A chair and footstool in a corner by the bookshelves gave me an unobstructed view of the door. I carefully moved the papers from the chair to the floor, took off my rapier and leaned it against the chair within reach. The chair creaked as I settled in. Nice to sit down, even better if no one tried to break down the door in the next five minutes.

I tore off a piece of bread and stuck it in a mug of ale to soak. While I waited for it to soften enough not to break my teeth, I took the amulet out of my shirt and looked at it again. Being a seeker gave me certain advantages when it came to finding out what an object was. What I held was a silver disk, but what it did was another matter. I knew the quickest way to find out, but the quickest way wasn’t often the best or safest. The runes engraved in the silver gleamed in the firelight. It had magic; that much I was sure of. But considering who had last owned it—and who wanted it—it was probably the kind of magic I could do without. Opening my mind to Nigel’s former amulet would be like sticking my arm in a hole in a swamp just to feel around. Not something sane people made a habit of doing. At least not more than once.

I considered myself sane. I dropped the amulet back inside my shirt. If no one else could tell me what it did—or if I got desperate enough—I could always go poking around later.

I ate, then located a blanket and tried to relax. Sleep would be better, but I wasn’t counting on it happening. After less than a minute, I couldn’t keep my eyes open.

A voice spoke my name. Softer and more soothing than a whisper, it nestled into the place between sleep and wake. I saw Garadin’s room from beneath my closed lashes in half-light and shadow. For the first time tonight I felt safe. The voice slipped through the walls and windows, up through the floor and down through the ceiling, enfolding me in warmth and calming my fears. It was a low, velvety voice, a voice of intimate whispers in the secret hours of night. I made a small sound and snuggled deeper into the blanket. My heart slowed to beat in time with the wordless song. My chest grew warm.

I sat straight up, my heart pounding. I reached for the amulet. It was warm, even through my shirt. I listened. No voice, no song, only the sound of my ragged breathing—and boots on the stairs. They stopped outside the door. The door-knob turned as my blade cleared its scabbard and my feet hit the floor. I stood, but stayed in the shadows.

Someone pushed the door open, but didn’t step inside. That someone was being cautious. Since Garadin taught me all there was to know about caution, I was hoping it was him at the door.

“Raine?” The voice was rich and melodious. My godfather’s voice. It wasn’t the voice I had just heard in my waking dream. I recognized that voice—a certain Guardian spellsinger was staying up late on account of me. I didn’t think I should be flattered.

I let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding, and sheathed my blade. “I let myself in. Hope you don’t mind.”

“I never have before.” Garadin came in and tossed his cloak over a chair. “The city’s a busy place tonight. To which catastrophe do I owe this pleasure?”

“Can’t I just want to visit?”

My godfather was tall and distinguished looking, his eyes intense blue, his short hair ginger, and his beard and mustache immaculately trimmed. That was where immaculate ended. His dark homespun robes swept in virtual tatters behind him. Garadin dressed for himself and comfort, and that was all.

“You could, but not at this hour,” he said. “If you’re out this late, the reason’s usually armed and annoyed with you.” He paused. “Are they?”

I chose not to answer that.

An equally tall and lanky figure came in behind Garadin, and pushed the hood of his cloak back to reveal a familiar mop of dark curls framing a boyishly handsome face that’d be turning female heads in a few years, if it wasn’t already. Piaras. Now that was unsettling. It wasn’t odd that my landlady’s grandson was with Garadin. Piaras Rivalin was also Garadin’s student. But the young elf had just turned seventeen, and Tarsilia had set a strict midnight curfew for him. I didn’t think pub-crawling with my godfather into the wee hours qualified as an approved field trip.

Piaras was a spellsinger-in-training, so puberty had been interesting at our house. I say ours because when you live in the upstairs apartment, you tend to hear and experience everything that goes on in the house anyway. As a boy, Piaras had shown signs of talent, but once adolescence set in, big feet weren’t the only things tripping him up. And all hell broke loose, magically speaking, when his voice changed. Garadin stepped in at that point and promptly earned the unending gratitude of the entire neighborhood.

For me, he was just the little brother I’d always wanted.

“Speaking of someone up past their bedtime,” I said. I looked from Garadin to Piaras. “Is there something I should know?”

Piaras looked to Garadin, and Garadin didn’t answer immediately. He looked at the empty plate on the table. There were a few crumbs left. “Sorry I didn’t have anything better to offer, though you seem to have done well enough for yourself. Considering the kind of night you must have had, I’d imagine you were hungry.”

Nigel’s house crawling with goblins and Simon Stocken’s warehouse burning to the ground must have been public knowledge by now, but not the fact that I was involved. Or maybe Garadin just assumed I was involved. Neither assumption was good or very flattering.

“Bad news must travel fast,” was all I said.

“Tarsilia sent Piaras over to the Mad Piper to tell me you might be in trouble.”

I stepped a little farther into the light. Garadin and Piaras took in my blood-spattered clothes.

“I see she was right,” my godfather said. “Any of that yours?”

“No. Why did she think I was in trouble?”

Piaras spoke. “Ocnus Rancil and two other goblins tried to break into your rooms. Then more goblins showed up. That’s when Grandma sent me to find Garadin.”

Damn.

“And considering the hour and circumstances, I didn’t want to send Piaras home once he found me,” Garadin added.

Piaras took off his cloak and gave me a halfhearted smile. “He and Grandma are plotting to protect me again.”

“There’s nothing wrong with having someone watch your back,” I told him. “Phaelan was there tonight to watch mine. Who’s watching Tarsilia’s?” I asked Garadin.

“Parry and Alix were with me over at the Piper. They went to Tarsilia’s, and I came back here with Piaras. If you had stepped in anything deep, I knew you’d come here first.”

Sometimes it’s nice to be predictable. I relaxed a little. Alixine Toril was my best friend, a sorceress, and one of the finest robe designers in the Sorcerers District. Parry Arne was her sometime lover, a Conclave emissary, and when it came to creative magical retaliation, he had pretty much written the book. If a fight got nasty, the big Myloran mage was good to have by your side. Tarsilia was in good hands. Ocnus and the other goblins were not.

“Going directly home didn’t seem like the best idea,” I told him, “though I never meant to put goblins on Tarsilia’s doorstep. Were Ocnus’s friends shamans or warriors?”

“Shamans,” Garadin said. “Khrynsani.”

Damn again.

He made himself comfortable in his favorite chair in the far corner, which oddly enough was always paper free, and lit a pipe. “And they seemed determined to get into your rooms. Apparently it was all over rather quickly. Alix just met us down the block to let us know Tarsilia had the situation well in hand by the time they arrived. Tarsilia discouraged the goblins from trying to get in your rooms, and Alix and Parry will see to it they don’t feel welcome in the neighborhood. Alix said she and Parry will stay the night to make sure the shamans don’t stage a repeat performance.”