Right now, standing outside The Lamb, he was shocked speechless when torches flared and he saw mounted men. Men waiting for him. Which last he knew because the one at the front said, calmly, “You can run, or go back inside, but we know you are here, and why, Villar, and we also know where your mother and stepfather live. And…Lambert Maar has already talked.”

They knew these things? They knew his name? And he, in turn, knew this voice. It shocked him even more. He cleared his throat, his mind whirling in helpless circles. He managed to say, “Lambert Maar, my lord?”

“Don’t bother trying, Thierry,” said Robbin de Vaux, his majesty’s provost, astride a horse in a vicious night, here waiting for him. For him? It made no sense! “He really has talked. Was careless in a tavern, someone reported it. I had him picked up. He’s a careless man, isn’t he?”

Fucking, fucking, fucking Lambert! Villar would have liked to have profanity equal to this moment.

He cleared his throat. “He is, yes. I’ve met the man. But you are not careless by reputation, my lord, and I have no idea why the royal provost himself would be here waiting for me at this hour, for something so…small?”

It was worth trying. What else did he have?

“Robbing a sanctuary of the god isn’t so small, but we’ll leave that for the moment, it is a fair observation.” The provost’s voice, which he’d heard many times, including at the gallows before an execution, was deep, memorable.

It was also, Villar realized, strained, tight, tense right now. Villar had no idea why. He had no idea about any of this. There were at least half a dozen horsemen behind the provost. Probably more, the three torches didn’t cast their light very far.

“I have robbed nothing, done nothing,” he said. He tried to sound confident. He failed. Why was there a fraying in the other man’s voice? And why was he here?

“You will doubtless wish to know why I am here,” said de Vaux.

His reputation was complex. Fair, usually, but a hard man, and too clever by half for the underworld of Orane. Two decades of warfare, mostly in the north but not only, before taking up his position here five years ago. Owned a large city home, had a large annual salary. It was an easier life than battling all over the country for the king and royal council, especially if you were no longer young.

“Of course I want to know,” said Villar, looking up at the big man lit by torches.

He realized he was shivering. So many stars overhead on a clear night, like gems above the streets and houses, above the myriad stupidities of mortal men and women, with sunrise a long way off, still.