Croy nodded. He understood. “Who’s he?” he asked, looking across the room at Kemper, who was paring his fingernails with the silver edge of Croy’s unusual sword. He had trimmed his beard and his hair as well with the blade, for the first time since he’d been cursed. He’d never had access to a silver knife before.

“A friend. My friend,” Malden said. “You needn’t concern yourself with that right now. You sent a messenger to find me last night. Luckily for you he did. I had a physick look at your wound. He said it will most likely be your death. When he was finished treating you, I brought you here, to get you out of the public eye. So you owe me something, Croy. First off, you owe me an answer. Why did you send for me, of all people in the Free City?”

Croy pushed himself upright in the bed and put his feet down on the floor. Under Malden’s thin blanket he was naked. “Is it still raining out?”

Malden sighed. He drew his bodkin and showed it to Croy.

“You can do better than that rat-skinner,” the knight told him. “My shortsword should be around here somewhere. I assume you brought it when you moved me. It’ll make a cleaner cut, and kill me quicker.”

“Smart talk, for one’s weak as a kitten just now,” Kemper said. “Ye’d be wise to just answer the question, m’lud.”

Croy nodded. “You’re quite right, good sir. And I fully intend to do so, as soon as Malden stops threatening me with death. I have no fear of it now, so it’s hardly useful as a spur. I just wished to make that clear.”

Malden sat down on the windowsill and sheathed his knife. He’d seen the way Croy moved when the water hit his face. For a man with a life-threatening wound, he was still fairly quick. He’d heard, too, of what Croy had done up at the castle. A man that dangerous wouldn’t go down easily. Perhaps it was time to stop threatening him and start getting actual information out of him, after all. “I’m sure there’s something you’re afraid of. If I need to, I’ll find it. But for now, very well.” He sketched a mock bow. “I won’t kill you until I have a reason. Tell me first how you even know my name.”

Croy scrubbed at his face with his hands. “Cythera told me, of course. She told me that you stole the Burgrave’s crown and sold it to Hazoth. Ordinarily that would be a problem. I’m still technically the Burgrave’s vassal.”

“He banished you to the kingdom of the dwarves. Then when you returned he tried to have you hanged.”