Jolis was holding her cheek with both hands, moaning. Silvy hoped she’d broken a bone. Was also, she’d later recall, slightly afraid she’d done that. This was not an inconsequential woman.

Then she saw the tall man draw his sword.

“No! None of that!” Eudes snapped, stepping to them now, bulky and calm, but forceful.

“I’ve no quarrel with you!” the tall man said, eyeing a very big person.

“In my tavern? Drawing a blade? Yes you do. You very surely do. Ythier, outside and call for the watch. Now!”

“No need for that,” the man said quickly. “This is between me and the rude little fool here. Turning his back on a well-born lady? Talking of throwing us out? Needs manners taught.”

“By you?” Thierry said, with what actually sounded to Silvy like a genuine laugh. “Here? In The Lamb? Oh, you’re exactly enough of a fool to suit her. Are you at least rich? Do you have a title?”

“That’ll do,” the tall man said. And assumed a fighting stance.

“Stop it!” Eudes roared. “Now!”

There came a sound from behind the man with the sword. Someone clearing his throat. He was actually skilled with a blade, had been to war in the spring with the king’s army. He spun, very quickly.

—

Claquin Guiene had learned some skills with weapons in his time as a guardsman. He hadn’t been with the serjeants long enough to improve further, but he was undeniably capable now.

Didn’t matter. Didn’t help. He’d been too conflicted, approaching, torn between his assigned task to guard the poet and an awareness that the man in front of him was—clearly!—significant. He’d hoped, even as he came over to them, that the tavernkeeper could resolve this; he’d already sent someone for the guards.

But Guiene did go over that way. He was on duty here. Ought to have declared himself a serjeant as he approached, called it out loudly. Made it clear before he arrived at a quarrel. People were given pause by serjeants of Orane. Even, he supposed, important people. He hadn’t fully sorted through his new status yet, in truth.

Never did. You need time sometimes, and time was taken from him.

First thing was surprise. The blade in his chest. Then pain. An astonishing degree of pain. He’d never been badly injured in his life, remarkably.

It seemed so unfair, Claquin Guiene thought, so wrong.

Then he died.

—

There was silence for a heartbeat, then an uproar engulfed The Lamb. The man with the sword, Jolis’s affianced, tried to step backwards and away, but there was, very quickly, nowhere for him to step. He was surrounded by enraged, shouting people. He was the only one with a sword, but there were several knives out, and men and women were cursing him to darkness in the god’s name.