Malden felt the need to explain. “If that’s how you define honor, anyway. When you’re poor you can’t afford to take offense. If I had to kill every man who ever swore an oath in my presence . . . well, Ness wouldn’t be so crowded anyway. But I suppose it’s different for the nobility. When two men in the Stink come to blows in a tavern, it’s assault, and they’re both put in the stocks. When a baronet and an earl hack away at each other with their swords, that’s a duel, and half the city comes out to cheer.”

“I’m sorry you see it that way,” Croy said.

And Malden believed him. Looking into the knight’s eyes, he was convinced, utterly, that Croy’s world really was that simple. That honor meant the difference between life and death. That there were more important things in the world than a full belly and a warm place to sleep.

And of course, in that world damsels in distress had to be rescued.

“Where does Cythera come into all this?” Malden asked.

Croy’s eyes sparkled at the sound of her name. “It was while working for the Burgrave that I first met her. She and her mother lived in the Golden Slope then. Her mother is a witch, did you know that?”

“She mentioned it,” Malden said.

Croy smiled. “Perhaps you think that I mean she is some toothless hag, selling powdered bat wings and working simple hexes on strayed lovers. Nothing could be further from the truth. Witchcraft is simpler than sorcery, but it’s cleaner, too. Coruth—Cythera’s mother—counted half the best families of Ness amongst her clients. She consulted with the Burgrave on matters magical . . . and once, when she came to the palace, she brought her daughter with her. Cythera. I was enchanted when I first laid eyes on her.”

Malden looked away. He could understand only too well.

“We barely exchanged a half dozen words at that first meeting,” Croy said. “Yet I knew when first we met that I would love her forever. I asked her to promise she would be mine someday. She wanted to say yes but she knew she was not her own mistress, not so long as Hazoth lays claim to her services. Anyway, she was too young then to make such a weighty decision. Now she has flowered into womanhood.”

“Flowered is the right word,” Malden said, thinking of her tattoos.

Croy didn’t seem to get the joke.

“Never mind. Tell me more of Coruth. How did she end up in Hazoth’s thrall?”