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.”

Bifalt tried to credit this protest, but he smelled ale on his brother’s breath. “Did your decision concern a second flagon or a third? How much is enough?”

Instead of answering, Lome turned his head to Jaspid. After squinting for a moment, he looked down at Jaspid’s grip on his arm. With his free hand, he tried to remove Jaspid’s grasp.

Sighing, Jaspid let Lome succeed.

The younger Prince flexed his arm as if Jaspid’s fingers had hurt him. He looked back at the alehouse. When he faced Bifalt again, he avoided the King’s glare: a tacit confession.

“You did not send Jaspid,” he slurred, “because you intend to castigate me, Brother. The hour is too early—and the time is too late. You missed your chance. The days when I might have heeded you ended when our father died.

“Since that woman you refuse to love convinced you to spare my life, I have done what you asked. I have attended your council meetings. And I have told you what I think, although you do not listen. What more do you expect from me?”

Bifalt remembered Prince Lome’s opinion of the black ships that had attempted to broach the bay. Your war is in Belleger, Brother. There is no other enemy.

On one point, Lome was right. The King had not listened. He knew better.

As if he expected to be obeyed, King Bifalt said, “I have a task for you, Lome. It is a service no one else can perform. If you do it thoroughly, you will save a host of lives.”