Like an increasing number of his men, Mychael was wearing full battle armor. For Guardians, that didn’t mean clunky, shiny plate mail. Mychael’s armor was steel and then some, and sleek was the best way to describe it. Matte finish, dark gray, and custom fit-Mychael’s armor conformed to his leanly muscled body almost like a second skin. No armorer was that good; there had to have been magic involved when it was forged.

I made myself stop staring at Mychael’s conformities and helped myself to a chair. “The reason you’re rushing those boys out of here wouldn’t happen to be named Carnades Silvanus?”

“It would.”

“Shit,” I spat.

Mychael nodded. “That’s why I made sure I got here before he did.”

“You know for a fact he’s coming?”

“Without a doubt. And Piaras and Talon not being here will cause two less complications.”

I raised an eyebrow. “So that’s what you’re calling me now? A complication.”

Mychael pulled up a chair and sat facing me, mere inches separating us. He almost smiled. “You don’t think it fits?”

“Oh, it fits. I just think you could’ve done better. Carnades has got some downright colorful names for me.”

“Carnades has more time to think than I do.”

“And plot,” I reminded him. “Don’t forget the plotting and scheming.”

Carnades Silvanus was second only to the archmagus in terms of position on the Conclave’s Seat of Twelve. The archmagus had the top spot and absolute authority over the Isle of Mid and everyone on it. Last week, Archmagus Justinius Valerian had nearly been assassinated. Until the old man recovered, Carnades had gone from second in command to sitting in the big chair, and he was determined to turn his temporary promotion into his permanent job.