I realized that hot, pungent tea was being pushed into my hands, and I looked up from the section of floor I'd been staring at in order to acknowledge the gift.

“Thanks,” I said, wrapping both hands around the sides of the mug, concluding from how pleasant the warmth was that my fingers had somehow become cold during the time I'd been sitting there in my chair. Odd, I thought, since my sitting room had a fireplace that was burning away merrily.

Talia gave me a slow nod, looking concerned. I suppose I looked a wreck, still garbed in my blood-soaked clothing. The chair I was sitting on would never be the same after this night, I suspected.

Nor would I.

I stared into my tea for a moment. I was in the middle of debating whether or not to take a sip, how much of a sip to take, if throwing the cup I held across the room might make me feel any better, and whether any thoughts concerning tea even mattered at all ... when I felt a gentle touch on my still bloodied left shoulder.

Looking, I saw Talia's hand squeezing a message of unspoken sympathy, a gesture that was oddly comforting. I put my hand over hers and gave her a wan smile and grateful look, which she returned before quietly leaving me in the room with my thoughts.

I sighed softly.

Dead. Redforne had tried to kill me even as he lay dying - even as I tried to stop his life's blood from spilling onto my stone floor. Unable to see, barely conscious near the end, he'd still tried to lash out with his bare hands in an attempt to do me in. He had hated me that much.

I couldn't hate him though. Mere hours ago I might have been capable of such a thing ... possibly even going so far as to be celebrating news of Redforne's death. It was staggering just how wildly your perceptions could shift in the span of a few hours.

As I'd seen Redforne standing there bleeding from a mortal wound I'd inflicted, I'd had a flash of insight ... saw very clearly how his own situation seemed to mirror my own. Watching him, I thought of my own pain, my own sudden burning need for revenge and retribution. I imagined what it might be like to feel yourself fading away, your sword hand unfinished inches away from the objective you'd molded your whole life around.

Having only had the span of a couple of hours to come to terms with what the Prince had told me, I could likely only understand the barest fraction of what had been going through his head. It was enough.

Additionally, with Redforne's death I knew that any potential to negotiate with the Prince for information about my family's murder had slipped through my fingers. That was almost as bad as every-thing else.

I attempted to run my fingers through my hair only to re-discover the bandage there, preventing me from doing so. It was wrapped tight enough that I shouldn't have been able to ignore it. The cut to my head was substantial and scary, despite the fact that most head wounds look far worse than they actually are.

Mine had made Cyrus nervous enough to have his fellow house knights go into the streets at a truly ungodly hour, offering a hundred gold marks for any healer who might be persuaded to come into my keep to treat me.

They found one rather quickly too, one who seemed to share Cyrus's sense of urgency upon seeing me. Never before had I heard 'thick-headed' used in such complimentary terms, or accompanied by such a look of frank astonishment. Generally speaking, if some-one has cause to look at any part of your head and comment on the condition of the bone they're able to see, you've been hurt rather badly.

“Lord Tucat?” an unsympathetic voice I didn't recognize called out from the hall.

I looked to the doorway and saw yet another Crown Knight I didn't recognize standing there, regarding me.

“Yes, Sir Knight?” I responded, tiredly.

“I'm looking for Cyrus Crowfoot, and any of my fellow knights that may be with him.”

“They're downstairs in the basement hall,” I said, turning back to my tea and my dismal, depressing thoughts. Then, grunting quietly to myself I added, “Follow the hallway you're in until you get to the back of the keep, turn right and keep going until you get to the wine bottles, left, then right and down the stairs.”

“My Lord,” he said, nodding perfunctorily before turning and disappearing from view, presumably to walk the very path I had described to him. There were already four knights down there with Cyrus, I thought bitterly. How many more were needed to ask him the same five questions over and over again?

Then again, Cyrus hadn't wanted to bring the Crown Knights into the picture at all – I'd been the one to insist on that. It was necessary, I reasoned, given the circumstances of the past twelve hours or so. Considering the duel earlier that day, for Redforne to simply show up dead somewhere, well, you would have to be some sort of idiot not to make the connection.

