Malden bit his lip and went to sit on the bed. It was late and he just wanted to go to sleep.

“Lad,” Kemper said to Croy, sounding sympathetic, “ye’ve not much experience with women, have ye? I don’t mean with yer mother or sisters either. Ye don’t seem the type fer whorin’, but have ye e’er swived one?” He took his cards from inside his tunic and started shuffling them, rubbing each one with his thumb.

“I’ve spent most of my life learning how to swing a sword properly. She’s not the only woman I’ve ever . . . cared for, if that’s what you mean. There was the dwarf king’s daughter. I was her protector, and saved her from a fate worse than death. In reward, she allowed me a single kiss.”

Malden couldn’t resist asking the question he knew was probably foremost in Kemper’s mind as well. “Did she have a beard?”

Croy’s face went dark. “No. No, she did not. A bit of a mustache, perhaps. But no more than you’ll see on many a human woman’s face. And I’ll have you know,” he insisted, when he saw the two thieves were laughing behind their hands, “she would have given me her body, had I asked. But I had my oath to Cythera to consider.”

“Methinks that’s not a concern now,” Kemper said. He riffled his cards absentmindedly. “Mayhap ye should go back to yer dwarven princess.”

“Speak plainly, damn you,” Croy shouted. He was bright red.

“He’s saying that Cythera was asking your forgiveness for breaking off her betrothal to you,” Malden said.

“She . . . she . . .”

“She didn’t want to say it in so many words, because she was afraid of your reaction. She was hoping you would just understand.” Malden stared at Kemper. Why did the card sharp have to spell it out for Croy? Now the fool knight would probably spend another day lying abed and staring at the ceiling. Malden supposed if you were rich enough you could afford to be moody. “Enough,” he said. “Enough. I’m going to bed. Tomorrow morning I’ll need to make a whole new plan. And you,” he said, rushing over to Kemper, “quit shuffling those damned cards.”

“Here now, boy—”

Malden grabbed the cards out of Kemper’s intangible hands and shoved them in his own tunic. “I can’t think when you’re doing that. Now, to bed, all of us.”

He doused the lamp and pulled off his tunic, then got into bed and pulled the blanket up to his chin. He did not, however, get to sleep much that night. Croy made too great a racket with his sobbing tears, and Kemper kept grumbling about his cards.