Malden patted his belt as if he couldn’t guess what the bailiff meant. Then he said, “Oh!” and unbuckled his belt to remove it. “You mean this.” The belt had been threaded through the golden crown he’d hidden under his cloak. He handed it over to Vry, who snatched it away from him.

The bailiff closed his eyes and held the crown up in both hands. His eyes snapped open for a moment and he stared at Malden, but then looked away and nodded. “Yes, of course, milord,” he said, as if talking to the crown, not to Malden. “You,” he said, to one of his watchmen. “The bag.” A velvet sack was brought forth and the crown placed carefully inside. “Very good, thief,” Vry said.

Malden bowed low. “So, may I inquire if there is a reward? I prefer it in gold, but will take silver if I must.”

“I’ll count it out in steel,” Vry said with a short, nasty laugh. “You—kill him. Then form a detail and carry his body to the Skrait. Make sure you weigh it down so no one ever finds it.”

A watchman with a halberd came lunging forward, but Malden had expected this and was already moving. He scurried up the wall of the Ladypark and dropped into a stand of bushes on the far side. There, he lay still and held his breath.

A half dozen faces appeared over the top of the wall, including Vry’s. They peered into the darkness for a long minute before withdrawing.

“It makes no difference. Let panthers and wolves fight over him now,” Vry said. “If he lives through the night, we’ll just find him in the morning.”

And with that they left.

Malden stayed still for a while longer, and then, when he was sure no one was watching, he got up and started looking for his bodkin.

Chapter Ninety-Six

Chapter Ninety-Six

“Lay easy,” Cythera said. She held Croy’s hand tight. His other hand still clutched the hilt of Ghostcutter. He looked at the blade and saw a bad notch in its silver edge, a wound it had taken when it blocked Acidtongue’s attack. He wondered if a dwarf could repair that damage, or if he should leave it there forever, in memory of Bikker.

“It’s over,” Cythera said again. “Hazoth is dead.”

“Hazoth?” Croy said, confused. “No, it’s Bikker, that’s—that’s Bikker there. I killed him. It had to be done. In the end I think maybe I was getting through to him, but—but it had to be done.” He struggled to sit up, and she pushed him back to the grass. He could not resist her hands.