No, I needed the Crown Knights there right away, I reasoned. Once it was obvious that there was nothing that could be done to revive Redforne, it was the first thing I had told Cyrus to do.

And then, realizing in a panic that my best friend was still groaning softly a dozen feet away from me and attempting to rise, I made it his second priority.

Theo was pretty much okay, though he'd suffered several hits to the head in his encounter with Redforne. They'd been serious enough to knock him unconscious for a while, but Theo didn't regard them as being serious enough to prevent him from standing up. Cyrus and I both helped him to his feet and walked him over to the still open passageway connecting his keep to mine.

Quite the sight we must have made – me practically soaked with blood, Cyrus with several painful-looking darts still sticking out of his shoulder, both of us on either side of the burly swordsman who was sporting an unfocused look on his bruised and bleeding face.

Theo assured us both that he'd be fine, that he'd get himself checked out by his own staff after making up some sort of story to explain his injury. His cuts weren't bad, which was a blessing I suppose.

The confusion I'd seen in his eyes and the occasional look of puzzlement made it clear that he considered it a miracle we both still lived. I couldn't have agreed more.

I hadn't felt there was time to brief Cyrus thoroughly, so once we'd seen Theo through the passageway and seen the false wall close itself behind him I stressed the importance of not mentioning the presence of Lord Haundsing to anyone. He'd agreed instantly, and while I didn't notice it quite as strongly as I had in the days previous, I could still detect a small amount of hurt in his expression and his body language.

Cyrus has always been lousy at hiding his feelings, one of the reasons that I was becoming more and more concerned the longer he remained in my basement, being questioned by the Crown Knights. His part in this entire affair had been minimal, and yet he'd been down there with them for nearly twice as long as I'd been.

They'd come, they'd asked me their questions. They'd removed the body, or the victim, or whatever they'd taken to calling the remains of-

The boy I had killed.

In all that had gone on in my life up to this point it was something of a miracle that it hadn't happened before, and yet there it was. I was now a killer.

I was no stranger to death. Given my circumstances, I'd had more than a passing familiarity with the concept. And yet this was different. This was something that I had done, not merely something that I'd been witness to. As with before, it felt that I was a completely changed person, but this was so utterly unlike my previous encounters with death as to have nothing in common with them whatsoever.

I used to think that I knew how I'd feel if something like that were to happen to me. I'd say to myself 'Well, it was either him or me. I did what I had to do.' and I'd accept my words at face value. Life would go on. I wouldn't blame myself, or let it bother me.

Yeah, right.

It was too new to make any sense of, even now, this impossible feeling that had been thrust upon me. I wanted to scream, to cry, to run out into the streets, demand an explanation of the gods, all at once. I wanted to reduce the walls of my keep to a fine powder with nothing but my fists, to dash my head against the cold stone floor. I wished to become invisible, to simply lie down in some neglected corner of the world and wither away into nothingness. It was like being so tired that you can't even find the energy to fall asleep.

Feeling this way, it had been tough to maintain my composure in the face of the questions posed by the Knights once they'd arrived. They'd been officious, rude, and I'd quickly found myself resenting their suspicious looks as they asked me what had happened, or reviewed with me the order they happened in. Poor Cyrus hadn't had so much as a wink of sleep these past two days. I wondered how he was holding up in the face of questioning by a brace of inquisitive Crown Knights.

As if summoned by my thoughts, Cyrus appeared in the doorway at that moment, flanked by two of the knights I'd allowed into my keep earlier. He had an apologetic look on his face.

“Cyrus,” I nodded.

“Milord,” he said, attempting an awkward bow from the door. “I fear I must leave you for some time. In my absence, might I recommend that Kavi take my place? I've kept her well informed of my responsibilities-”

“What?” I asked, standing up suddenly from my chair, or at least attempting to. My leg buckled under the stress I had put on it, and I gripped the armrests of my chair in order to avoid falling. The effort had suddenly made me dizzy.

Cyrus seemed torn between leaping forward to assist me and remaining where he was.

“We're taking him to the palace, Lord Tucat.”

I looked to the mustached knight who had spoken, easing myself back down into my chair.

“For what purpose, exactly?”

“This is a grave matter, and there are some additional questions that we need him to answer for us,” said the other knight.

