"Thou art being absurd. Thou wert his finest student." Shaana tossed her hair in a huff. "Besides, if it truly bothers thee, thou canst always order him to like thee. Thou art now the leader of Britannia's military, including those of us in the Royal Guard. Now, are we going to rejoin the others? Thou wilt be missed." She turned to leave.

"Art thou not forgetting something?" he asked. He held up her dagger.

She snatched it from his hand. "Bah! We are still at a draw in our duels."

"Only because thou hadst a distinct advantage back when we were younger," Blackthorn reminded her. "I was the student, and thou wert the master."

The quirk of a smile returned. "As I am still, and thou wouldst do well never to forget that." She leaned over to his ear and whispered, "And never forget this as well: I love thee, my dear friend Blackthorn. I shall always be here for thee." With that, she marched back into the tent.

Blackthorn allowed a few minutes to elapse before he, too, ducked into the celebration. No one needed to see him and Shaana emerge from an isolated alley together; the rumors abounded already. Yet no sooner had he taken two steps into the tent did a group of his own men guffaw, lift their mugs in his direction, and fill the tent with a bawdy cheer.

A mirthless chuckle caught Blackthorn's ear, and his breath caught in his throat."'Tis quite the lot thou dost have under thy command," his father, dressed in the garb of the Lord Mayor, said.

Blackthorn wiped away the sweat that suddenly blanketed his brow. No, not his father. Damn this heat and his lack of sleep. Judge Dryden, the man who had spoken, continued to chuckle. "Quite the lot, indeed. Dancers and drinkers. An unruly bunch, to say the least."

"They are disciplined," Blackthorn said.

Dryden sipped from his goblet. "For the right price, of course. Some for coin, others for freedom, a few for their lives, no doubt."

Blackthorn took the goblet from Dryden's lips. "And many for the cause." He returned the goblet to a server's tray, and grabbed another for himself.

"Yes, yes, of course," Dryden murmured, as his eyes followed the course of his drink. "One of whom is still missing."

"Nosfentre of Jhelom," Blackthorn acknowledged, unable to conceal his disappointment. "A valorous man. His ship, the Ararat, was supposed to dock this morning, but has yet to arrive."

"A pity he is not here. I would feel more confident about this venture had we more men like him and thy friend, Captain Suturb."

"Hast thou seen him?" Blackthorn asked.

"He is keeping an eye on the one thou didst wish to watch this night," Dryden remarked.

"Excellent."

"Suturb is a fine man, as is Captain Veribed from Trinsic and Moragwain from Moonglow. The others . . ." He glanced with distaste at one group who arm-wrestled with the brothers, Noin and Roin, of the Royal Guard. "The others, well, they have performed adequately, considering their background. I never would have imagined that this rabble could have been disciplined to perform such an admirable service to their kingdom. Thou shouldst be commended for thine efforts, Lord Blackthorn."

"And what of thee? Thy part in this was no small matter. Without the support of thee and the other justices, I doubt Lord British would have gone against the will of the Great Council."