If she could make her way outside, she could call for help. But did she want to? Kyra had been around the Guild long enough to recognize the effects of lizard-skin venom. It caused disorientation in the victim, but the paralysis was the most dangerous. Once it spread to her vital organs, she’d die. She had an hour at most, and only if she could find a skilled healer who knew poisons.

If a guard found her, he’d drag her back to the cell, and she’d be dead before morning. She needed someone who would recognize the symptoms and know which healer could treat her—which meant her best hope was Tristam or Malikel. It was a bizarre situation. Here she was free of her cell, and not only was she about to walk straight back to her captors, she was also desperately hoping that she would find them. Malikel lived on the fifth floor in the officials’ quarters, all the way across the courtyard. Tristam was with the younger officials on the ground floor.

She unlocked the door at the top of the stairwell, only to close it again at the sound of footsteps. When the footsteps faded, she crept through the door and into the courtyard. The cool air made her shiver more than it should have.

As she moved, images from her nightmare flashed through her mind. The smells stuck with her—the man’s fear, the overpowering scent of his blood. Or was it her own blood she was smelling? As she reached the other side of the courtyard, she finally succumbed, bending over and retching into the bushes. The noise echoed too loudly off the walls. Finally, with her half-digested dinner pooled in the dirt, her body stopped convulsing. Kyra picked herself up and pried open the door to the officials’ quarters, trying to ignore the stiffness that had now spread from her arm to her shoulder.

A rush of warm air hit Kyra’s face and she blinked rapidly. Where was Tristam’s room? She closed her eyes, trying to see the map James had given her. It had been on there. She was sure of it, but the map’s lines turned blurry in her mind. Kyra settled on her best guess. Her first knock was pathetically soft. Her second attempt made her head swim, but at least the sound carried. The door opened, and Tristam peered out, blinking in confusion. His hair was disheveled, and he was bare-chested. Shock swept over his features at seeing Kyra. His body tensed. Then his eyes flicked to her arm, taking in the wound, before settling back on her face.

“I need a healer…poisoned blade.” Talking took more breath than she was willing to spare.