Free Wedding Bells, Magic Spells by Lisa Shearin Page A

little trust in elven promises. They see any attempt to negotiate a peace with a race they believe wouldn’t hesitate to wipe them out as evidence of weakness, regardless of Chigaru’s assurances of change. Thanks to Sathrik, many of those occupying government positions are corrupt, self-serving, or both.”
    “Sounds like what Justinius is dealing with here with the Conclave and the Seat of Twelve,” Mychael noted. “Cleaning house has left him with barely enough people to run the island—and he’s not even close to being finished.”
    “The Conclave here, the Khrynsani at home,” Imala said. “Under Sarad’s influence, the Khrynsani spread like a cancer until it had worked its way into the entire government body. We could try to remove it all, but the patient might not survive.”
    I whistled. “In comparison, coming here must be like a vacation.”
    Tam nodded. “It’s early afternoon, and no one has tried to kill me yet. Well, with the exception of our sprint through the Passages. Though by comparison, even that was refreshing.”
    Imala snorted. “Says you.”
    “So the Khrynsani have the elven ambassador killed and try to do the same to the director of elven intelligence,” I said. “And now we have a monster created by Khrynsani black magic and possibly put inside a mirror tunnel by an elf mage. If that turns out to be the case, the elf and goblin bad guys have stopped trying to kill each other—and are working together to kill us.”
    “And they’re framing us as masterminding the entire thing,” Imala replied. “No trust. No treaty. No peace.”

 

Chapter 7
     
    “Your sister is safe,” I told Mychael. Again. “From everyone. Including Phaelan. Especially Phaelan.”
    Short sentences worked better right now. I was yelling. Not because I was mad at Mychael, but because we were airborne.
    Having a conversation on a sky dragon was one of life’s great challenges. At least this time, I was riding on Kalinpar’s saddle behind Mychael, his broad shoulders blocking my views of what I still saw as a quick and messy death, a death I had narrowly avoided the last time I rode on a sky dragon.
    I had to admit that clinging to a sky dragon saddle was a highly effective method of waking up. I’d slept last night; that is, if you could call tossing and turning and waking up every hour sleeping.
    Tam and Imala had spent the night at the goblin embassy, and would join us at the citadel later to meet with Cuinn Aviniel, the expert mirror mage.
    The Fortune and Red Hawk had been spotted shortly after sunrise five miles off the coast, and Mychael had dispatched two Guardian gunships and four armored sky dragons as escort. He’d also had Ben notify the telepath on the Fortune to be expecting them so as to avoid any violent misunderstandings.
    Both the Fortune and the Red Hawk had crews who liked nothing better than a good fight. Taking only one pirate schooner had quelled Phaelan’s crew’s battle urges about as well as spitting on a bonfire. The boys were spoiling for more, and any ship that got too close had a captain with a death wish.
    Mychael wasn’t in the mood to take chances, and considering what’d happened to Markus, and had happened—and could have happened—to Mychael’s sister, I understood only too well. The closest thing I had to a younger sibling was Piaras, and I knew without thinking about it that I’d have done the same. Not only to protect him, but to warn anyone who had any ideas about harming one curly hair on his head not to even think about it.
    The Isle of Mid’s harbor had docks and piers for guests and merchants and others reserved for Guardian use only. Mychael landed Kalinpar at the heavily reinforced dragon landing pad at the end of a Guardian pier. A nimble gunboat was waiting there to take us out to the Fortune . I half expected Mychael to fly out over Phaelan’s ship and drop a rope down to the deck.
    I kept that thought to myself. Mychael clearly wasn’t in a