“Three months is enough time for Sarad Nukpana to have done everything he wanted to do. So all this being your fault turns into you’ve saved every man, woman, and child Sarad Nukpana would have sacrificed, slaughtered, or enslaved if he’d had the Saghred during those three months.” Mychael’s smile was slow and wicked as his fingers traced the still tingling trail of his kisses. “So if you ask me, everyone in the seven kingdoms owes you a big thank you.”
His kisses went lower. “I’ll thank you now.”
Chapter 7
The face looking back at me out of Mychael’s bedroom mirror wasn’t mine.
I glamoured as soon as I got up, just for practice. I couldn’t leave the citadel looking like Symon Wiggs, but I didn’t want to change into him for the first time just before my meeting with Taltek Balmorlan.
One of the more useful enhancements the Saghred had done on my previously meager magical skill set was the ability to do an anatomically correct glamour, to make myself look and sound like someone else. The mechanics of doing a glamour weren’t all that difficult, but I’d seen someone get stuck halfway through a transformation a couple of years back, and I knew that failure now would hurt a lot more than my ego.
I’d studied the banker’s portrait in the scrying crystal. There was no room for a screwup or even a wrong step. Even though Balmorlan had never met Wiggs in person before, he could have seen his image in a scrying crystal just like I did. Balmorlan had to believe without any doubt that I was Symon Wiggs. Failure wasn’t an option; there was too much at stake. Literally everything I had or would ever have was on the line.
I focused on Symon’s image, committing it to memory little by little, internalizing the smallest detail. When I had it firmly in my mind’s eye, I released the slightest touch of my power into the image in my mind, projecting it outward, feeling the glamour solidify around me.
I saw Mychael standing behind me, reflected in the mirror. He checked me out from head to toe, started to say something, then stopped.
“Well, what do you think?” Even my voice was Symon’s. Mago’s spy crystal had sound as well as images, and I’d taken full advantage.
Mychael made a face. “Don’t take this the wrong way. I still love you, but I just can’t touch you right now.”
I grinned, and on Symon Wiggs it came out as a smirk. Oh yeah, definitely the kind of guy who would act as a front man for a cartel. “No offense taken. Believe me I won’t be staying in this skin one second longer than I have to.”
“I just got a message for you from Prince Chigaru requesting a meeting early this afternoon.”
I meticulously straightened my frilly cuffs. “Inform His Highness that I have a previous engagement.” I smiled Symon’s oily little smile. “Disappointment builds character, something the prince seems to be lacking. Being told no a few times will be good for him.”
I glanced back in the mirror and straightened the fussy black doublet Mago assured me would look similar enough to the one that Symon wore. I felt his/my chest and grimaced. Then I quickly unbuttoned the front enough to take a look. The man had a bird chest. I flexed my right thigh against my left and then my left against my right.
“Ah, hell with it.” I pulled my trousers out from my waist and looked down.
I snorted. Symon Wiggs’s chest wasn’t the only thing that was bird-sized.
Mychael chuckled from behind me. “That bad?”
“Well . . . everything’s there, but let’s just say that walking isn’t going to be much different than when I’m myself.”
“Ouch.”
I grinned at him. “Wanna see?”
“I’ll pass.”
“You’re sure?”
“Raine, that’s just not done.”
I put Symon’s trousers back where they belonged, and there was no need to adjust anything when I did. “To have to live with this would just be embarrassing. No wonder Symon’s such a jerk.”
Noon at the Swan Song gave a whole new meaning to the term “power lunch.”
The place was wall-to-wall mages packing enough magic to light the entire island.
Taltek Balmorlan’s elven mages weren’t willing to bond with me and the Saghred out of the goodness of their hearts or any kind of racial loyalty—they wanted money and lots of it. Part of the Saghred’s legend was that it made its bond servants insane. Balmorlan’s mages would be facing the same fate, but for enough money, they’d risk it.
I was about to find out what Balmorlan was selling to get the money he needed.
Mago and I were at our table and had already ordered drinks.
Mine was untouched.
One, I don’t drink before noon. Okay, you got me there, but I don’t make it a habit, especially when glamoured as a banker about to con an inquisitor who wanted me worse than dead.
I lowered my voice. “Okay, Mago, let’s hear the high points one last time.”
My cousin sighed theatrically and rolled his eyes. I knew what the plan was. He knew what the plan was. But I wanted to make sure that what I knew was what Mago was still going to do. My cousin had a tendency to get creative once a scam was underway. I had no problem with spontaneity; I just wanted to know about it first.
Mychael was right; I definitely had control issues. But I was still alive, so it was a good thing.
Mago’s voice was loud enough to reach my ears, but no one else’s. “Symon Wiggs told Balmorlan—”
“Actually, you’ve told Balmorlan.”
Mago waved a dismissive hand. “Yes, yes, whatever. That I’m here because a transfer of any substantial amount must be authorized by another senior bank officer. And to expedite the process—”
“And as far as Balmorlan knows, you’re not Mago Peronne, you’re Magar Benick.”
“Correct.”
“Doesn’t all that ever get confusing?”
Mago just stared at me like I’d asked the most ridiculous question ever.
“Right,” I said. “Of course, it doesn’t.”
“Do you want to go over this or not? Because he’ll be here any minute.”
“No more interruptions,” I promised.
“I’ll believe that miracle when I see it.”
There was a muffled guffaw from the next table. I turned and saw a red-haired, bearded mage whose robes looked like they’d once been covering one of the restaurant’s windows. The man was big, brocaded, and belligerent. He sat ramrod straight, his bright eyes scanning the room in challenge. I’d seen his type many times before. He liked the way he was dressed, didn’t give a damn what anyone else thought, but wanted nothing more than for someone to insult him and give him an excuse to pick a fight.
He saw me looking at him and winked.
I knew that wink, even if it was from another man’s eye.
It was Mychael.
Not only was it a perfect disguise, the entertainment potential was virtually limitless.
I told myself that I could smack him for that guffaw later. A banker turning and hitting a mage in the height of the lunch hour at the most exclusive restaurant on the island would raise a few highbred brows, to say the least. And I had a feeling I’d be raising more than eyebrows before I left; no need to start the show early.
Mago had ignored the exchange and lowered his voice even further. “I have all the information I need to empty Balmorlan’s account—the one he holds jointly with several partners. The account and access numbers were child’s play to obtain.”
“Child’s play for you.”
Mago’s lips twitched in a crooked smile. “That goes without saying. But last month Balmorlan set up a private account, and the naughty boy has transferred more of that money than is probably his into this new account.”
“His partners would love to hear that he’s stealing from them.”
Mago meticulously realigned his silverware. “All in good time. Since Balmorlan has no problem with taking their money, I don’t, either. So anything he offers to sell you today, you’ll be eager to buy—but not too eager. Symon Wiggs is known for driving a hard bargain. And to pay for the purchase, I’ll siphon the money directly from Balmorlan’s partners’ account.”