The first act of the evening’s show was a snake charmer who coaxed a huge cobra out of a basket, controlling it with nothing but a flute-like instrument made from a gourd. The crowd was equally transfixed such that the room quieted to hushed whispers, but Hadrian was not impressed. He knew the act. Charmers in the east had once been healers who specialized in the handling of dangerous animals and treating snake bites. Over time they learned to make more money by catching cobras, pulling out their fangs, imprisoning them in baskets, and often depriving them of water making the reptiles lethargic and easy to handle. Then they pretended to bewitch the poor animals with poorly played music. Some even went so far as to sew the snake’s mouth shut making biting anyone impossible, and ensuring they would die of starvation. The crowd applauded. Hadrian did not.

Acrobats came next and were far more thrilling as they flipped, tumbled, and bounced, across the stage. Most of these were elves, and their feats of balance and death defying leaps from one rope high within the dome to another, were gasp producing.

“Hadrian?” Gwen asked, standing up after the acrobats were finished and the crowd was clapping their appreciation. “Could I trouble you a moment? The wine,” she said uncomfortably, placed a hand on her stomach and bit her lower lip. Then she gestured in a general sweep of the packed and boisterous room. “I think it would be smart if I had an escort.”

Hadrian looked at Royce, who sat between them. The thief didn’t move or say a word, as if he hadn’t heard.

“Of course.” Hadrian said and followed Gwen as she excused herself and navigated away from their little wooden island swimming out into the sea of revelers toward the wall of fish. Gwen moved through the chaos with clear purpose. She knew the way to where she was going, and he imagined that at some point she’d seen others, or had gotten directions from Atyn.

Every chair in the Blue Parrot was occupied, and more patrons stood in the spaces left between. Men made up the bulk of those they skirted around, the ones who stood in the aisles or leaned against pillars or walls. Everyone had a drink in hand. Most were engaged in conversations, some waved trying to gain the attention of someone else, and a few appeared lost. A number of eyes noticed Gwen and tracked her movements through the crowd. Each inevitably also spotted him. Hadrian then realized the wisdom in her choice of escort.

Gwen led him through an archway into a small corridor and up to a podium were a girl operated the cloakroom booth.

“May I help you?” the girl asked.

“Not at all I’m afraid,” Gwen replied, then turned to Hadrian. “I shouldn’t have come.” Her words were serious, intent, and desperate. She clutched her hands to her chest as her face flooded with anxiety.

Gwen looked past Hadrian at the main room they just left. The stage and, more importantly, their table and everyone sitting at it was not visible. “This is a disaster, and it’s all my fault. I just…” She struggled not to cry, but it was a loosing battle. “I just wanted to go somewhere, I wanted to enjoy myself for once. And I thought—I don’t know—I thought Royce might want me along.” She shook her head, all that dark hair waving, earrings swinging. “He doesn’t, and I’m just causing problems. He nearly killed those men on the waterfront merely because they were being nice to me. I know it. I could see it in his eyes. He thought they were going to hurt me or something, and he planned to make certain they didn’t—not then, not ever. They almost died. Everything would have…” she did cry then.

Hadrian hugged her and was happy that the vestibule corridor hid them from the table. He knew if they were in line of sight Royce would be watching, and then how would he explain? Holding her felt strange. Gwen’s presence and the impact she had on the lives of those around her had always been so large that he was shocked at how small she felt.

“Are you certain I can’t help you?” the girl behind the little stall guarding a small cache of cloaks asked. She wore one of the Parrot’s trademark blue jackets, but only the last two buttons were hooked, and one shoulder had slid off revealing a bare arm and a butterfly tattoo. “I can do more than guard coats.”

Gwen sniffled, drew back, and delicately touched the bottoms of her eyes with her thumbs.

“We’re fine,” Hadrian said, “Thank you.”

“And in the coach,” Gwen went on. “If it hadn’t been for you—if those men had opened the door the same thing would have happened all because of me. I’m this awful liability and I’m terrified that my being here is going to get someone killed. I should just go home. I thought this was going to be wonderful, but I was so wrong. There’s got to be another coach, or maybe a ship I can take.”

“Gwen,” Hadrian said. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Oh, Hadrian!” she sobbed. “Why doesn’t he like me?”

“He does. Believe me, he does.”

