***

Royce heard the key turn. The bolt shifted and the door opened on well-oiled hinges. Four pairs of feet shuffled on the slate of the foyer. He heard the door close, the brush of material, and the snap of a cloak. One pair of feet scuffed abruptly as if their owner unexpectedly found himself on the edge of a precipice.

“Mr. Jenkins,” Merrick’s voice said, “I want you and Dobbs to take the rest of the evening off.”

“But, sir, I—”

“This is no time to argue. Please, Mr. Jenkins, just leave. Hopefully I will see you in the morning.”

“Hopefully?” This voice was familiar. Royce recognized Poe, the cook’s mate on the Emerald Storm. It took him a moment, but then Royce understood. “What do you mean you will—hold on. Is he here? How do you know?”

“I want you to go too, Poe.”

“Not if he’s here. You’ll need protection.”

“If he wanted me dead, I would already be lying in a bloody puddle. So I think it is fair to surmise that I am safe. You, on the other hand, are a different story. I doubt he knew you would be here. Now that he knows your connection to me, the only thing keeping you alive is that he is more interested in talking to me than slitting your throat, at least for the moment.”

“Let him try. I think—”

“Poe, leave the thinking to me. And never tempt him like that. This is not a man to toy with. Trust me, he’d kill you without difficulty. I know. I worked with him. We specialized in assassinations and he’s better at it than I am—particularly spur-of-the-moment killings—and right now you’re a very tempting spur. Now, get out while you can. Disappear for a while, just to be safe.”

“What makes you think he even knows I’m here?” Poe asked.

“He’s in the drawing room, listening to us right now. Sitting in the blue chair with its back to the wall, he’s waiting for me to join him. I’m sure he has a crystal glass half-filled with the Montemorcey wine I bought and left in the pantry for him. He’s holding it in his left hand, so if, for whatever reason, he has to draw his dagger, he won’t need to put the glass down first. He hates to waste Montemorcey. He’s swirling it, letting it breathe, and while he’s been here for some time he has yet to taste it. He won’t drink until I sit across from him—until I, too, have a glass.”

“He suspects you poisoned it?”

“No, he hasn’t tasted the wine because...well, it would just be rude He’ll have a glass of cider waiting for me, as he knows I no longer drink spirits.”

“And how do you know all this?”

“Because I know him just as I know you. Right now you’re fighting an urge to enter the drawing room to see if I’m right. Don’t. You’ll never come out again, and I don’t want you staining my new carpet. Now leave. I will contact you when I need to.”

“Are you sure? Yeah, okay, stupid question.”

The door opened, closed, and footsteps could be heard going down the porch stairs.

There was a pause and then a light flared. Merrick Marius entered the dark room holding a single candle. “I hope you don’t mind. I prefer to be able to see you, too.”

Merrick lit four sconce lights, added some logs to the fire, and stirred the embers to life with a poker. He watched them for a long moment then placed the tool back on its hook before taking a seat opposite Royce, next to the poured glass of cider.

“To old friends?” Merrick asked, holding up his drink.

“To old friends,” Royce agreed and the two sipped.

Merrick was dressed in a knee-length coat of burgundy velvet, a finely embroidered vest, and a startlingly white ruffled shirt.

“You’re doing well for yourself,” Royce observed.

“I can’t complain. I’m Magistrate of Colnora now. Have you heard?”

“I hadn’t. Your father would be proud.”

“He said I couldn’t do it. Do you remember? He said I was too smart for my own good.” Merrick took another sip. “I suppose you’re angry about Tur Del Fur.”

“You crossed a line.”

“I know. I am sorry about that. You were the only one who could do that job. If I could have found someone else…” Merrick crossed his legs and looked over his glass at Royce. “You’re not here to kill me, so I’ll assume your visit is about Hadrian.”

“Is that your doing? This deal?”

Merrick shook his head. “Actually, Guy came up with that. They tried to persuade Hadrian to kill Breckton for money and a title. My only contribution was providing the proper incentive.”

“They’re dangling Gaunt?” Royce asked.

Merrick nodded. “And the Witch of Melengar.”

“Arista? When did they get her?”

“A few months ago. She and her bodyguard tried to free Gaunt. He died and she was captured.”

Royce took another drink and then set his glass down before asking, “They’re going to kill Hadrian, aren’t they?”

“Yes. The regents know they can’t just let him go. After he kills Breckton, they will arrest him for murder, throw him in prison, and execute him along with Gaunt and Arista on Wintertide.”

“Why do they want Breckton dead?”

“They offered him Melengar in order to separate him from Ballentyne. He refused, and now they’re afraid the Earl of Chadwick will attempt to use Breckton to overthrow the Empire. They’re spooked and feel their only chance to eliminate him is by using a Teshlor-trained warrior. Nice skills to have in a partner by the way—good choice.”

Royce sipped his wine and thought awhile. “Can you save him?”

“Hadrian?” Merrick paused and then answered, “Yes.”

The word hung there.

“What do you want?” Royce said.

“Interesting that you should ask. As it turns out, I have another job that you would be perfect for.”

“What kind?”

“Find-and-recover. I can’t give you the details yet, but it’s dangerous. Two other groups have already failed. Of course, I wasn’t involved in those attempts, and you weren’t leading the operation. Agree to take the job and I’ll make sure nothing happens to Hadrian.”

“I’ve retired.”

“I heard that rumor.”

Royce drained his glass and stood. “I’ll think about it.”

“Don’t wait too long, Royce. If you want me to work this, I’ll need a couple of days to prepare. Trust me, you’ll want my help. A dungeon rescue will fail. The prison is dwarven made.”