Another figure entered Arista’s room, and she sat abruptly. Merrick thought she had just received some interesting news and he was about to cross the street to listen at the window when the tavern door behind him opened. A pair of patrons exited, and by the sway of their steps and the volume of their voices, he could tell they had drained more than one mug that night.

“Nestor, who’s that leaning against the post?” one said, pointing in Merrick’s direction. A plump man with a strawberry nose whose shape matched its color squinted in the dim light and staggered forward.

“How should I know?” said the other. The thin man’s mustache still glistened with beer foam.

“What’s he doing here at this time of night?”

“Again, how should I know, you git?”

“Well, ask him.”

The tall man stepped forward. “Whatcha doing, mister? Holding up the post so the porch doesn’t fall down?” Nestor snorted a laugh and doubled over with his hands on his knees.

“Actually,” Merrick told them, his tone so serious it was almost grave, “I’m waiting to appoint the position of town fool to the person who asks me the stupidest question. Congratulations. You win.”

The thin man slapped his friend on the shoulder. “See? I’ve been telling you all night how funny I am, and you haven’t laughed once. Now I’m getting a new job … probably pays better than yours.”

“Oh yeah, you’re quite the entertainer,” his friend assured him as they staggered off into the night. “You should audition at the theater. They’re gonna be doing The Crown Conspiracy for the mayor. The day I see you on a stage—now that will be funny.”

Merrick’s mood turned sour. He had seen that play several years ago. While the two thieves depicted in it used different names, he was sure they portrayed Royce Melborn and Hadrian Blackwater. Royce had once been Merrick’s best friend, back when the two of them were assassins for the Diamond. That friendship had ended seventeen years earlier on that warm summer night when Royce murdered Jade.

Although he had not been present, Merrick had imagined the scene countless times. That was before Royce had his white dagger, back when he had used a pair of curved, black-handled kharolls. Merrick knew Royce’s technique well enough to picture him silently slicing through Jade with both blades at once. Merrick did not care that someone had set up Royce, or that he had not known his victim’s identity when it happened. All Merrick knew was that the woman he loved was dead and his best friend had killed her.

Nearly two decades had passed, and still Jade and Royce haunted him. He could not think of one without the other, and he could not bear to forget. Love and hate welded together forever, intertwined in a knot too tight to untie.

Loud noises and shouts from Arista’s room pulled Merrick back to the present. He checked his weapon, then crossed the street.