“Except Sarad Nukpana.”

“You’ll be masked.”

“I’ll be wearing the beacon.”

“You’ll be with me,” he said. “And we’ll be surrounded by my men.”

I couldn’t argue with that. Mychael already had two wins in his column against the goblin grand shaman.

“You and I, in addition to Piaras and Garadin, will be using four of the count’s invitations,” Mychael said. “Vegard and Riston will be using the other two. My men without invitations will get onto the grounds another way.”

“How many men?”

“All of them.”

Finally, something I could agree with.

Though Mychael could have emptied out the Guardian citadel on Mid, and I wouldn’t have felt secure. The Guardians might be able to protect me from Sarad Nukpana, but there wasn’t a thing they could do about the Saghred. That was my adversary to face, and when it came down to it, I’d be going it alone, just me and the Soul Thief. Not my idea of a fun date.

That made me remember something else. Prince Chigaru Mal’Salin wanted the Saghred almost as badly as he wanted to kill his brother. When you’ve been feeding a hate as long as Chigaru and Sathrik, you get good at it. Nothing like a potential reunion between homicidal brothers to add spice to the evening.

“I don’t think we’ll be the only ones using someone else’s invitations,” I told Mychael. “I can’t see Prince Chigaru being in town and sitting this one out. He seems to think any opportunity to get his hands around big brother’s throat is one worth taking.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he were there.”

I wouldn’t be surprised either. Concerned, yes. Surprised? Definitely not.

“Though for a distraction, there’s nothing like a nice, public assassination attempt,” Garadin said from the doorway. He walked a couple of steps into the room and executed a slow spin. “How’s this?”

My godfather looked like he had just stepped out of a Nebian pasha’s throne room. His long, sapphire silk tunic flowed over full matching trousers. Both were completely encrusted with silver embroidery. The tunic was fastened down the front with a profusion of silver and pearl buttons. It was topped with a wrapped-silk turban with a jeweled pin at the front. It was a bit overdone, but on the whole tasteful and suited Garadin perfectly.

I wish I could say the same about my chosen ensemble for the evening. When I say chosen, I don’t mean by me. I would never have selected the extravagance of bronze velvet, ivory Pengorian silk, gold embroidery, and jewels that spilled across the chair beside me as either my first or last choice. Mychael had picked our costumes personally. I was pretty sure I could trust the Guardian paladin with my life, but I knew now that I couldn’t trust him with my wardrobe choices. If Mychael said that fancy dress was necessary, I’d go along, but only to a point. I had to draw the line somewhere.

“Can I at least wear black?”

“No,” he told me point blank.

“Why not?”

“It says so on the invitation, along with the no weapons request. Only Mal’Salin royal guard and retainers will be wearing black. Not having any guests in black cuts down on any confusion or misunderstandings. As to weapons, we’ll carry, but they’ll have to be small.”

I didn’t want another misunderstanding with a Mal’Salin guard, but I did want to blend in with the woodwork. With the attention that gown was guaranteed to attract, I’d have trouble not being the center of attention.

Costumed balls were a staple of the wealthier classes in Mermeia, so the trunks and armoires of the count’s palazzo yielded a bumper crop of what Mychael deemed appropriate attire for the evening.

I looked at the costume again. Judging from the feathered mask and golden hooked beak, I think I was supposed to be a hawk. There were worse things I could be, and a bird of prey was oddly appropriate for the evening’s activities.

The gown’s flowing skirt and short train were bronze velvet, with an elaborate feather pattern painstakingly embroidered in gold thread, and sprinkled the entire length with tiny, golden jewels. The skirt was slit in the front to reveal the same treatment in ivory Pengorian silk, with what looked to be diamonds. The tight sleeves were similarly done in ivory with embroidered bronze velvet oversleeves attached at the shoulders and falling to the floor to represent wings. The bodice was ivory leather and intricately tooled with gold to resemble smaller feathers. I approved of the leather and even the corset I’d have to wear underneath. I wouldn’t be comfortable, but at least I’d have marginal protection against pointy steel objects that went stab in the night.