“No he doesn’t. He’s always nice and polite, but…it’s been four years. I waited most of my life for him to show up, and after he did I always thought—I mean, I knew there was no guarantee but I hoped. I hoped so badly. And…there are times when he acts like he cares, moments when I swear he loves me, but then it’s like a door slams shut, and he’s on one side and I’m on the other. Except his side opens out, and mine is a prison. Oh, Hadrian, I think I was wrong—wrong about this trip, about Royce, maybe about everything.”

“You’re not wrong.” Hadrian gritted his teeth. “Except maybe about Royce getting himself killed on this trip because right now I’m strongly considering beating the man to death for being an idiot.”

“Oh, no!” Gwen panicked. She grabbed him by the front of his shirt. “You can’t! I mean I don’t want to be—oh, I’m making such a mess of everything. I can’t get between the two of you. I can’t be a wedge like that!”

He took her by the shoulders and pried her off. “You aren’t. I was making a joke…sort of. Look, Royce is in love with you. Trust me on that. He just doesn’t know what that means or even how it works. This is a foreign language to him and he’s having translation issues. At the moment he thinks you hate him.”

“Hate him?” She looked both devastated and lost. Her mouth dangled as glassy eyes searched the darkened corners of the corridor for words. “How could anyone hate Royce?”

Hadrian suppressed a laugh. “We are talking about the guy in the dark hood who was just sitting between the two of us at the table? I doubt anyone has ever asked that question about that Royce. Listen, I’ve been pushing him to talk to you, to explain how he feels, but that’s like expecting a rabbit to have a heart to heart with a wolf.”

“What do you mean a wolf? Am I the wolf?”

Hadrian rocked his head side to side. “Sort of, yes. Royce is terrified of you.”

Gwen straighten up looking bewildered. She sniffled and presented her palms to him. “Okay, maybe we aren’t talking about the same Royce Melborn. The one I’m speaking of has never been scared of anything, least of all me.”

Gwen delicately touched the lower lids of her eyes with her thumbs.

“Here, honey,” the cloakroom clerk reached out and handed Gwen a small white cloth.

“Thank you,” Gwen said. She looked at the delicately embroidered cloth. “Oh, no. This is too nice. I’ll ruin it.”

“Oh, don’t worry. It’s not mine.” The girl planted her elbows on the podium, leaning over and allowing her jacket to slip further down her arm as she watched the two of them.

“Whose is it?”

The clerk fluttered her hand vaguely behind her at the hanging vestments. “Don’t know, don’t care. You need it more than whoever it belongs to.”

“You’re not very good at your job, are you?” Hadrian asked.

The girl shrugged.

Gwen smiled at the clerk and dabbed her eyes. “Now I’m ruining a perfect stranger’s linen handkerchief out of fear Royce will know I was crying and kill someone over it.”

“Are you sure you want to be involved with this guy, honey?” the girl asked. “He sounds a bit unhinged.” The clerk peered up at Hadrian, her eyes running the length of his body. “What wrong with this fella? He seems the pleasant type, nice shoulders, beautiful eyes, got all his teeth and a killer smile to prove it. Pardon me for saying, but I for one wouldn’t mind being bounced around by him.”

“Hadrian is just a good friend.”

The clerk sighed, and offered Hadrian a miserable look. “Oh, that’s gotta hurt.”

“Thank you for the handkerchief,” Gwen began, “but—”

“I know, I know,” the clerk stood straight, pulled her jacket up, and used her fingers to drum the surface of the podium with nervous tension. “I should mind my own business. The staff needs to be invisible. I get it. But it’s pretty obvious you don’t know a good thing when it’s literally standing right in front of you.” She appraised Hadrian once more and sighed. “I’m guessing this other guy is also fine looking, and maybe of the dark brooding variety—the sort who lives life on the edge? Oh, I’ve been there, honey. But let me tell you, that sort of thing—it never ends well.”

Gwen looked past Hadrian. Her eyes went suddenly wide. “He’s coming!”

“Who?” The clerk rose up on her toes to peer over them. “The brooding bad-boy?”

“Please don’t say anything to him!” Gwen begged.

“Me or Hadrian?” the clerk asked.

“Either of you!” Gwen threw the handkerchief back at the clerk. “Tell him I’ve gone looking for a chamberpot.”

“It’s called the Throne Room, down here,” the girl called after her as Gwen darted back into the crowd. “And it’s up at the elephant. Elephant for ladies, Gorilla for men.”

