splashed across the courtyard.
Behind the wicket at the Gate was a little room where litigants had waited to be
called to the Hall of Justice in the days when the Prince still pretended to
govern Sanctuary. Lalo settled onto one of its inadequately padded benches and
closed his eyes. Instinctively he reached out for that current of awareness that
linked him to Gilla, but there was nothing there. He had never realized how
essential her presence was to him.
Gilla-Gilla! his heart cried, and he did not realize that he had moaned aloud
until he felt Wedemir patting his arm.
“You have decided to come to us after all! What is wrong?”
Lalo’s eyes flew open. Randal the Mage with his clothes on was an altogether
more impressive sight than the man who had borrowed his cloak in the tavern. In
this setting, even his freckles seemed less visible.
“Something tried to get him and took my mother by mistake,” said Wedemir
accusingly. “A black globular sort of thing-it just materialized in the kitchen,
and she was gone!”
“A kind of bubble shot with flashes of blue light?” asked Randal, and Wedemir
nodded. The mage chewed his lip for a moment, then grimaced. “It sounds like
Roxane. She has a habit of kidnaping people, and right now she’s hellbent on
revenge against anyone connected with Molin Torchholder or Niko….”
Randal’s voice had softened as he spoke the mercenary’s name, and Lalo sensed
the complex of frustrated love, longing, and loyalty that explained why the mage
had handled Niko’s portrait so reverently. But Lalo could hardly worry about