“Questions you've left at the palace and forgot to bring with you?” I asked.

“There were inconsistencies in the information he gave us,” the first said, simply. “We'd like to go over some of the details with him.”

“Inconsistencies? What question could you possibly have that couldn't be asked and answered right here? Why drag him all the way back to the palace?”

The first knight gave his surroundings a meaningful look, followed by a meaningful look at me, as if that alone might answer the question.

I closed my eyes so that I could safely press my fingers against them, suddenly exasperated beyond all reason.

“Cyrus?”

“Milord.”

“You told them everything, right? The burning smell, you coming down to check on me ... having to use an explosive charge to break down my door. All that?”

“Yes Milord. Several times.”

“You mentioned that you didn't even see the fight, that Redforne was bleeding as you came through the door?”

“Yes Milord.”

I nodded, turning back to the first knight who had spoken.

“I'm afraid that I require Cyrus here with me, gentlemen. Terribly sorry, but if there are further questions you have of my Captain, they'll have to be asked here. I myself cannot think of a single question that might somehow be answered more correctly simply because it was asked at the Palace instead of here in my keep.”

The knight's mustached lip twitched, and his face showed the beginnings of an arrogant sneer.

“Your Captain's whereabouts were unaccounted for during a significant amount of time after the duel, and being your Captain he may be in possession of information that he doesn't wish to share within these walls. I'm afraid I must insist that he come with us. My Lord,” he said, his voice containing the barest trace of an accusation.

The 'My Lord' he tacked on to the end had also contained just enough of a pause to be mildly offensive.

Clearly, this one thought he had something. That, or he wished to flex some of his authoritative muscle at the expense of someone who appeared to be in an awkward situation.

The Crown Knights report directly to one of four Preceptors, who in turn report directly to the Prince. In terms of the hierarchy within the city, Preceptors were the only individuals who outranked Lords aside from the Prince, since it was their job to enforce certain laws and precepts set forth by the Prince in whichever of the four quadrants of the city they'd been assigned.

Reporting directly to someone who outranks a Lord can have an effect on someone's perception of their importance within the grand scheme of things after a while. To put it succinctly - Crown Knights can be real pricks sometimes.

Clearly this was one of those cases.

Crown Knights were representatives of the Prince, and as a result Lords tended to extend every courtesy to them, mostly because was just better for everyone that way.

It was not, however, mandatory.

Clearly, this man had no idea what kind of day I'd just had.

“Cyrus, you were right. Fetching the Crown Knights was a horrible idea,” I said, leaning forward in my seat and attempting to stand much more carefully than I had before.

“Kind of you to say so, Milord,” he said tiredly and with just a hint of amusement, the two knights on either side of him suddenly affecting looks of surly indignation. The remaining three knights appeared just then as well, emerging from the basement that had served as their interrogation room and remaining in the hallway behind Cyrus and the other two knights.

“Right, well I shall pay close attention to such suggestions in future. Could you perhaps ask Talia to fetch me a cane or some such thing? Oh wait, I still have my sword ... that's handy. I don't think I'd be able to make it to the carriage by myself with this injured leg.”

Standing awkwardly, I grimaced as I began hobbling over to where they stood at the doorway.

“Lord Tucat!” said the mustached knight, perplexed. “What are you doing?”

“I'm coming to the palace with you, obviously,” I snorted, reaching out to Cyrus for support. He stepped forward to help me stay upright, looking concerned.

“Y-you're not under arrest, My Lord,” a third knight managed to stammer. “We don't require your presence at this time. If we need you at the palace, we can summon you.”

“Oh, I know that. I believe I mentioned that I can't be without my Captain at this time. Besides, I'm not coming along to answer questions ... I'm going to see the Prince.” I unbuckled my belt and removed my sword from my hip, keeping it sheathed in order that I might lean on it. The pain in my leg caused me to grit my teeth. “Come on, let's get about it.”

“Prince Tenarreau is terribly busy at the moment, Lord Tucat, preparing for tomorrow's ceremony and all,” the mustached knight said, smirking. “Doubtless you'd forgotten. Perhaps if you wished to come down in a few days...”

