Shield's Lady

at the rendezvous point as he had said he would be, Gryph reflected, there would still be plenty of time to get back to the ball before it concluded with the late night buffet. It had been a long time since he had danced. He sincerely hoped it was like riding a dragonpony in that once you learned how, you never forgot.
    His best hope for not making a complete fool of himself lay in the fact that he suspected Sariana probably wasn’t much of a dancer herself. He had a hunch she’d spent a lot more time in the classroom and library than she had in a ballroom.
    That was Sariana’s problem, Gryph decided. She hadn’t spent much time in fun and games. She’d been too focused on the entwined paths of a successful career and a marriage that was intended to be a business alliance, not a passionate relationship. But Gryph was confident he could fix all that for her.
    All he had to do was get her attention long enough to convince her she was working toward the wrong destiny.
    Getting her attention was not, however, proving as easy as he had thought after that midnight encounter in the conservatory. Gryph had seen very little of Sariana for the past three days. She seemed to be always either buried in paperwork, in conference with Lord and Lady Avylyn, or on her way to another “luncheon meeting” with Etion Rakken.
    Every time he had managed to find Sariana alone, he had been treated to a long string of pointed inquiries about the progress of his assignment. He was beginning to wonder if it might not be wisest to find the damned prisma cutter just so that Sariana would be forced to shut up on the subject.
    The lady had a way of keeping a man at bay. Gryph smiled in spite of his mood. She was invariably self-possessed, self-assured and self-confident when she was discussing business. When she wasn’t discussing business she managed to keep the conversation focused squarely on the unimportant or the trivial.
    The woman could certainly talk, Gryph reflected.
    But Gryph was certain he could sense the passion that was locked away in her. The need to be the one who unlocked it was fast becoming an all-consuming need.
    Gryph turned a corner and started down a narrow brick path that didn’t warrant the title of street. He pushed all stray thoughts of Sariana and the ball temporarily aside as a prickle of heightened awareness went down his spine. He was getting close to the meeting point stipulated in Brinton’s message. He started counting the yawning black mouths that were alleys leading off of the path. When he reached the third one he stopped. Brinton should be waiting nearby.
    Gryph stood motionless against the wall, letting the darkness swallow him. There was no sound or movement in the shadows around him. The distant rattle of a carriage floated down the street behind him and was soon gone. No intelligent carriage driver would hang around this part of town for long.
    Then he heard the faint groan from the end of the alley and Gryph knew that Brinton’s career as an informer had just hit a snag.
    Gryph’s fingers played lightly over the prisma lock of his weapon kit. The leather pouch opened. He reached inside and withdrew the small vapor light. He thumbed the mechanism that released a spark into the vapor and instantly a faint beam revealed a portion of the littered alley.
    It was empty except for what appeared to be a pile of old clothes at the far end. Gryph hesitated, all his trained senses protesting his decision to enter what could easily become a trap. The alley only had one exit.
    But Gryph was grimly certain that it was Brinton who lay in a crumpled heap at the base of the brick wall. And there was no getting around the fact that he probably wouldn’t have been there if he hadn’t been working for Gryph. Brinton might have been lying in some other dark alley, waiting for some other customer, if he hadn’t taken this particular job, but that was beside the point. With a last glance up and down the path to ensure he was alone, Gryph entered the alley.
    A few seconds later he crouched beside the fallen man, reached out to touch him and knew there was no hope.
    “Brinton?”
    The man didn’t move, but there was another low groan. Brinton was barely breathing. The tiny vapor lamp revealed a dark, widening stain on the man’s shirt.
    “Hang on, pal. I’ll get you out of here.” Gryph knew from the size of the stain and the feel of Brinton’s skin that there wasn’t much point in trying to get him to a