Surprised and a little suspicious at the ease with which he’d accomplished his task, Ven watched the monks until they were out of sight. He kept watch for Draconas, too, but saw no sign of him. No one was about except the little girl, who was loitering in the shadows of a building.

Ven lingered in the street, searching for the man he remembered from childhood—a human male with long black hair, piercing dark eyes, carrying a staff. Several men passed by him, but they did not answer that description. He began to grow impatient and, when the little girl came dancing up to him, he tried to ignore her, hoping she’d go away.

He detested children. The sight of them brought back his own painful childhood. Adults were unkind—with their averted eyes or looks of pity or crude remarks. Children were cruel, taunting and teasing and tormenting the little boy who walked with a beast’s gait.

“I wish my legs had scales like yours, Dragon’s Son,” the child said. “Except that my scales would be red-gold.”

“Run along home,” Ven told her, scowling, and he tried to shoo her away with a wave of his hand.

To his astonishment, the girl grabbed hold of his hand. She held fast when he tried to shake her loose. She was a sharp-eyed little minx, with long black hair and a spare, bony frame on which her ragged clothes hung like new-washed laundry. She looked up at Ven and grinned.

Her comment about the red-gold scales suddenly struck him, as did the long, black hair. Long ago, Ven had seen a dragon take to the air. He had seen moonlight glitter on scales that were red-gold. He’d seen the same last night . . .

“Draconas?” Ven asked softly, staring at the child in astonishment.

“Start walking,” the little girl ordered, tugging him along. “No, don’t look back. Keep moving.”

“Is that you, Draconas?” Ven persisted.

“My name’s Draca,” said the girl in a loud, shrill voice. “I know you. You’re Ven, the Dragon’s Son. Act naturally They’re watching you.”

“The monks?” Ven glanced over his shoulder. “No, they’re not. I sent them back to the Abbey—”

“Not those monks. Others. Why do you think your guards gave way so easily? Look there, in the alley. And there, in the doorway of the baker’s shop.”

Ven cast a glance in the directions indicated. The monk in the alley blended into the shadows, but not before Ven had spotted him. The monk in the doorway of the baker’s shop did not even bother to try to hide himself.

“How do you know I won’t hand you over to Grald?” asked Ven, trying unsuccessfully to free his hand from the girl’s grasp. He still was not certain this was Draconas.