“He'll see me tonight,” I said, shrugging slightly and motioning to Cyrus that I was okay to stand on my own. “Of this I have no doubt. Well? Shall we go?”

“My Lord,” one of the other three knights at the back called over the heads of his fellows. “If you insist on accompanying us, we shall wait outside. Doubtless you'll want to change into some more suitable attire.”

“No need, no need,” I waved irritatedly, limping with my makeshift cane through them and towards the door.

“But,” he said, perplexed, “you've been wounded, and are covered in blood!”

“Quite right. Very astute observation, keen eye ... I can see why they chose you.”

“You can't just show up at the palace covered in blood!”

“Really? You going to stop me?”

“But, the Prince-” he ventured awkwardly, not really knowing what to say.

“He'll notice? Why, by the gods, I suppose you're correct! He'll see me in the very same clothing he saw me wearing a few hours ago, and he'll say 'Good gracious, what happened?' And you know what I'll tell him?”

Several knights shook their heads 'No', now looking quite uncertain of themselves.

“Why, I'll tell him exactly what I've told you,” I half-shouted, allowing annoyance to creep into my voice. “Word for word in some cases, I'm sure. And when I'm done describing how I was set upon in my own keep, how I was thrust into this harrowing ordeal, how I barely managed to stay alive ... I'll mention sending Cyrus out to fetch some Crown Knights once it was all over, as a good citizen of Harael should.

“I'll also be sure to mention how once you arrived at my keep you insisted that my Captain, who has not slept a wink in two days and who nevertheless managed to save my life, accompany you back to the palace, all apparently because some statements from a sleep deprived man didn't make sense to you. This, of course, despite my protests over his well being, as well as the fact that he'd done nothing wrong.

“I'll mention that you were obviously suspicious of some diabolical plot involving Cyrus kidnapping Lord Redforne as he left the Circles today, snatching the master swordsman off the street in broad daylight. I'll mention how reasonable such concerns are, given that you noticed Cyrus was somehow able to weld the inside of the door shut from outside the room, presumably doing so in order that I might not be interrupted as I sliced my head open and stuck a sword clear through my leg in front of Redforne, nearly dying from what are obviously self-inflicted injuries.

“Then, once I've mentioned all of those things, I plan on throwing myself at the Prince's feet and begging for tender mercy, for I can see now how suspicious and damning this all looks, and how reasonable people like yourself might conclude that carting my Captain away for questioning is a perfectly logical thing to do.”

The silence was deafening. The only sound was the occasional pop of burning wood coming from the fireplace. No-one spoke or moved, and the knights all wore the same kind of uncomfortable, wary look.

“Come on then,” I said, once it was obvious that none of the knights wished to be the first to contribute to our conversation. “We can all take my carriage, I've got one that should have enough room for all of us. What say you? Let's see what the Prince has to say about this comical series of events that a few overzealous knights have forced a me to bring to his attention.”

Looks were exchanged, and a few of the knights shifted their feet uncomfortably.

“I suppose that there would be no harm in allowing him to stay here,” the mustached knight said in a distinctly surly tone, “provided that we can come back to ask further questions later.”

“I'm afraid that his duties will make setting up an appointment impossible - I work him shamelessly,” I said, hobbling over to the pompous knight so that I could stand before him. He appeared to be the one in charge, having spoken the most. “So I'm afraid that if you have questions that need answering, you'd better ask them in the next ten minutes or so. I'll be ordering him to bed soon.” I looked from face to face inquisitively. “Anything else?”

Tight-lipped and furious, Mustache shook his head. He was quite obviously not used to having his authority challenged.

“Well if that's all then, sir Knights, I'm afraid that I must ask you all to leave. I do thank you for coming by and taking care of the body, as well as your sensitivity during this terribly awkward ordeal, which-”

“When the Preceptor finds out we've-” began Mustache.

“Do not presume to interrupt me ever again!” I shouted fiercely, drawing myself up and thrusting my face into his, the tiniest bit of spittle flying from my lips onto his cheek. “I don't care who you think you are, you shut your mouth when I'm talking! You come into my keep, look down your nose at me as if I were some drunk in the street, imply that I'm either lying or a simpleton by asking me the same questions five different times, and all but insult me by instructing me what I may or may not do with my own staff! Were I in better health, sir Knight, I would be inclined to beat you to death!”

