“Maestro?” Piaras whispered in sheer terror.

Somehow I didn’t think Piaras had heard anything past “Maestro.”

Mychael spoke. “Ronan, this is your audition for tomorrow.”

Cayle’s amber eyes were locked on Piaras. “So you’re Master Rivalin. Audition, hell. There’ll be no audition.”

Phaelan came to his feet. I was about to punch Ronan Cayle.

Piaras stood perfectly still, his breathing shallow. “I no longer have an audition.” He didn’t ask it as a question, and he clenched his jaw against any further show of emotion. He was devastated, but he was going to keep his dignity. “I understand, sir.”

Phaelan stepped up beside me, and I laid a restraining hand on his arm. If he was going after Cayle, he’d have to get in line behind me.

“No, you don’t understand,” Cayle told him. “You don’t knock out half the Guardians in the citadel and then audition.” He walked slowly around Piaras, assessing what he saw and what he could not see.

The Piaras I saw was tall, had liquid brown eyes and tousled dark curls, and was on the verge of becoming a handsome young man. Piaras saw awkwardness and a voice that would always be less than perfect. I think Ronan Cayle was seeing a powerful, loose cannon who’d taken out most of Mid’s main line of defense.

“Yes, you’re very dangerous,” the maestro said softly.

His voice was velvet-covered steel. “With the right song, you’d be lethal. You’re unpredictable, impulsive, and you have absolutely no idea of your potential.”

Piaras swallowed. “Potential, sir?”

“Potential.” Cayle stopped in front of Piaras and smiled slowly. “For the good of the seven kingdoms, I’d better take you as a student.” His smile broadened and those amber eyes glittered. “As to auditioning, you just did.”

Piaras gaped in disbelief. “You’re accepting me?”

“I am.” Cayle chuckled softly. “You’ve left me no choice.”

“And without a formal audition,” Mychael told Piaras, his lips curling into a small smile. “That’s a first, isn’t it, Ronan?”

“It is. Be at my tower at exactly eight bells tomorrow morning,” Cayle told Piaras. “Mychael can tell you where it is.” The smile vanished. “And come prepared to work.”

Piaras smiled like the sun had just come out. “Thank you, sir.”

Ronan Cayle laughed, a short bark. “We’ll see how thankful you are after tomorrow. And by the way, my students are expected to sprint to the top of my tower in three minutes or less. Builds lung capacity.” There was an evil glint in those amber eyes. “You’re going to need it.”

“A cut shield explains Piaras spellsinging my men to sleep,” Mychael said. “But it doesn’t tell me who did the cutting, or why. It also doesn’t tell me how Piaras sang the Saghred to sleep. That was a battlefield sleepsong; it shouldn’t have worked.”

Piaras blinked. “I did what?”

“Your voice put the rock to sleep,” I told him. “That was that other thing you did.”

“How could…? I never meant to… I was up here; the Saghred is down there.” Realization dawned on him. “There are air ducts in the containment rooms.”

Mychael nodded. “We could hear you loud and clear.”

“Sir, I’m sorry,” Piaras hurried to explain. “I never meant to—”

Mychael held up a hand. “I know you didn’t, and I’m not blaming you. This room stays shielded to prevent exactly what just happened. The sabotage was not your fault. And regardless of how you did it, you did put the Saghred to sleep, and for that you have my thanks.”

“It was almost like the Saghred wanted to go to sleep once it heard you,” I told Piaras. “It liked what it heard.” I paused uneasily. “A lot.”

“It liked Piaras’s song?” Phaelan asked.

“The Saghred and those inside the Saghred liked Piaras’s song,” I clarified. “And I’m not sure if either is a good thing.”

Piaras didn’t move. “What do you mean?”

“I got the feeling the Saghred’s inmates enjoyed your song a little bit too much—and so did the rock.”

“Is the rock asleep?” Phaelan asked.

“Yes.”

“If it’s asleep, it doesn’t really matter what its taste in music is.”

Logic was all well and good, but Phaelan wasn’t the one with a growing, evil fan base.

Piaras was clearly creeped. “I don’t want the Saghred’s inmates to like me.” He lowered his voice. “Especially you know who.”

“I don’t want him to like you, either.” Neither one of us felt the need to say the name out loud. Sarad Nukpana was asleep. Probably. Saying his name right now didn’t seem like a good idea, kind of like summoning an evil genie out of a bottle.