While I had to admit it was beautiful, the gown wasn’t appropriate for anything I had planned this evening. For one, I liked breathing. Between the corset and the gown’s low-cut bodice, air would be the only thing that wasn’t ample. Second, my legs needed to be free for life-extending activities like fighting and running—neither of which I have ever been able to do in a gown. And from the looks of things, the bronze oversleeves almost brushed the ground. First whiff I got of trouble, those sleeves were history. Though if worse came to worse, I could slash my bodice laces if I needed more air, and hike up my skirts if I needed to run away from something.

I sighed in resignation. Mychael took that as a yes.

“Sarad Nukpana knows I’m a woman.” It was my last line of defense, but I’d take it. “That’s what he’ll be looking for. Can’t I at least wear trousers?”

“There will be plenty of women there in all manner of dress,” Mychael assured me.

“And probably undress,” Garadin added. “I’ve heard the Nebians are sending a delegation with the pasha’s son. He’s brought at least ten of his wives with him. I can’t imagine them staying at home tonight.”

“And the count’s new bride would hardly wear trousers to her first public appearance in her new home city,” Mychael said. “Trust me, you won’t attract undue attention. Unless, of course, you do something to draw attention to yourself.”

“I’ll be on my best behavior,” I promised. Like I had a choice in that dress.

For some reason, I don’t think he believed me.

In addition to the mask, there was a hat. I picked up the bronze velvet concoction with its sweep of plumes. I think it was supposed to look like the hats noble women of fashion had taken to wearing while hunting. I didn’t want to think about all the birds that had given their tail feathers, along with their dignity, so that some Mermeian noble could scare away game, or make a grand entrance. I just hefted the hat and looked at Mychael. If push came to shove, I could always use it as a club.

“Something has to hide your hair, even after you put it up,” he said. “It is an unusual color.”

Mychael Eiliesor. Guardian paladin, sacred protector, master spellsinger, fashion consultant.

I felt a smug little grin coming on. I wasn’t going to admit defeat. Not yet. I had an idea. An idea that wouldn’t get me out of going to the ball, but it would get me out of wearing that gown. “What about the beacon?”

“What about it?”

“It’s on a chain. This gown has a low bodice.” I glanced at the gown again and swallowed. “A very low bodice. Everybody’s going to see that chain. A few are going to know what’s attached to it. Plus, the chain’s silver; all the jewels on this gown are set in gold. That’ll make it even more noticeable. The only thing worse than wearing a plain silver chain at a royal ball is wearing a plain silver chain that clashes with one’s outfit.”

Mychael didn’t just match my grin, he raised me a smirk—and a rope of sparkling diamonds dangling from his hand.

I stifled an unladylike word. The Benares in me made a small sound and reached for the strand. Maybe the gown wasn’t so bad after all.

I pulled my hand back. “But I can’t take the beacon off.”

Mychael moved behind me with the diamonds. “You don’t have to. If I may?”

I swept my hair up and away from my neck. I didn’t know what he was doing, but he seemed to, and since what he was doing involved the most diamonds I’d ever worn in my life, I decided to give him the benefit of a doubt.

“Pull the beacon out of your shirt,” he said.

I did.

“Hold it against your chest and remove the chain.”

I turned my head and looked at him. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. It’ll be fine.”

“I’m not worried about it; I’m worried about me.”

He was grinning like a little boy again. Irresistible. “Just do it.”

I held the beacon against my breastbone with one hand and slipped the chain out of the loop at the top of the beacon with the other. Mychael’s hand came around from behind and handed me the end of the jeweled rope. I looped it through. It could have been my imagination, but the beacon’s happy purring sounded just a little bit happier. Looked like I wasn’t the only one who liked diamonds.

Mychael fastened the clasp, his hands warm against the back of my neck. That felt even nicer than the weight of the diamond rope. I lowered the beacon back into my shirt, my hand lingering on the diamonds. A masked ball might not be so bad.

Piaras wasn’t going to be spared the indignity of fancy dress either. Mychael had suggested a substitute. One of his Guardians was about the same height and build as Piaras, and in costume, would pass as the spellsinger until it was too late for Nukpana to do anything about it once, or if, he found out. Piaras didn’t insist on reading the letter, but he had insisted on this. He said that the goblin would know instantly that it wasn’t him, and he wouldn’t endanger his grandmother by unnecessarily angering the goblin grand shaman. I agreed with his reasoning, but I didn’t like having him within a hundred miles of Nukpana. Piaras said that he was willing to take that risk. Everyone else would be risking their lives, he wouldn’t be an exception.