Hadrian let her go knowing he needed to intercept Royce to buy Gwen time to reassemble herself. He just hoped enough of the room’s crowd of drunken men had already seen them together and knew not to cause trouble. In that white dress, she was bait thrown on a still pond stocked with fish—a pond that included a black hooded shark.

“So are you married?” the girl asked Hadrian once more leaning across the podium, the little jacket slipping down again. “I finish my shift in three hours if you’d—”

“What’s going on?” Royce asked Hadrian as he entered the cloakroom vestibule, his sight fixed on Gwen’s brilliant white figure as she navigated her way through the crowd toward the elephant side of the stage.

“Gwen’s looking for a chamberpot. Apparently they call it the Throne Room down here.”

“That’s a lot of heavy wool, Sir.” The clerk spoke up to Royce. “Care for me to hold on to that cloak for you? Don’t cost nothing.”

“I’m fine,” he replied.

“That’s what I’ve heard.”

Royce narrowed his eyes. “What?”

“Thank you, unusually friendly cloakroom lady,” Hadrian said waving at her as he led Royce back onto the main room. “We should follow Gwen, make sure she’s okay. Lots of strange people in this place.”

“I heard that!” the cloak clerk called after them.

Hadrian led the way out of the cloakroom’s sheltered vestibule and back into the main hall where the naked din was as bracing as jumping into a cold lake. Everyone was clapping together to the band’s beat as on stage a group of women danced kicking up their hems such that the audience could almost see their knees. Hadrian circled around a table of men all wearing matching yellow hats banging beer steins in unison. Feeling the growing need for a drink, he wondered what sort of beer a place like this offered. He considered looking for a bar or waiter, but that would need to wait. He had a job to do. His responsibility—as he saw it—was to stall Royce to grant Gwen time. Inspiration struck when he spotted one of the many palm trees. Close to twenty feet tall, it was planted in a six foot ocher urn decorated in the splatter of parrot droppings. The tree’s placement was no accident. Real estate was at a premium in the danthum and because the tree wasn’t a paying customer, it had been situated in a spot that lacked a view of the stage. This made the domesticated palm and the area surrounding it a veritable island oasis of privacy.

Hadrian reached the urn, took a breath, then turned on Royce and played his best card. “Where were you?”

“What?” Royce asked.

“When we first arrived, you disappeared. Where’d you go?”

Royce looked irritated. “What about Gwen?”

“She’s right there,” Hadrian pointed to the stark white attired figure who waited in the line of women that ran left of the stage toward the elephant. By luck, or by design, she had her back to them chatting with the women ahead of her. This was good because Royce’s eyesight was probably good enough to see her smeared makeup. “So, what was with the vanishing act?”

Hadrian expected Royce to explain he had been checking things out as usual, but with Gwen along, he was just being extra careful. It was also possible that he might have needed to visit his own elephant. They had been on a road without a stop for sometime. Either way, Royce’s reply would put an end to the inquiry and force Hadrian to think up another subject to distract his partner. This was bad because he couldn’t come up with anything—nothing important enough to demand they speak privately.

Hadrian was frantically searching for another topic when he realized Royce hadn’t replied. The thief wasn’t even looking at him or at Gwen. His partner stared at the urn, then the floor, then his sight fluttered aimlessly across the crowd.

“Royce?”

The thief frowned and then sighed. “You saw him, didn’t you? Is that what you meant by there being lots of strange people in this place?”

“Saw who, Royce?” Hadrian asked over the band’s growing crescendo and the hammering of ladies’ heels.

Royce leaned in close to Hadrian’s ear. “Falkirk De Roche.”

“Falkirk De…what now?” Hadrian was baffled. The name was only vaguely familiar.

“You know, pale guy, so white he looks three days dead. Has flaming red hair, and matching beard. Wears a cloak and hood, and may or may not have an ugly scare stretched across his neck like someone cut his head off.”

Hadrian stared at him. “Can’t say I’ve ever seen anyone like that. And if I had, I don’t think I’d forget. What’s all this about?”

Again Royce frowned and looked away. “When I told you that I didn’t kill Lady Lillian, that didn’t mean I didn’t kill anyone that night. There was a witness. He was outside Oakenshire Manor.”

“A witness?” Hadrian asked. “To what? You said you didn’t do anything that night.”

“That’s what he witnessed.” Again Royce spoke just loud enough for Hadrian to hear as the thief’s eyes watched the crowd. “I couldn’t allow him to return to Hurbert Traval and report that his wife was in bed with another man. So I eliminated the threat.”

