Lome was a wastrel, a drunk; a man ruled by gall and sarcasm who felt slighted by his position as the youngest son, by his smaller stature and lesser gifts, and—if he ever told himself the truth—by his own refusal to take responsibility for who and what he was. Long ago, he had learned to shroud his aching desire for superiority in a fog of ale, wine, and a vile drink called grot. Recently, however, he had seemed to be changing. Estie had that effect on damaged men. As a result, Bifalt had allowed himself to hope. He needed Lome.

If Prince Jaspid had to haul his brother out of an alehouse by plain force, the King’s hopes were misplaced.

Hells! Bifalt felt fire in his guts again. Lome was necessary. Even Land-Captain Erepos, who was trusted everywhere, could not claim as much authority as a Bellegerin prince.

Jaspid spotted King Bifalt at once. Pulling Lome to his side, the older Prince forced his brother to accompany him off the alehouse porch. Lome’s steps betrayed a stagger as Jaspid brought him down the lane to face Bifalt.

Without a word, the King’s bodyguards withdrew a few paces.

Instinctively, King Bifalt reached for the hilt of his saber. He wanted something solid to grip. But he had left Belleger’s Fist to walk in the Open Hand unarmed.

He did not have it in him to believe he required protection in his own city. His bodyguards were a concession to General Klamath, the Land-Captain, and even the Queen-Consort. Over the years, however, he had grown accustomed to Jeck and Malder, Spliner and Boy. Their presence no longer felt like an intrusion—or a burden. As a result, he had learned the habit of going wherever he wished without his weapons.

Lacking his saber, King Bifalt locked his arms across his chest. As Prince Jaspid brought Prince Lome to him, the King said sourly, “An alehouse, Lome? At this hour?”

The younger Prince blinked to focus his eyes. In a blurred voice, Lome muttered, “I have lost the trick of sleeping. One hour is much like another.” Then he made an effort to stand straighter. “Do you think I was drinking? I was not.”

Jaspid always stood erect. It came naturally to him. Somehow, his stance made him look supple rather than stiff. But he sounded stiff enough.

“He had a tankard in front of him, Majesty. It was full.”

Lome rolled his eyes like a man tired of insults. “I was considering it. Not drinking it. There is a difference.”

“ ‘Considering it’?” asked King Bifalt. “What was there to consider?”

For a moment, Lome seemed to contemplate a sarcastic retort. Then he let himself slouch until he was half leaning on Jaspid. “Hells, Brother. The hour is too early for questions. I had a decision to make. You have taught me to fret. That is why I do not sleep.”