Roger de Lacy’s funeral would not be until the first day of December—nearly a month away, which afforded the neighboring nobility enough time to arrange their visits. But the humble Guardsmen, who had no notable visitors to mourn them, burned on their pyre as soon as possible. The battlements around the high bailey were filled shoulder-to-shoulder, nearly every Guardsman in the city come to watch. Guy took a haunting record of their faces. They did not mourn the dead, but simply watched in a stupor, in fear that this was but a sign of what was to come. Reginold’s sister and daughter had been invited, but refused to attend. The Simons said some kind words and lifted a tankard for each of his fallen boys, though he walked away when it was Guy’s turn to speak. Bolt was there, but only in body. He spent the funeral picking at his fingernails and whispering things to the wind. He left the castle immediately afterward, and Guy knew better than to let anyone follow him. Bolt had seen Reginold as a brother. He was, effectively, a fifth casualty.

Guy’s private regiment had been decimated. The ongoing mystery of Jon Bassett’s disappearance had been terrible on its own, but it was nothing compared to this. Eric and Morg were all that was left, and Guy met them in his private quarters to share a flagon of ale. Eric was distant and distracted, which was entirely out of character. The man had served dutiful years as a crown ranger before Guy recruited him, and his patience was the makings of legends. Now he scratched at the table, crossed and uncrossed his arms just to cross them again, tapped the ground with his feet, and pried at splinters.

“Eric.” Guy had to calm him. “Do you need a minute?”

The ranger laughed hollow, exposing the purple hole in his gums and the teeth he’d lost in the skirmish at Thieves Den. “Sorry, Captain,” he mumbled, his tongue lisping. “Having trouble thinking straight.”

“I need you clear, Eric,” Guy said kindly. “You two are all that’s left of this regiment.” Morg’s small eyes were wet, his heart of gold had cracked open beneath his massive bulk.

“We are no regiment,” Eric grumbled. “We’re pathetic.”

“No,” Guy said firmly. “It has been my deepest honor to stand by you, each of you.” He eyed Eric long enough to solidify it. “Not one of you can be made pathetic by someone else. You can only do that to yourselves.”

“Well then that’s just one more thing you can blame on me—”