by Cheryl Dyson
******
Brydon opened the door a crack and peered into the corridor. To the left, there was empty hallway. To the right, a few guests loitered about on the Grand Balcony, but Brydon saw no guards.
"What room lies across the hall?" he asked the handmaiden, unable to remember from Rakyn’s maps.
"A guest chamber," she replied.
"Occupied?"
She nodded. "They all are, for the wedding. But it is likely the guests are now in the Great Hall."
Brydon sighed. "If not, I can take care of them."
The girl blanched, eyes wide. "You would not kill them?"
"Of course not," Brydon snapped. "I am a knight-priest, not one of Reed’s hired butchers."
He had extended his mental shield to cover the girl, fearing that her panic might alert Reed of their presence. The maiden drew a shaky breath and Brydon forced himself to grip her shoulder lightly and smile encouragement, though he was frustrated enough to shake her. She slipped across the hall and into the room. After a moment, she signaled to Brydon, who quickly whisked Shevyn into the chamber.
"It is empty," the girl said when they moved inside.
Brydon placed Shevyn on a cushioned settee in the antechamber furthest from the door. A quick glance inside the room would not reveal her presence.
"Stay with her," he commanded the girl. He brushed a stray curl from Shevyn’s forehead and sighed at her faraway expression. "Try to shake her out of this dazed state, but do not give her anything but water. There is no telling what wine, or even tea, will do if mixed with whatever drug she was given." The girl nodded solemnly.
"I will return if I am able," he added and hurried out to begin his search for Toryn, though he suspected the Redolian would be rather easy to find.
