need to. Markus Sevelien was in there with him, probably restrained, definitely conscious. Oh yes, Nukpana would want his next victim conscious. The better for him to torment and terrify and for his victim to realize his helplessness, his impending and agonizing death. Hell, Sarad Nukpana probably fed on their fear before he even laid hands on them. Perverted son of a bitch.

Mychael lightly touched my arm, and I slowly stilled my thoughts.

Just thinking about Sarad Nukpana set me off.

Shit.

“Are you going to keep us waiting all night, little seeker?” came a chilling voice from the other side of the door.

I froze, swore, and fought the urge to run—all in the same split second. Anyone watching would have probably thought I’d had some sort of spasm. It was exactly what Nukpana wanted. I was terrified, but I forced it down—actually I had to shove it down and hold it there until it stopped squirming. Then I scraped up some rage. Rage and I had always worked well together.

“I’m so sorry.” Me and my temper had just signed our death warrant.

Mychael’s lips were a grim and determined line. “Not your fault. He already knew we were here.”

No use tiptoeing now. They knew we wanted Markus, so they knew we were coming in. Mychael and I glanced at each other. Might as well do it in style.

I dropped my veil and reached down deep for every bit of power I could scrape up without kicking the Saghred into action. Focus, not fear. Nukpana wanted me terrified.

He wanted me. He could have taken Markus and been long gone, but he hadn’t. He had waited.

For us.

For me.

I didn’t kick the Saghred into action, but I did relax the hold I had over it.

Mychael’s power blazed like a burning sun as he calmly placed his outstretched hand against the wood and the door vanished, incinerated in a white-hot flash of power. And his glow didn’t diminish one bit; in fact, he grew even brighter.

Mychael and I stepped through the door together.

Duke Markus Sevelien was sitting in a chair, his feet bound, his wrists tied to the chair’s gilded arms.

And lashed firmly to his right wrist was a Nebian grenade.

My heart skipped a few much-needed beats.

There had been two open crates in the basement; I’d only looked in one of them. That one had been full. What did you want to bet a keg was missing from the other crate?

Or more.

Standing immediately behind Markus was a goblin who looked like an older version of Sarad Nukpana.

He was only slightly taller than me, slender and compact beneath his rich, silk robes, robes so black it was like he absorbed the light from the fireplace. Streaks of silver ran the length of his long hair.

Nachtmagus Janos Ghalfari.

The goblin held a sickle-like dagger to Markus’s throat; its blade flickering with light down its curved length, light not from the fireplace, but from a ward that fed the blade and shielded Ghalfari from attack and Markus from rescue. That blade could slit Markus’s throat or just as easily puncture that grenade. Ten seconds wasn’t a lot of time for Ghalfari to put much distance between him and that grenade before it blew, but I was betting he knew something I didn’t, like a quicker way out of here than the front door.

Standing near them both were two Khrynsani. I couldn’t see Sarad Nukpana, but he was here, watching me. I could feel him, sense his hunger.

So much for Plan A. I wondered if Mychael had a Plan B.

“Bravo, Paladin Eiliesor.” Janos Ghalfari’s voice was cool and urbane, just like his psycho nephew. “An impressive performance.” He took in Mychael’s shady street leathers and smiled until his fangs showed. “Though your performance for Karl Cradock was even more impressive. What would the Seat of Twelve say if they knew their noble paladin was a mercenary for hire by common criminals?”

A sick feeling rolled through me. We’d been betrayed big-time. Ghalfari had picked Markus as his nephew’s next victim as bait for us. Sarad Nukpana didn’t just want dinner; he wanted a feast.

“I’ve felt your delectable presence for the past hour, little seeker,” came Sarad Nukpana’s whisper from the shadows just beyond the firelight’s reach. I could barely make out a shape that seemed to float in the corner, darker than the shadows concealing him. His words came with an effort, but since they were for me, apparently it was an effort he was willing to make.

I wondered if he’d fed since General Aratus. That would explain why he was hiding in the corner, why his uncle and the Khrynsani were doing the dirty work. If Sarad Nukpana hadn’t fed, he’d be weakened; now was the time to end this. Markus was dead if Mychael and I so much as breathed wrong; we were all dead if Janos Ghalfari punctured that grenade. Though if Markus knew what Sarad Nukpana was going to do to him, he’d want us to act.