Arvid’s right hand moved with the turn, a draw cut to the neck; the man fell. The other one was squirming away down the alley, clenching his slashed wrist with his other hand and pushing with his one good leg. Arvid considered the possible advantages of gaining information—but heard boots coming up the other street, turning into the alley. He stamped hard on a sensitive area; the man curled around his pain, and Arvid sliced that throat as well.

He made it to the entrance of the palace complex without hearing any alarm raised behind him. Interesting. The few people on the street had not seemed to notice as he stuffed his bloody gloves into another of the cloak’s pockets, wiped the knives on the lining, and replaced them, all with the practiced moves of someone who had killed and walked away many times before. He paused at a public fountain to clean his face and hands of the blood spatters. People noticed what they expected to notice. A man stopping for a drink, sneezing and blowing his nose—no one looked at what was on the cloth he used. Dusk was thickening, colors fading with the day.

At the gate, he found only a single sentry, who recognized him and nodded him through. “I’ve a message for the Marshal-General from Marshal Cedlin,” he said. Along with not being noticed when it wasn’t wise, being noticed when it was mattered. “Is she at supper?”

“Don’t know,” the sentry said. “Might be, or might have finished. The Council meeting ended a glass earlier than usual.” He peered a little closer at Arvid. “Did you trip in the mud?”

“Came through a dirty alley,” Arvid said. “Some people don’t sweep as they should.” Could he trust the sentry? Maybe—but it was more important to get his message to the Marshal-General.

“True enough,” the sentry said, grinning. “Report it to the Marshal when you get back.”

Arvid nodded and continued on to the familiar building. Indoors, with the lamps lit, someone might notice that the dark wetness on his cloak was red and not brown … and someone did.

“Arvid! You’re wounded—” That was a knight he’d seen before, coming down the long lower passage, often deserted at this time.

“It’s not my blood, sir,” Arvid said. “But I am on an errand for Marshal Cedlin and was beset on the way—”

“Did you tell the Marshal?”

“No, sir—I was more than halfway here, and he bade me hasten. I—did them some harm, sir; they may yet be in the alley, the first below the hill.”

“I’ll send someone,” the knight said. He looked at Arvid more closely. “The Marshal-General said you always went armed.”

“Not lately, but this evening, yes. Drill night and longsword practice.”

“Ah, then. She’s in her office, up the stairs at the end and across the passage.”