Draconas retraced his steps of the morning. He walked past the Abbey, wondering which room belonged to Ven. Perhaps the single room on the second floor where the light burned bright. Draconas stared hard at the light, as if it could answer his many questions concerning Ven, not the least of which was why he had lured Marcus here to be given as a present to the dragon, then turned around and helped his brother to escape?

The rain came down harder. Draconas pulled his cowl over his head. The only way to answer that question and others was to talk to Ven, either face to face or mind to mind. Both those options were dangerous. The monks guarded Ven’s body. Grald guarded Ven’s mind.

Draconas passed other monks on the street. None spoke to him. Some gave him brief nods. Others went by without even noticing him, walking with a shuffling gait, muttering to themselves. Draconas tried to imagine an army made up of these wretched creatures and failed. The dragons were smarter than that. They must have something else planned. Which was why Draconas was on his way to the palace.

Reaching the bridge, he halted in the shadows and settled down to watch. He wanted to see monks cross the bridge, wanted to see if they were accosted by the guard and, if so, what they said and did.

The number of the Blessed on duty at the bridge was considerably reduced by night. Only three were posted on the city side of the bridge, and there were still no guards on the palace side. Draconas pondered what this might mean, but could arrive at no satisfactory answer. The only obvious one was that there was no one in the palace to guard—a grim thought, especially for the daughter of Anton and Rosa.

He waited and waited, but no one made any attempt to cross. After almost an hour, Draconas began to realize that no one was going to try to cross. When they said no one entered the palace, they meant it.

The Blessed roved about aimlessly, occasionally coming together to talk, then wandering off. Draconas considered using his magic to make himself invisible. The illusion would work with ordinary humans, but he could not count on that with these monks. Whereas another of their own trying to cross the bridge . . .

Draconas made up his mind. He set forth, walking briskly, as with purpose.

The monks guarding the bridge were apparently not accustomed to dealing with interlopers in the night, for they were startled beyond measure when Draconas materialized out of the darkness. Indeed, he was almost on top of them before they even noticed him, and then all three stared at him in such amazement that they seemed to wonder if he was real or an apparition.