"I know, I know," cried the lad miserably. "But I only wanted to help. The maidservant was so frightened by my hand gestures, she dumped the platter, all over-" his trembling hand indicated where the tea had landed.

Piergeiron scowled. This lad was either an accomplished actor or a novice adept. "Where is the maidservant?"

The mage glanced from side to side, at a loss. "She was here a moment ago. I could have sworn-"

With an impulsive whirl of her tea-stained petticoats, Eidola spun and hurried off to her chambers.

"Guards, take this man to the dungeons for questioning," Piergeiron said. He turned to his ever-present bodyguard. "Madieron, you go with them. I'm off on private business."

The man-mountain nodded his haystack of hair and followed the guards.

Meanwhile Piergeiron turned and stalked after Eidola, his heart rumbling strangely. "I'm right behind you!" he called to his bride. He passed into the vestibule beyond, Eidola's skirts rustling ahead of him.

Before him and beyond Eidola, he spied the fearful face of a serving girl. The lass gasped and bolted down the hall. Eidola snatched up a torch from its sconce and ran after her.

Neither woman spared a glance back. The maid fled around a comer. Eidola followed in a whisper of white lace. Piergeiron could not keep up. He rounded the comer. A dead-end hall lay beyond, and in it, Eidola, facing down the maid.

The girl held her hands out before her as though in apology, but her fingernails were flexed, claw like.

"Forgive me. It's just a little tea," the servant mewled. *T got so scared when I spilt it-"

"What is your name?" demanded Piergeiron, stepping slowly forward. "Who hired you? When did you start? What is your name?"

Eidola did not even await a reply, lunging with the fiery brand.