“Give it time, he will be—waving and grinning. One day Jeremy will be buying drinks for his soldier buddies at The Rose and Thorn. They’ll all be there, the entire sentry squad, laughing, smiling, throwing their arms over our shoulders and asking us to sing ‘Calide Portmore’ with them—‘Once more, with gusto!’ And at some point one particularly sweaty ox will give me a hug and say how honored he is to be in our company.”

“Jeremy?”

“What? That’s his name.”

“You know the name of the soldier at the gate?”

Royce scowled. “You see my point? Yes, I know his name and they know ours. We might as well wear uniforms and move into Arista’s old room.”

They climbed the stone steps to the main entrance, where a soldier quickly opened a door for them and gave a slight bow. “Master Melborn, Master Blackwater.”

“Hey, Digby.” Hadrian waved as he passed. When he caught Royce scowling, he added, “Sorry.”

“It’s a good thing we’re both retired. You know, there’s a reason there are no famous living thieves.”

Hadrian’s heels echoed on the polished floor of the corridor as they walked. Royce’s footsteps made no sound at all. They crossed the west gallery past the suits of armor and the ballroom. The castle appeared as empty as the rest of the city. As they approached the reception hall, Hadrian spotted Mauvin Pickering heading their way. The young noble looked thinner than Hadrian had remembered. There was a hollow cast to his cheeks, shadows beneath his eyes, but his hair was the same wild mess.

“About time,” Mauvin greeted them. “Alric just sent me to look for you.”

Two years had passed since his brother Fanen’s death, and Mauvin still dressed in black. The haunted look in his eyes would be unnoticeable to most. Only those who had known him before the contest in Dahlgren would see the difference. That had been when Sentinel Luis Guy attacked Hadrian with a force of Seret Knights, and Mauvin and Fanen had taken up arms with him. The brothers had fought masterfully, as was the nature of Pickerings. Yet Mauvin had been unable to save his brother from the killing stroke. Before that day, Mauvin Pickering had been bright, loud, and joyful. He had worn a permanent smile and challenged the world with a wink and a laugh. Now he stood with his shoulders slumped and his chin dipped.

“You’re wearing it again?” Hadrian gestured toward Mauvin’s sword.

“They insisted.”

“Have you drawn it?”

Mauvin looked at his feet. “Dad says it doesn’t matter. If the need arises, he’s certain I won’t hesitate.”

“And what do you think?”