“What’s keeping him?” Phaelan asked.

Glass shattered. A lot of it. It sounded like it came from the back of Nigel’s house. This was followed by shouting. I recognized Quentin’s voice. It sounded like he had found his good friend Trouble, and they had made their own exit from Nigel’s bedroom. Phaelan helped me to my feet and then sprinted toward the back of the house. I ditched my cloak and followed as best I could. Considering how I felt, my idea of running more resembled a loping jog. No use worrying about waking the neighbors now.

Not surprisingly, Phaelan was the first to reach the back wall. He hoisted himself smoothly to the top and stopped, something my cousin rarely did. Phaelan only acknowledged one direction, and that was forward.

“Goblin shamans,” he said.

That was unexpected. I heaved myself up beside him. As far as I was concerned, there were two types of goblin shamans—one good and one bad. These particular ones wore black robes lined in silver. Khrynsani. Quentin’s new acquaintances were the bad kind. Why wasn’t I surprised?

The Khrynsani were an ancient goblin secret society and military order, with even more outdated political ideas. The Khrynsanic credo was simple. Goblins were meant to rule, and if anyone disagreed, they weren’t meant to live. Those who disagreed included every other race. Unfortunately, the minds behind the Khrynsani weren’t simple, or without influence. Some of the most powerful families of the goblin aristocracy were secret Khrynsani members. The new goblin king was a Khrynsani and proud of it. So it wouldn’t be long before the rest of the old blood nobility traded in their secret membership for openly fashionable affiliation.

Nigel hated all goblins, good or bad, so it was safe to say that these four weren’t invited houseguests.