“Of course, he makes every effort to appear reasonable to you.” Hardness shaded Danilo’s voice. “He still needs you.”

Regis made an impatient gesture. “Rinaldo may have spent the better part of his life as a monk, but he is not a child. He most certainly does not need me. Even now, he is exploring the city on his own.”

Danilo looked away, his features stony.

“Can we just drop the subject?” Regis said. “I don’t want to quarrel with you again.”

“Nor I with you,” Danilo said quietly.

“Why then do we keep tearing at each other this way?”

“I don’t know! In truth, I can’t blame Rinaldo. We fought even before we knew of his existence.”

“Maybe it’s the times or being Comyn in a world that no longer has a place for us,” Regis said. “If our way is hard for you and me, who were born to it, how much more difficult must it be for my brother? To be wrenched from a life of quiet and contemplation into this madness?”

Danilo nodded, thoughtful. “I admit there is much good in him. He is earnest and intelligent, and he has faithfully performed his duties as a teacher. But, Regis, he is still inexperienced. Is it is wise to let him wander through the city on his own?”

“Rinaldo is a grown man,” Regis insisted, “and I will notsubject him to the kind of tyrannical restrictions that have plagued my own life!”

“No,” Danilo said gently, “you would not wish that on your dearest enemy.”

Regis felt a trickle of foreboding. Danilo might have a valid point. The streets were not as safe as they once were, even by day. “Rinaldo should have been back by now.”

“We would have heard from the watch if he were in trouble,” Danilo said. “Doubtless he has forgotten the time or lost his way. In some districts, the streets are like a maze even to those of us who know them well.”

“I should send a Guardsman to search for him,” Regis said.

“Let me go instead,” Danilo offered. “I know he thinks I dislike him, but that is not true. I simply do not trust him. If I look for him myself, that may show him that I have his best interest—as well as yours—at heart. And if he has become lost, I promise I will not tease him. Anyone can lose his way in the old city.”

Regis nodded. With a bow, Danilo took his leave. Alone with no distraction but his own thoughts, Regis struggled against the sense of something terrible looming over him.

My brother is a grown man,he silently repeated to himself. Danilo is a skilled fighter, more than capable of dispatching a trained assassin, let alone a hapless footpad. He saved my own life more times than I can count. I should not worry.

Regis sat, watching the pattern of reflections cast by the flames. Minutes slipped by. The fire died.

Suddenly, a clamor of intense, desperate emotion burst upon his mind. Deeper and quicker than thought, Regis feltDanilo cry out. In warning—in surprise? In alarm?

Regis was not a strong telepath. There were only a few people with whom he could speak mind-to-mind, even at short distances. Linnea, with her powerful and trained Keeper’s laran, was one of them.

Danilo was the other.

A series of flashing images, like bits of shattered glass and leaves blown in a Hellers gale, flooded Regis.

Shadows cloaking the streets, shop windows grimy in the nightly drizzle . . . searching for a familiar landmark, glancing up at the lighted towers of Comyn Castle through the gloom . . . A flash of recognition: The Starry Plough tavern on Music Street . . .

“Danilo!” called a man’s voice.

Not Rinaldo . . .

His own voice—Dani’s voice: “I am looking for Rinaldo Hastur . . . went off without an escort . . .”

The answering voice was silky and tantalizingly familiar.” . . my duty to assist you in your search . . .”

A man stepped from the shadows into the light cast by the lantern above the tavern door . . . by his movement, a trained swordsman . . . a sword slipping free . . .

Danilo’s hand reaching for his own blade . . . the weight of the world crashing down on his head . . . cobblestones hard beneath his cheek . . .

A dim, vanishing thought: Did they get Rinaldo, too?

The next moment, the thought-touch disappeared, sending Regis reeling into oblivion.

Regis gasped as he jerked back to consciousness. He had fallen across the little table. One of the wine goblets lay on its side, spilling dark liquid on the carpet. For a sickening moment, his eyes would not focus. Nausea clawed the back of his throat. He had not felt such wrenching disorientation in a long time.

Danilo— Danilowas in danger, needed him! He had to do something, but his mind was too muddled to determine what. He should summon help—a Guardsman. Speech seemed impossible.

Although the fire had died into coals, multicolored light filled the room, shifting, surging, and then dissolving into sparkling motes. His breath wheezed through his lungs.

Move,he urged himself. Walking would help stabilize the balance centers in his brain and keep his focus from drifting. With a poignant twist, he remembered that Javanne had been the one to tell him that.

Praying he would not give in to the waves of stomach sickness, Regis clambered to his feet, one foot and then the other, resenting each moment of delay. Minutes later, the worst of the distortions faded, and he felt solid again.

It was time to make plans, to act quickly. The attack on Danilo had occurred in front of The Starry Plough. With a message to Gabriel, a suitably armed escort would be ready in minutes.

A servant answered his summons promptly, but before Regis could issue the message, he heard a muffled shriek coming from another part of the Hastur section.

Mikhail!

Regis raced down the corridors toward Mikhail’s room. The door was open. Inside, a servant lay senseless on the floor. Regis rushed inside.

The room was filled with strange men, their faces concealed behind strips of cloth.

Bandits? Here, within Comyn Castle?

Regis could hardly believe what was happening. Then he was no longer thinking, he had whipped out his dagger and was fighting for his life. Twisting, lunging—at nothing.

As suddenly as they had appeared, the men vanished. Regis was alone once more, crouched in a fighting stance, his dagger in his hand. The residue of battle-adrenaline still saturated the air.

Mikhail—a ttacked here, in his own chamber? Dragged away half- conscious . . . gagged, unable to call for help, reaching out in the only way possible before losing consciousness—

Blessed Cassilda! How had this happened? First Danilo, now Mikhail . . . and Rinaldo as well—lost in the city? Taken captive?

The attacks must be related. Had Rinaldo been lured into a trap? Whoever set it might have guessed that someone would come after him. Mikhail’s abduction must have been planned in advance and therefore was part of a coordinated plan. Anyone might be the traitor. Anyone!

The servant, a maid barely in her teens, roused and opened her eyes. When she saw Regis with a weapon in his hand, breathing hard, his face flushed, she gave a yelp of terror.

He slipped the dagger back into its sheath and lifted the girl to her feet. It took him a moment to remember her name, Merilys. She’d come from Armida with Javanne as part of the household, a plain, hard-working country girl.

“It’s all right,” he murmured. “I won’t hurt you.”

“Lord Hastur,” the girl answered in a whisper. She gulped, righted herself, tidied her apron with a few deft tugs, and bobbed an awkward curtsy. Unfortunately, she remembered nothing about the attack, beyond being knocked unconscious. She nodded in a calm, practical way when he asked her to get someone else to help.