“Locksley, might I ask a strange question of you?”

“Well I don’t suppose I can say no now,” Robin answered cautiously. “Though I may have strange answers.”

“Does the King ever mention me?” the earl asked, with only the faintest taste of embarrassment. A loneliness swam behind his eyes. “Does he hate me?”

King Richard hates everyone, Robin almost answered. It’s why he’s king. Instead he kept it diplomatic. “I can’t speak for the King.”

“Can’t you?” Ferrers mused with a sad smile. “That’s part of your job.”

“I can’t speak for Richard,” Robin corrected, but could tell that his evasion would not satisfy. There was a naked and humble quality about the earl’s face. Skinny, and unassuming. “Have you given him cause to hate you?”

Ferrers bent backward, laughing deeply and honestly. “I would think I’ve given most of the world cause to hate me by now. You can’t rise by making people like you.” His lips twisted to say more, but something wistful crawled up and seemed to choke away his focus. “I was hoping he might allow me to negotiate the surrender of the city, but when I asked him, he … seemed absolutely baffled at the prospect, and gave it to Goddard of Leicester instead.”

“If you’re asking me to … put in a word…?” Robin stammered.

“No, no,” Ferrers replied. “I’m just … forgive me. It has been a taxing few days. I’m a bit out of sorts.”

“Think nothing of it.” Robin moved to leave, but frankly had nowhere to go. A warm night air meandered through the room’s open space, bringing the strange sounds of exotic instruments in from the city. He considered the earl a second time. “Why did you want to negotiate the surrender?”

“I think I’d be good at it,” he answered quickly. “Kind, that is. To the other side. I’ve had to surrender an army before.”

Robin nodded. Ferrers had sided with Henry the Younger in the Kings’ War, and lost nearly everything for his failures. Now he scratched for meaningless diplomatic laurels. “I think William hates you,” he said, as if that might be a more satisfactory answer.

“Wendenal.” Ferrers tasted the name like an expensive wine. “I would think you’re right. But that one, at least, I don’t carry on me.”

“Carry on you?”

A terse smile. “You’re young. Relatively,” he added after seeing Robin’s raised eyebrow. “All the decisions you make when you’re young, you think they’re building to something. Some perfect version of you, that you’ll eventually … finally get to be. But you never get there. Eventually you start looking back, rather than ahead, wondering where you missed your chances. I have a lot of regrets, Robin. But what happened with the Wendenals and the Burels isn’t one of them. I would not have done it differently.”