Maybe he didn't really deserve it, but I'd had enough of just about everything at that point. His eyes were wide as he stared at me, mouth hanging open. The other knights were looking about the same.

So was Cyrus actually.

“Leave! Get out!” I bellowed. “Goodbye already! Tell your Preceptor that if he wishes either myself or my Captain to answer the same question again and again, that he can bloody well come down himself to ask it!”

A few awkward moments later they shuffled down the hallways and out of sight, swords and armored uniforms clanking noisily. There was the sound of some brief muttering just as the front door was closing behind them.

“Wow,” Cyrus gulped, sounding impressed.

“Rough day. They pissed me off,” I said, wincing as I once again sat down in my chair.

“I've just never seen you upset like that, or seen anyone talk that way to Crown Knights before,” he said, grinning. “Is it okay if I make you my own personal hero from this point forward?”

“Cyrus, after all you've managed to do for me this week, you have my permission to do whatever you like. I suggest you begin by confining yourself to quarters and seeing how long you can sleep in one sitting. Say, I didn’t get a chance to ask ... how is it that you’re still awake at all? For that matter, how is it you thought to check in on me in the basement?”

In answer, he held out his arms to me. They were trembling noticeably.

“Vimroot oil,” he said ruefully. “It didn’t occur to me at the Circles that the oil you’d brought with you would be so pure – the stuff I usually encounter is thinned out a great deal. I was cursing my oversight as I lay in bed, exhausted and unable to sleep. Then later, I smelled smoke and decided to investigate.”

Pure dumb luck is triumphant once more.

“A substantial bit of good fortune. Damn it,” I said, shifting forward and leaning on my sword once more, “I shouldn't have sat back down again.”

“Agreed,” Cyrus said, helping me up with his right arm. “We should get you upstairs and off your leg. You could probably use a healthy dose of sleep yourself.”

“Can't. No time,” I said simply, leaning forward in order to stand. “Could you go get Kavi for me please? Aside from yourself, she's about the best hand with a sword around here from what I recall.”

“Milord? What do you need her for?”

“I wasn't bluffing about going to see the Prince, Cyrus.” I grimaced slightly as I gingerly walked forward. “Call me paranoid, but I'd rather not go anywhere alone right now. I need to get down to the palace. Tenarreau let me know some of his plans, and I'm sure he was half expecting me to contact him this evening ... but given what's happened I most certainly need to talk to him before tomorrow. Actually, it was stupid of me to bring Crown Knights into this, considering I could have gone directly to the Prince and explained things.”

“I'll fetch Kavi, and get her to arrange a carriage for you,” he nodded.

“Tell her to take her time. Now that there's no need for dramatic threats involving bloodstained garments, I think I shall change clothes quickly first.”

“Right away Milord,” he said, walking towards the hallway.

“Cyrus?”

He stopped mid-stride and turned to look at me.

“Thank you,” I said, hoping my voice was capable of carrying some hint of the gratitude I felt.

Cyrus seemed a little startled by that, then gave me a quick grin and a nod before turning and continuing on his way, disappearing from view.

Well, really ... the guy accidently trips a trap in my hallway while trying to rescue me, and doesn't even think to stop long enough to pull the painful wooden darts from his shoulder, so great was his concern for my well being. If that doesn't deserve a 'thank you', I don't know what does.

I began what promised to be a slow, painful trip up to my bedroom in order to find some loose-fitting clothing and to redress my bandages. As I walked, I wondered exactly what the Prince's reaction would be when I told him what had happened.

I no longer had a strong bargaining position with respect to the offer he'd made earlier that evening – Redforne was dead, and obviously any agreement that involved me staying away from him was null and void.

Would Tenarreau still be willing to share information regarding what had happened to my family? Would he even believe my side of the story?

How understanding would he be regarding this rather large hiccup in his plans? Would he become annoyed, perhaps suspicious of the timing, and seek to punish me somehow?

One way or another, I was sure I'd be finding out soon.