“Eliminated the threat.” Hadrian nodded his head. “You killed an innocent man?”

“He was trying to extort money from me, or so I thought.”

“Is this pale redhead an associate of the guy you killed?”

“No, the pale redhead is the guy I killed.”

Hadrian tried to puzzle out the riddle, but couldn’t.

“Given that I saw him again in Kruger just last night, I think we can safely rule out both innocent and dead.”

“Wait. You saw the man you killed in Melengar, two days later in Kruger? How’s that—”

Royce folded his arms. “Obviously, I saw the man I thought I killed. Figured there was something wrong when I stabbed him in the throat and Alverstone came away without any blood on the blade. I have no idea how he managed that, but you can’t argue with facts. The man is alive and spoke to me behind the outhouse while the rest of you were eating. Said he’s after the Martel Diary. Offered me eternal life if I got it for him. So when we arrived I wanted to make sure he hadn’t followed us again.”

Hadrian smiled, almost laughed. “Okay, lets get this straight. The guy you killed—sorry, thought you killed—who saw you not kill Lillian Traval, chased us to Kruger to hire you to find the Martel Diary offering to pay you with eternal life?”

“Yeah.”

Hadrian nodded knowingly. “Royce, you fell asleep on the roof of the coach. It’s all a dream.”

Royce frowned. “It’s not a dream.”

“Really? You stab someone in the neck and there’s no blood? You kill a man and he doesn’t stay dead? Then he magically appears in the middle of nowhere? And what does he want? The Martel Diary that has bothered you ever since you stole it. And what does he offer in return? Well, the very sensible sum of eternal life! Of course, it’s a dream, Royce. That was a long ride. You were alone up there. You got groggy. You feel asleep. You had a nightmare.”

“I didn’t have a nightmare.”

“How do you know?”

“My nightmares are never so pleasant.” Royce looked across the room at Gwen who, by then, was at the front of the line. The little door between the elephant’s legs opened and the woman who had been ahead of Gwen stepped out. They spoke and laughed for a second, then Gwen went in. “And neither is my waking life.” Royce looked miserable. “She regrets coming, right? Thought this was going to be a wonderful trip but has come to realize it’s not.”

“That’s…” Hadrian began with the intent to argue, but couldn’t. “Honestly, that’s stunningly accurate.”

Royce nodded. “Told you it wasn’t going to work. It’s easy to fantasize when you only see a person occasionally and on their best behavior, but throw them together non-stop for a period of time and faults emerge.”

“Really? What are the faults you found in Gwen?”

Royce looked at him with the familiar I-can’t-believe-you’re-that-stupid expression. “Not her—me. She’s finally seeing me as I really am.”

“She’s always known who you are. By Mar, Royce, she lives in the Lower Quarter that you decorated with Raynor Grue. Believe me, she knows. And Gwen is a pretty smart and realistic lady, not some pampered shut-in.”

“Knowing and seeing are different. One knows cute little kitty catches mice, but until you see the little tabby bite each leg off a mouse then play with the still living torso for hours, you don’t really understand.”

“Have you ever owned a cat, Royce?”

“My point is no self-respecting woman, like Gwen, could ever have anything to do with a man like me. And honestly,” he dipped his shading his face with the hood “Even if she did I couldn’t allow her to make that mistake. She deserves better. She actually deserves…well, someone like you.”

Hadrian’s brows went up.

“You’re both good people,” he said the word like an embarrassing deficiency. “I’m not, and never will be. Fish and birds, there’s no place for both.”

“Are you saying it would be okay with you if I were to…” he gestured at the elephant. “You know?”

“Try it and this cat will be playing with your dismembered torso.”

Hadrian nodded. “That’s a no then.”

Gwen emerged from the elephant and began heading back.

“Don’t tell Gwen about Falkirk,” Royce said. “It will just worry her.”

“It was a bad dream, Royce. What should worry her is that you’re so paranoid you think the monsters in your sleep are after you.”

Royce ignored him. “Maybe if nothing else goes wrong, and if I stay away from her, she can still have a pleasant time.”

Gwen headed for the table.

Royce made no attempt to leave the palm oasis. “Does drinking help?” he asked. “That’s how you deal with these things, isn’t it?”

“Sometimes. Never solves anything, doesn’t even let you forget, but it does help you not care as much. And if you drink enough, you sleep. And sleep is a wonderful place where pain can’t follow.”