Last week, Sarad Nukpana had given me a choice: either I gave him a demonstration of the Saghred’s power, or he would sacrifice Piaras to the Saghred. Piaras was alive. Nukpana was inside the Saghred. Now Nukpana let Piaras sing him to sleep. I needed to know why, and I needed to know now. If the Saghred had gone to sleep of its own volition, it’d probably wake up the same way.

I pulled Mychael aside. “So, is there a user’s manual for the Saghred?” My words were for his ears alone. Thanks to our saboteur, I didn’t know who could be listening.

He looked honestly baffled. “A what?”

“User’s manual, directions, instructions, why the damned thing fought two master spellsingers, but rolled over and went to sleep when Piaras sang to it.”

“The Scriptorium has several books on the Saghred.”

“Good. I want to read them.”

“They’re in Old Goblin.”

“Not a problem. I read Old Goblin.”

Mychael seemed reluctant. I knew why.

I waited a few seconds until my voice wouldn’t sound as exasperated as I felt. “Yes, the Saghred’s been in my head,” I said through only partially clenched teeth. “And I am well aware that you can’t entirely trust me as long as there’s a chance it will come back. But do you really think it’s going to help our cause to keep me locked away and stupid? If any of those books can tell me how to unhook myself from that rock, I want to know about it. And I’m not the only one in danger here.” I glanced at Piaras; he was talking earnestly with Ronan Cayle. I lowered my voice even further. “I want to know everything that Sarad Nukpana knows, and then some.”

Mychael hesitated, but not for long. “I’ll make the arrangements.”

“Sir?” came a familiar voice from the doorway.

It was Riston. I couldn’t help but notice that he had a bad case of bedhead, and he still looked a little dazed. Piaras winced apologetically. Phaelan’s laugh came out as a snort.

“Sir, the chief watcher is here to see you.” Riston looked puzzled. “And he said he brought you a hairbrush.”

Chapter 6

The man in Mychael’s office was wearing enough leather armor and blades to make him feel secure in the nastiest sections of town. I’d once found out the hard way that when a man was that big and that heavily armed and wearing an expression that grim, it was good to wait and be properly introduced.

Mychael greeted him with a warm handshake. I couldn’t help but notice that Mychael’s entire hand vanished in the man’s enormous paw.

“Raine, this is our chief watcher, Sedge Rinker. Sedge, this is Raine Benares.”

I crossed the office and cautiously extended my hand. Members of my family were generally greeted with hand-cuffsby law enforcement, not handshakes. Rinker hesitated a moment, then took my hand in a firm yet surprisingly gentle handshake.

“I was in the square this morning and saw what you did.” Rinker’s voice was a basso rumble. “Impressive work—and I don’t mind saying a little scary.”

I grinned. I couldn’t imagine anything scaring this man. “I scared me, too,” I told him.

Sedge Rinker didn’t look like a man who sat behind a desk all day. His dark beard was trimmed neatly enough, but he hadn’t fussed with it. His hair was efficiently short, but style wasn’t something he bothered with or cared about. However, his armor and weapons were of the highest quality and in immaculate condition. I’d seen his like among watch officers many times—they were utterly devoted to their work and the people they protected.

“Did you get anything useful from those two Nightshades?” he asked Mychael.

I gave Mychael a sharp look. “You took two alive?”

“We did.”

“And?”

“And our investigation is ongoing.”

It was his paladin voice, the voice that wasn’t about to tell me anything. His expression wasn’t volunteering information, either.

Rinker looked uneasily from Mychael to me. He’d assumed Mychael trusted me. So had I.

“Janek Tawl is a friend of mine,” Rinker told me, deftly changing the subject. “He says you’re the best seeker he knows. I was glad to find out you were visiting us.”

Janek Tawl was a friend of mine, too. As chief watcher of the Sorcerers District back home in Mermeia, Janek’s path had crossed mine on a regular basis. Janek occasionally sought my expertise as a seeker, and from time to time he was able to give me leads on cases I was working on.

“Janek’s a top-notch watcher and a fine man,” I agreed. “I’m honored that he thinks so highly of me.” I tossed Mychael a meaningful glance.

“Mychael tells me you want to help us find one of our missing students.”

Small talk was over. I liked a man who got right down to business. “I want to do everything I can to help,” I told him.

Rinker pulled a cloth-wrapped object out of a leather bag. He carefully handed it to me without unwrapping it. Good man. He knew his business, and more important, he knew mine. More than once I’d been called to a crime scene only to find that the object I most needed to use had been handled by nearly every watcher on-site, contaminating it and rendering it useless for seeking. It was their emotional imprint I’d get, not the victim’s. So the only person I’d find was the stupid watcher who’d last picked it up.