“Your trust honors me,” I told her in formal Goblin.

A flicker of surprise lit her eyes, and Imala smiled warmly and inclined her head. “Thank you. There are many things I want to change in the goblin court—the perception of those like me is one of them.”

“Like Talon.”

Imala nodded. “There are more mixed breeds among my people than most will admit. There are many small glamours worn at court.”

One corner of my lips curled in a conspiratorial grin. “And you’re the head of the secret service. How did you survive long enough to get there?”

“I kept my eyes glamoured and my ears open.” Her smile spread until her fangs were visible, fangs she’d probably used many times. “And it helps to know where the bodies are buried.”

I bet she had helped put some of them there.

“So you’ve hidden your eyes, then plotted and schemed your way to the top of the ladder, and now you plan to overthrow your king.”

Imala kept the smile and added a shrug. “It’s a start.”

“Ambitious, aren’t you?”

“Protective of my people,” she corrected me. “Sathrik wants war. Such a war is not in the best interests of my people, so Sathrik must go.”

“And you’re willing to risk your life to do this.”

“I am.”

“And now Tam is willing to risk his.”

“That is what he tells me.”

I took another sip of port, a big one. “I kill him, Mychael saves him, only to have Sathrik or Sarad Nukpana kill him again.”

Imala leaned forward. “Tam survived for five years at Glicara’s side, and contrary to what you may have heard, he did it mostly by using his considerable cunning and wits. Tam Nathrach is a brilliant tactician. Sathrik and Sarad wanted him out of the court for that very reason. They feared him then, and they fear him now. He is a very real danger to them and they know it.”

“Only now Sarad Nukpana has turned himself into a demigod.”

“You killed Tam and Sarad’s soul was forced to flee. Sarad has made Janos Ghalfari’s body his permanent home. So when he is killed inside Janos’s body, his death will be permanent.”

I smiled. “You said ‘when,’ not ‘if,’ he is killed.”

Imala’s smile was almost demure, but those gold- flecked eyes glittered in anticipation. “I am confident in my, and my people’s, skills—and my own determination.”

Like the prince she was determined to put on the goblin throne, Imala Kalis was shrewd, manipulative, ruthless, and plotting a coup was probably her idea of a fun night out, but damned if I wasn’t starting to like her.

Imala drained the rest of her glass. “And as to what you were forced to do to Tam, you must set your guilt aside. If Tam had died in that street, you still would have saved him—from a fate far worse than any death. And for that you have my gratitude. I could not bear the thought of him—”

“You’re thanking her for killing me,” Tam drawled from the now-open door. “How very like you.”

Imala arched a brow. “I believe in commending good work,” she shot back. Then she half turned and winked at me.

I muffled a grin with my glass.

Tam stepped into the cabin, Mychael and Markus behind him. All I can say is that it was a good thing I had a firm grip on that glass, or it’d have been shattered on the floor.

Tam was wearing his formal court robes.

I guess if you’re going to claim diplomatic immunity, you’d better dress the part. Tam’s robes were a combination of velvet and raw black silk. They swept the floor but were slit up the sides to reveal Tam’s trademark fitted leather trousers and boots. A demonologist friend of mine had once said that if you study demons for a living, it’s healthy to be able to haul ass when you have to. I imagine the same was true for serving in the goblin court. Tam’s long black hair fell in a wave down his back and was held back from his face by a silver circlet set with a single ruby. A silver chain of office was draped over his broad shoulders. Tam looked every inch a goblin duke and a chief mage to a king. I could imagine him standing next to a throne.

He belonged there.

My throat was suddenly tight. “Tam, the robes really suit you.” It was all I could manage to say.

“I made sure Carnades got a good look at me this afternoon.” Tam smiled, very slightly. “I think my wardrobe choices made the proper impression.”

Mychael laughed. “I think I saw tiny flecks of foam at the corners of his mouth.”

Imala and Markus were greeting each other not like adversaries, but as allies in the making. There was even that double-cheek-kissing thing—and not one fang was bared or dagger drawn. It was a stunning show of statesmanship.

The chief of elven intelligence and the head of the goblin secret service were chatting like old friends.

And they were doing their chatting on a pirate ship.

I smiled. Peace talks of questionable legality, to plan actions of dubious sanity, held on board a ship that wasn’t welcome in any port anywhere.

It was perfect.

Though Markus and Imala could negotiate an alliance all they wanted to over stolen wine, still there were those like Carnades Silvanus and Taltek Balmorlan, elves whose hatred and greed blinded them to anything but the desire to destroy their enemies. Or goblins like Sathrik Mal’Salin and Sarad Nukpana, whose raw lust for power was insatiable.

Elves and goblins didn’t need a stone of cataclysmic power—or an excuse—to slaughter each other. Dad had hidden the Saghred for hundreds of years, and wars went on just fine without it. Hate and greed and lust for power will always find a way. I had to find a way to destroy the Saghred.

And for my next trick, I was going to help put a Mal’Salin on the throne.

The lower hells must be freezing over.

Mychael and Tam had moved to stand on either side of me, and Tam was watching Imala and Markus with a mixture of pride and disbelief.

“We’re watching history, you know,” Mychael murmured.

I looked up at him with some disbelief of my own. “You realize that after we watch history, then we have to go out and make it.”

Tam laughed. “I’m ready to make some history. How about you two?”

I just smiled and shook my head. “Conspiracy and treason are the ultimate games for goblins, aren’t they? And for chips, you gamble with your lives.”

Tam grinned, slow and wicked, his black eyes glittering in playful anticipation. “It’s not treason if you win.”