Royce watched Gwen reach the table, pull out a chair and take her seat. “I think I might try a glass of wine.” Then like his very life was escaping his body he sighed. “It’s like being on the bank of a river and watching the greatest treasure in the world float right by me, but there’s nothing I can do—I never learned how to swim.”

The Flaming Peacocks were just that. Several came out at once as waiters ran with them overhead on silver trays like barbarians with torches. Atyn brought their dish setting the platter down in the center of their table. His face glistened with perspiration that glistened in the bird-born fire light. Hadrian could feel the heat. Just when it started to become uncomfortable, Atyn pulled the cork from a small bottle and poured a dark thick liquid over the body of the peacock. As he did, the flames popped and sparked, and threw off a rainbow of colors then killed the fire altogether revealing a bird whose body was already plucked and sliced.

Albert clapped causing the rest to join in as Atyn bowed. “Enjoy,” he said.

“Another bottle of Montemorcey, if you please,” Arcadius said.

“Absolutely,” Atyn replied, then darted away as Albert passed out portions of the bird.

The peacock tasted much like pheasant or turkey. At least, Hadrian thought it might. He couldn’t tell much because the sauce overpowered everything igniting a violent explosion of spicy heat in his mouth. The peacock wasn’t flaming merely because it had arrived on fire. Hadrian was forced to sip his wine for medicinal purposes. And Hadrian wasn’t the only one drinking. While Royce hadn’t touched the peacock Albert set before him, he had drained his wine glass and refilled it leaving the remainder of the bottle squarely in front of him. This was the most he had done since they rejoined the table. The thief sat with hood still up, slightly hunched, and hadn’t eaten a thing or said a word.

Hadrian took another sip swishing the wine around his tongue trying to lessen the inferno. Despite Royce’s years of praise, Montemorcey didn’t taste much different than any other wine. It did have a strange way of vanishing off his tongue taking with it any lingering flavor, which seemed like a cheat. It certainly wasn’t thirst quenching.

Hadrian tried a new strategy and began sucking in air aimed at his tongue. This worked, but only while he was doing it. While he was busy fire-fighting, Hadrian noticed the other side of the room, the portion of the hall to the right of the stage. He quickly came to think of it as the Gorilla Side, or the men’s side. Where the Elephant half had the ladies room, cloak room and the aquarium, the Gorilla side had the men’s privy, the bar and…

“What’s back there?” Hadrian asked Albert pointing at a grand archway on the Gorilla side where two powerful looking men, stood guard. Both were shirtless advertising an impressive display of muscles.

“That’s the casino.”

“Small house?” Gwen asked.

Albert looked at her puzzled. “Did you say small house?”

“Small house or gathering place, that’s what casino means in Calian,” she explained.

“Didn’t know that,” Albert said as he plucked up another skewer of still sizzling peacock. Apparently the viscount was immune to its effects or had already adequately killed his tastebuds. “But what I do know is that’s the gambling room. They have all sorts of games of chance in there: dice, cards, wheels, just about anything you can think of and a few you can’t. People lose a lot of money in there.”

“Doesn’t anyone win?” Gwen asked adding her own morsel of peacock to her plate.

“They have to,” Arcadius said, “Or why would anyone do it.”

Albert shrugged. “I suppose it must happen, but I’ve never seen it.” He threw up a hand. “No, wait, I take that back; people do win…but only for a while. Thing is, they keep playing. You see, when they win there’s nothing to stop them from continuing, but when they lose they eventually run out of funds and are forced to stop. Doesn’t seem fair in that respect, and no one ever seems to leave with more money than they enter with.”

“Why do I think you know about this first hand, Albert,” Hadrian only partially joked. Albert had nothing to show for his rank but the desire to live the life of the gentry, which included plenty of leisure time and all manner of vice to fill it.

The viscount used one of the peacock’s drumsticks to point at him. “I can see where you’d think that, but no, I don’t gamble. It may be the only degeneracy I don’t indulge in.”

“Interesting” Arcadius said. The professor was having an awful time eating the greasy, sauce-slicked bird, as it made a mess of his fingers and his beard. Hadrian imagined having a white beard the likes of his must be like wearing a fluffy white shirt. Keeping it clean though any meal had to be impossible. “Why make an exception for gambling, I wonder?”

