The Saghred didn’t just forge our umi’atsu bond; the rock specifically chose Tam to pair me with.

Tam used to be the chief mage for the royal House of Mal’Salin, the late goblin queen’s magical enforcer, and possibly one of the most powerful dark mages there was. The Saghred didn’t want to use Tam; it wanted Tam to use it. The rock was starving and it wanted souls. And after the escape of those four souls yesterday, it had to be more desperate than ever. There was no way in hell that I was feeding the thing and the Saghred knew it, so it forged an umi’atsu bond between me and Tam. Since I refused to feed it, given enough time and temptation, Tam just might. But that didn’t mean the rock was giving up on me; what happened in that bordello was proof.

Like I said, Mychael didn’t want me near Tam, but he agreed with me learning to defend myself in every way Sarad Nukpana could possibly attack me. He had just one condition; actually it was more like two dozen conditions.

I was on horseback, riding to Tam’s nightclub, surrounded by at least two dozen mounted and absurdly well-armed Guardians. Needless to say, anyone we met gave us a wide berth. It was late afternoon, and the sun was starting to go down behind some of the Conclave’s government buildings, throwing most of the city streets into shadow.

I’d sent word ahead to Tam that what had happened with the Reapers wasn’t keeping me from my lesson, so the front doors were unlocked and unwarded. The main floor of the theatre was usually filled with small tables covered in crisp white cloths, each with two or four chairs. The second-floor dining suites were like private boxes in a fine theatre. Columns stretched from the floor to the high, vaulted ceiling, carved with mermaids and mermen—sirens that could sing men or women to their doom—or somewhere much more enjoyable.

Today the tables were bare of cloths and most of them were stacked against the far walls, leaving the center of the floor clear and open. Officially Sirens was closed for renovation. In reality, Tam had closed the club until the present situation had been dealt with. Tam had a lot of potentially fatal “situations” other than being in an umi’atsu bond with me and Mychael, and he didn’t want running a nightclub to distract him from staying alive, nor did he want some of his clients being killed because they had the poor timing to walk between Tam and someone bent on killing him.

Tam was waiting for me. He was wearing sleek, dark fencing clothes with his black hair pulled back in a long goblin battle braid. His strong hands were bare, and a pair of steel-mesh dueling goggles dangled from his long fingers.

Like most goblins, Tam was tall and leanly muscled, and as I’d experienced on more than one occasion, Tam was also lightning quick. His pale gray skin set off what was a goblin’s most distinctive feature—a pair of fangs that weren’t for decorative use only. A goblin wouldn’t hesitate to use them if a fight turned dirty. Tam wouldn’t hesitate to use them if I got within nibbling range.

Tam’s black eyes gleamed in the club’s dim lighting, lighting he wasn’t going to turn up for our lesson. Sarad Nukpana’s goblin eyes were at their best in this kind of light. Either I learned to adapt or I learned to be dead.

A table near the wall held an array of bladed goblin weapons. Chances were any fighting I’d be doing would be with magic, but I wanted to be prepared for anything. I’d always considered myself a good fencer; and when the situation called for it, I wasn’t squeamish about killing. If it came down to me or them, it sure as hell wasn’t going to be me. Survival was a powerful motivator.

Vegard and four other Guardians arranged themselves around the room. The rest remained outside to stand guard.

Tam stood in the center of the dueling circle and made no move to come toward me. “You should be resting.”

“I slept for nearly ten hours and stayed in my room for most of the day.” I thought I wouldn’t mention that “my room” had in fact been Mychael’s bedroom. “I’ve had enough rest. I can’t afford to be stiff or slow.”

“You can’t afford to be hurt again.”

“Too late for that. Sarad Nukpana isn’t going to cut me any slack, so neither am I. That means neither are you. Tam, you know it as well as I do—either I’m deadly or I’m dead.”

Tam tossed me a pair of goggles identical to his own. I was good, Tam was better, and our practice blades weren’t killing sharp, but accidents happened. To risk losing an eye in a practice session was just plain stupid. And it’d be careless after what’d happened with the Reapers for me not to warm up first. Even with all the healing Mychael had done, my muscles were still stiff and sore. Tam waited patiently as I stretched out. He’d probably already stretched. Though who was I kidding? Tam and jungle cats—they didn’t stretch; they just attacked.

I sat on the floor and started stretching. Tam pulled a chair close to me and sat, his elbows resting on spread knees, his hands clasped loosely in front of him. I groaned silently. I knew what that meant.

