Bikker laughed. “Oh, and is it that easy for a dog to change his spots? I suppose I should make some act of contrition as well. Some penance for my evil ways. Yes, I suppose I could give in to your outmoded notions of honor and chivalry. Or I could just kill you—crush you like a gnat that buzzes in my ear, and then go back to my debauchery. Like any sane man living in the real world would do.”

Croy smiled, though it pained him. “You know, in some strange way it’s good to see you again. It takes me back to better days. You remember, back when you were young and you were at your best.”

“I’d like to say it’s good to see you, too. Except that you don’t look well, Croy,” Bikker said, frowning as if this saddened him. “How much blood is left in you?”

“Enough yet to boil, old friend,” Croy said. Enough to keep me standing for perhaps a moment or two longer, he hoped. “Enough to best a dozen men, just now.”

Bikker nodded in respectful appreciation. “Yes, you certainly showed those dogs how a real man fights. By feint and bluff, mostly.”

Croy bowed low. “Perhaps I’ve been taking lessons from the master of deception,” he said. “You taught me much of that style.”

“Just as I taught you how to hold that piece of iron you call a sword.” Bikker took a step toward Croy. “Tell me. Why are you here? For Cythera, truly? I daresay right now she could fight better than her champion.”

“I’ve come for the crown you stole. The one you paid to have stolen, rather, at the behest of the man who holds your leash.”

Bikker shrugged. “Perhaps. Perhaps that’s why you came. But you must know you won’t leave here with it. I think you came for another reason, though. I think you came to apologize and beg my mercy. To make amends for the time you impugned my honor.”

“Do you mean when I called you faithless, because you sell your sword to any man with a purse?” Croy laughed. “A gross insult indeed. Though how, may I ask, did I besmirch your honor—when I spoke nothing but the truth? You were sworn to defend the Burgrave, just as I was. Now you’ve received a better offer and you work for the man who would unseat my lord.”

Bikker’s face darkened with rage. “Wake up, Croy. Put away your dreams, your naive ideals. We are Ancient Blades! The Burgrave doesn’t deserve our service.”

“It isn’t a question of merit. It’s a question of loyalty. Of duty. You may call those things fancies, but I will not. I believe in them and I will fight to prove it.”

“When you die by my sword, what will that prove?”

“That honor is immortal,” Croy replied.