“Well, it was mostly by way of gambling that dear old dad lost everything that his father before him had failed to squander. This led to the wonderful result of my vagabond existence.” Albert made a sour face while shaking his head. “Having watched him throw it all away…” Albert paused, the sour look changing to misery. “It was all so stupid.” Albert paused to lick the lava sauce from his fingers. “My father blew stacks of money on pricy liquors and expensive women—spent even more on the sort he couldn’t buy—but none of that ever bothered me. I suppose I could understand those vices. Drinking provides a wonderful bliss. And who can argue with a beautiful woman on your arm or in your bed. But gambling…I don’t know. It never made any sense to me. Always felt like he was just throwing the money away and getting nothing in return. So, no, I’ve never had a desire to indulge.” He pointed at the casino. “At least not in that sort of gambling.”

“What are the guards for?” Hadrian asked.

“Sore losers,” Albert replied. “Always get a few each night.” Something caught his eye, and Albert smiled and stood up. “Excuse me, I think I see someone I know.”

Having ordered one of everything, it wasn’t long before the swan arrived. It came just as advertised, with it’s head tucked demurely beneath it’s left wing. The bird appeared to be sleeping, until, like a magician, Atyn pulled on it’s neck and wing and the whole feathered portion of the swan lifted off revealing a finely roasted, pre-sliced body beneath.

“Amazing,” Gwen muttered.

“They do put on a fine show here,” Arcadius said. “Both on stage and at the table.”

On the stage, was a juggler risking his life with swords, cleavers, and axes, accompanied by dramatic drumrolls, but few in the audience could be bothered to look now that food had arrived.

“Another bottle of wine, good sir,” Arcadius told Atyn.

Hadrian looked at the full glass in front of the professor. He was certain Arcadius had only touched it once when he took the tiniest sip during his toast to Gwen. How he survived the infernal peacock, Hadrian had no idea. Gwen only had one glass also, but she was nearly done with it. The real drinkers at the table were Royce and Albert, who at the start of the evening took a tentative sip while watching Royce the way a dog gave a glance to his master before snatching a fallen morsel. Albert had once tried drinking himself to death, and Royce had established the edict that to be part of Riyria Albert had to work sober. Either Royce recognized this night wasn’t work, or he was too miserable to care.

On stage, a man and woman began singing a duet, and Hadrian was surprised to notice they sang in the Tenkin language. His deep baritone and her high soprano filled the hall and despite most having no understanding of the words, the crowd quieted a bit as several listened. Hadrian wasn’t fluent in Tenkin but had a working grasp of the language and wasn’t surprised at all when Gwen started crying.

“What’s wrong?” Royce asked. This was the first thing he’d said in more than an hour, and he delivered the question with his usual harsh tone as if he expected her to say the wine was poisoned.

Gwen shook her head and pointed at the stage. “The song. It’s sad.”

Royce looked back and forth between her and the stage. He seemed confused. Then in a gentler voice he asked. “What’s it about?”

She shook her head. With tears still in her eyes, and her mouth pinched tight, she seemed in pain.

Once more Royce looked—no, glared—at the singers as if he might pay them a visit later that night.

Hadrian intervened. “Tell him, Gwen.”

She wiped her eyes, gave him a long look, then sniffled and nodded. “It’s about a Tenkin named Lyco who was shamefully attacked by an awful man. Lyco defended himself and killed his attacker. In doing so, he won the man’s wife, Dala, as his slave, as is the law. But afterward, he never touched her. Nor did he sell her, even though she would have fetched a great price. All he ever did was treat Dala with kindness. They lived together for years this way. Him caring for her in sickness, bringing Dala flowers, and other gifts. Together they struggled against famines, wars, and droughts. But in all that time he never touched her. She wished he had, because Dala had fallen in love with him. It was only when they were both old and gray and the Lyco lay dying that he confessed how he had always loved her, even before the fight, but knew that she could never love him because he’d killed her husband.”

Gwen lowered her head as she cried. “I’m sorry, it’s…it’s just so sad.”

Royce touched her arm.

Gwen froze. She seemed to stop breathing.

Royce noticed and let go. He promptly took up and drained his glass of wine.

“Hadrian?” Arcadius said. “I’m afraid I’ve had a bit too much wine, and this food is far too rich for an old man such as myself. I must say, I’m not feeling especially well. Could I trouble you to see me safely back to the Turtle?”

Hadrian looked at the professor’s still full glass of Montemorcey, but nodded.