Tam wanted to talk. Tam never wanted to talk. He was manipulative, secretive, and you couldn’t get a straight answer even if you could choke it out of him, but when Tam wanted to know something, he was relentless.

I didn’t need our umi’atsu bond to know what he wanted to talk about. With the closeness of our bond, he probably knew everything that had happened to me. I was about to find out how much “everything” included.

“You nearly died,” he said quietly.

“What, no small talk first?”

“Reapers are nothing to joke about.”

I stopped stretching and looked up at him. “Tam, if joking keeps me from screaming and curling up in a corner, then I’m going to keep it up. If I joke or think about it as little as I have to, I might not need a padded room.”

“Understood. But you shouldn’t have attacked them.”

I flexed my foot back, stretching my calf, and pain shot up my leg. I winced, and stretched it again, slower. “Yeah, my hindsight works real good. It’s seeing into the future that I can’t do.” I lowered my voice. Vegard was the only Guardian in the room who knew my dad’s identity. “I didn’t know he could defend himself against those things. He’s my dad, Tam. I’m not going to lose him.”

Tam was silent. He knew all about losing people he loved. He’d been married while at the goblin court. His wife had been a duchess, making Tam a duke by marriage, a title he retained after her death—murder, actually. Tam blamed it on his ambition; her family blamed it on Tam.

“You don’t want to lose your father,” Tam said quietly. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Tam wasn’t just talking about a Reaper sucking my soul out.

Until the Saghred was a pile of dust, the rock and I were a package deal. Wanting me would get Tam killed; the Saghred would get him damned. I was determined that neither one was going to happen.

Tam was a dark mage. I knew what that meant, and none of it was good. For a dark mage, power was an addiction, and the more power they got, the more they wanted—and the more they were willing to do to get it.

Like use objects of power such as the Saghred. I’d been resisting its temptations ever since it latched onto me. A dark mage wouldn’t have resisted. I’d always told myself that whatever Tam had done while in the goblin court, he’d done it to survive. Maybe. When Tam left the goblin court, he’d gotten help for his addiction. Call it what you will—intervention, black-magic rehab—Tam had fought his way back from the brink. I wasn’t going to be the cause of his relapse.

I stood up. “Then let’s work on making Mid a safer place for everyone.”

Tam moved the chair out of the dueling circle. I put on the goggles and pulled on a pair of padded leather fencing gloves. I drew my swords and exchanged them for the pair of practice blades Tam had laid out on a table for me.

“What are we working on today?” I asked him.

Tam pulled his goggles down. “The same thing we worked on last time.”

“What? I didn’t get it right?”

“You got it right twice.” He put on his fencing gloves. “You need to get it right on instinct, not thought. Last time I could still sense you thinking—and if I could sense it, Sarad will, too.”

I swore softly.

“That’s why we’re only working on four moves,” Tam reminded me. “You don’t have time to perfect any more. You’ve got the first three down, one more to go.”

Since I knew my way around a blade and was good at adapting my fighting style to my opponent, Tam was teaching me four down-and-dirty moves using goblin blades. Really dirty moves. Moves that I could throw into a fight and if I was quick enough and lucky enough—and if Sarad Nukpana was solid enough—I just might get to skewer the goblin.

That moment would be a dream come true.

Goblin swords were both stabbing and slashing weapons. Goblins used two blades as naturally as breathing, like extensions of their arms. They were taught from an early age. Elf children played with building blocks; goblins learned to spin blades.

Tam stood facing me, his hands by his side, his blades angled toward the floor. He looked relaxed. I knew better. When Tam had swords in his hands, relaxed meant ready.

In our lessons, Tam always made the first move.

Change is good. Dirty is better.

I sauntered toward him like I was just getting into position to go on guard. Then I lunged, my blades dropped to block his, and my heel came down hard on his instep. Tam hissed and I pivoted sharply to the right, intending to pommel strike his ribs and dart the hell out of range.

Darting didn’t happen. Neither did the pommel strike.

Tam’s leather-clad arms pinned my arms—and swords—to my sides. His blades were up and crossed entirely too close to my face for any kind of comfort.

So much for striking and darting.

“Well, shit,” I said mildly. “That could have worked better.”

“My foot thinks it worked quite well.” I heard the pained grimace in his voice. “Nicely done.” Leather creaked as his arms tightened around me, and his voice lowered to a teasing purr. “The rest of me agrees. This is more than pleasant. Now, how do you propose to get away from me?”