Free Devlin's Justice by Patricia Bray Page A

the tavern as an afterthought. The tavern was made of oak that dated back to better days, but the addition was made of lumber scavenged from packing crates and driftwood. The boards did not fully meet, and it would be a cold place in which to lodge.
    She hesitated a moment. If the message was genuine, then on the other side of the door were those she had desperately sought for the past weeks. And if the message was a trap, then she would have delivered herself neatly into her enemies’ hands, providing all the proof they needed that the Captain of the Guard was ignoring the orders of King and council.
    Either way she would have her answers.
    Prudently she loosened her sword in its scabbard before rapping thrice on the door.
    The door opened a crack, revealing the minstrel’s tense features. He nodded as he recognized her, then stepped back and opened the door wide to reveal Didrik standing beside him, his sword pointed at the door, ready to repel an attack.
    At his gesture, Drakken entered the dark room, keeping a firm grip on the hilt of her sword.
    Didrik waited until the door swung shut behind her before lowering his weapon. “You were not followed?”
    “No,” she said. Her eyes swept the tiny room, but the two men were its only occupants.
    “It is good to see you,” Stephen said.
    She nodded, but her attention was elsewhere. “Where is Devlin? He should not be roaming the city alone.”
    “What do you mean? My message was to you, not Devlin. Unless you invited him to join us here?”
    His words destroyed the small hope that she had carried within her ever since receiving Didrik’s message. After days of private mourning for her friends, Didrik’s message had seemed a gift from the Gods. After all, if Didrik was alive, then surely Devlin was with him. Despite all evidence that proved otherwise.
    It seemed her darkest fears had indeed proven true.
    “I haven’t seen Devlin since he left the city on his quest,” Drakken said.
    Didrik’s face paled and he took a few steps back, sitting down heavily on the bench as if his legs could no longer hold him.
    “Devlin rode ahead, with a full escort of Baron Martell’s armsmen. He should have returned over a fortnight ago,” he insisted.
    “There has been no sign of him. Nor of his escort,” Drakken said. “The baron himself arrived in the capital just two days ago. But there was no mention of the Chosen One.”
    “What does this mean?” Stephen asked.
    Captain Drakken crossed the narrow room, and took a seat on the bench not far from Didrik. Even in the dim light, she could see that his face was drawn, and he had lost more than a few pounds. Injured, ill, or perhaps both she surmised.
    Stephen had seemingly fared better. If the hardships of the journey had aged him, it was an improvement. No one now would look at him and mistake him for a boy. She hoped he had grown in wisdom as well, for the news she had to share would lay a heavy burden on both men. Now was the time for reason, not for the impetuous folly of youth.
    “What of Devlin?” Didrik asked.
    “I’d hoped he was with you, though logic told me elsewise,” Captain Drakken said softly. “But in truth, I believe he is dead. Murdered on the very night he returned to the city.”
    Stephen protested, insisting that Devlin must be alive. Didrik kept silent, though she could see that he, too, clung to the hope that she was somehow mistaken. She could not blame them. It seemed a cruel trick of fate that had struck Devlin down just at the moment he was poised to return in triumph. Devlin had been killed in the one place where he should have been safe.
    Didrik’s face grew grim as she recounted her tale. How the soul stone had told of Devlin’s return, but she could find no one who had seen him. Frantic searching had revealed no sign of Devlin, until a frightened maid came to Drakken with a tale of the new carpet on the floor of the King’s private audience chamber. When she’d rolled up the new carpet