Royce folded the uniform and placed it, along with the boots, neatly into his saddlebag. Hadrian still struggled to rid himself of his black boots, which were too small. With a mighty tug, he jerked the last one off and threw it down in frustration. He gathered it up and wrestled his uniform into the satchel. Cramming everything as deep as possible, he strapped the flap down and buckled it as tight as he could. He glared at the pack and sighed once more.

“You know, if you organized your pack a little better, it wouldn’t be so hard to fit all your gear,” Royce said.

Hadrian looked at him with a puzzled expression. “What? Oh—no, I’m … It’s not the gear.”

“Then what is it?” Royce pulled on his black cloak and adjusted the collar.

Hadrian stroked his horse’s neck. “I don’t know,” he replied mournfully. “It’s just that … I thought by now I’d have done something more—with my life, I mean.”

“Are you crazy? Most men work themselves to death on a small bit of land that isn’t even theirs. You’re free to do as you choose and go wherever you want.”

“I know, but when I was young, I used to think I was … well … special. I imagined that I would triumph in some great purpose, win the girl, and save the kingdom, but I suppose every boy feels that way.”

“I didn’t.”

Hadrian scowled at him. “I just had this idea of who I would become, and being a worthless spy wasn’t part of that plan.”

“We’re hardly worthless,” Royce said, correcting him. “We’ve been making a good profit, especially lately.”

“That’s not the point. I was successful as a mercenary too. It’s not about money. It’s the fact that I survive like a leech.”

“Why is this suddenly coming up now? For the first time in years, we’re making good money with a steady stream of respectable jobs. We’re in the employ of a king, for Maribor’s sake. We can actually sleep in the same bed two nights in a row and not worry about being arrested. Just last week I passed the captain of the city watch and he gave me a nod.”

“It’s not the amount of work. It’s the kind of work. It’s the fact that we’re always lying. If that courier dies, it’ll be our fault. Besides, it’s not sudden. I’ve felt this way for years. Why do you think I’m always suggesting we do something else? Do you know why I broke the rules and took that job to steal Pickering’s sword? The one that nearly got us executed?”

“For the unusual sum of money offered,” Royce replied.