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likely
the light gleaming off Prince Marcus’s golden crown.
    Ven pressed his
hand over the wound to try to stop the bleeding.
    That’s why she
stabbed me, he reflected. She was afraid I would tell Marcus the truth
about her, that she was not the poor, mistreated victim of my brutal advances.
That she deliberately seduced me in order to trap me. That she sold me to a
traveling circus to be exhibited to the gaping wonder of the crowd.
    She believes me
to be dead—I made sure of that. Evelina will be sitting pretty now, thinking
she’s safe and secure, able to snare Marcus in her web, bind him with her
silken lies and sting him with the poison of her lips, paralyzing him into
stillness so that she can suck him dry.
    Maybe. Maybe
not.
    Ven wondered if
Marcus had told her that he’d communicated with his brother, that Ven was
alive.
    In his brother’s
place, Ven would not have said anything to Evelina, and he doubted that Marcus
would. Both brothers had learned at an early age to keep secrets. The truth was
dangerous, might be disastrous, bringing peril to themselves and those they
loved. Marcus would be slow to trust, reticent about speaking his thoughts
aloud, naturally cautious and reserved.
    He would also be
extremely confused. Ven could not help but grin wryly. It served Marcus right.
He had been very quick to believe Evelina’s accusation that Ven was a vicious,
murdering monster. How astonished Marcus must have been when the murdering
monster saved their lives.
    I could tell
Marcus my side of the story, Ven considered, as he gazed lip river. Marcus might even believe me.
    Ven mulled it over
and decided not to. He wasn’t sure exactly why. Guilt was some of it. Evelina
had not entirely lied. He had meant to take her that night in the tall grass
and he would have, if she had not managed to fend him off and wriggle out from
beneath him. And he was responsible for the death of her father. She had
not made that up. Ven had not killed Ramone with his own hand—the monks had
done that. But they had murdered him because of Ven.
    Part of his
decision not to tell was vindication. Ven felt a certain satisfaction in
thinking that the brother who had grown up pampered and happy and loved should
fall victim to a mercenary little vixen. Ven expected this feeling to be
stronger. Instead, it was uncomfortable. Ven couldn’t say that he loved Marcus,
but he liked his brother, and that was unexpected. Ven had looked forward to
hating Marcus, who’d been given everything in life, while Ven had been given
the back of life’s hand. Instead, Ven found someone who understood, someone who
shared his pain.
    And, after all,
maybe his not telling Marcus came down to the simple fact that Ven disliked
interfering. He’d said what he’d needed to say to Marcus and to Evelina. Let
the two of them sort out their lives. He had his own problems.
    He was thinking
all this as he stood on the bank, staring at the water, when his thoughts were
jolted back to earth. Voices, heading this direction.
    Grald must have
finally lifted the illusion that hid the city gates of Dragonkeep from the
world outside. The monks were coming, somewhat late, to chase after Marcus.
This meant that Grald knew Marcus had escaped. Did the dragon know how?
    “Perhaps the monks
aren’t after Marcus,” Ven said to himself in alarm. “Perhaps they are after me.”
    Ven had to retain
Grald’s trust. The only way to slay the dragon was to take him by surprise,
catch him off guard. Grald mustn’t suspect that Ven had anything to do with
Marcus’s escape.
    Ven had been
careless—that’s what came of giving way to emotion. Prints of his clawed feet
were everywhere, leading in and out of the water. He cursed himself for not
having the foresight to cover his tracks—Bellona would have made him stand in
the corner for a week in punishment. Hastily, he raked his claws over the
telltale signs, rubbing out the traces that he’d been here.
    He didn’t have
much time. The