“Any chance he’s turned a new leaf and taken up sailing for real?”“About as likely as me doing it.”Hadrian eyed Royce for a heartbeat. “I put him at the top of the list.”

“I need your help.”Royce looked up as if his head weighed a hundred pounds, his eyes red, his face ashen. He waited.“One last job,” Hadrian told him, then added, “I promise.”“Is it dangerous?”“Very.”“Is there a good chance I’ll get killed?”“Odds are definitely in favor of that.”Royce nodded, looked down at the scarf in his lap, and replied, “Okay.”

“You think he’s still alive?” Royce asked, nodding his head toward Alric.“Sure,” Hadrian replied without bothering to look. “He’s probably sleeping. Why do you ask?”“I was just pondering something. Do you think a person could smother in a wet potato bag?”Hadrian lifted his head and looked over at the motionless prince. “I really hadn’t thought about it until now.”

“Royce turned to Hadrian. “It’s supposed to make them look tough, but all it really does is make it easy to identify them as thieves for the rest of their lives. Painting a red hand on everyone is pretty stupid when you think about it.”“That tattoo is supposed to be a hand?” Hadrian asked. “I thought it was a little red chicken. But now that you mention it, a hand does make more sense.”Royce looked back at Will and tilted his head to one side. “Does kinda look like a chicken.”

“Royce nodded. “Invest in crossbows. Next time stay hidden and just put a couple bolts into each of your target’s chests. All this talking is just stupid.”“Royce!” Hadrian admonished.“What? You’re always saying I should be nicer to people. I’m trying to be helpful.”

“If this keeps up, we’re going to own Melengar,” Hadrian mentioned.“What’s this we stuff?” Royce asked. “You’re retired, remember?”“Oh? So you’ll be leading the Nationalist advance, will you?”“Sixty-forty?” Royce proposed.”