Not that it wasn’t true.
Peter did have that way about him.
“So you joined us,” Myles said. “And you have performed flawlessly. My brother will know about that because I will tell him myself.”
Brenton smiled, a smug gesture. “I am a de Royans,” he said. “We are always flawless.”
“And modest.”
“Andmodest,” Brenton agreed with exaggerated flair. But he quickly settled down. “In all seriousness, I want to go home and see my father. It has been almost a year and he’s an old man. I must spend some time with him.”
Myles nodded. “You will,” he said, eyeing the men at the next table as they began to argue over something undoubtedly stupid. “In fact, if you want to leave immediately after debriefing my brother on your activities for the past few months, I’m certain he will let you go.”
“Is he at Farringdon House?”
He was referring to the London townhome, and main headquarters for the Executioner Knights, and Myles nodded. “Aye,” he said. “Especially since he knew that most of us were in Lincolnshire heading off that Flemish spy. God help us if that woman had made her way to London. A beautiful courtesan who is also clever is a dangerous tool, indeed. Especially to a kingwho has come of age. She might have gotten close to her had we not identified and neutralized her.”
Brenton lifted his eyebrows in agreement. “But we did,” he said. “At least Henry seems to be easier to protect than his father was, or so I’ve heard.”
“It’s true,” Myles said. “John was a nightmare.”
Brenton grunted. “I had a cousin who served him, you know.”
“Who?”
“Creston,” he said. “Have you met him?”
Myles shook his head. “I do not think so,” he said. “Does he still serve the Crown?”
“Nay,” Brenton said. “He was one of John’s closest knights. The things John had him do… Well, you can imagine. Creston is a man of honor and integrity, however. When he could take no more, he simply walked out on him. At least, that’s what my father said. I know my father approved even if Creston’s father did not.”
“That is because Juston de Royans has a greater sense of intelligence and morality than most,” he said. “He knows what John was capable of. Where is Creston now?”
“Blackchurch,” Brenton said. “He is a senior trainer at the Blackchurch Guild.”
Myles’ eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Truly?” he said. “Blackchurch, you say?”
“Aye.”
“That’s quite impressive,” Myles said. “He’s your cousin, you said? How is he related to you?”
“My father has one brother, Quinton,” Brenton said. “Creston is his second son.”
“I see,” Myles said, picking up the pitcher to pour himself more wine. “A Blackchurch trainer in the family. That’s something to be proud of.”
“Did none of the de Lohr sons train at Blackchurch?”
Myles shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “My father never discouraged us, but we’re all very highly trained anyway, and we went straight into service for my father and the Crown. Most Blackchurch warriors are men seeking positions with great lords or kings or princes. Only a few train to return to the place where they started. Frankly, none of us ever saw the need to train with Blackchurch and, to be perfectly honest, the Executioner Knights have been as intense a training field as Blackchurch is, only we’ve done it on the job. At Blackchurch, when they fail during their training, they simply go home. With the Executioner Knights, if we fail, we die.”
That was the truth. The Blackchurch Guild and the Executioner Knights were two different beasts, each with their own merits, each with their own downfalls. Each one was spoken of with awe in every hall in England. Brenton sat back in his chair, holding his cup of wine, thinking of the cousin he’d not seen in a while as he watched the crowded common room. Most men were simply eating and drinking, with the more private chambers in the rear of the establishment housing nobility that had come in to seek respite. A game of chance over near the door that led to the kitchens caught his attention, men rolling a pair of dice, and he was about to point it out to Myles, to see if the man wanted to participate, when something suddenly fell against him.
Brenton’s wine went onto the floor.
Startled, he quickly rolled out of his chair because what had hit him was a body—a man falling into him. It was the man at the table next to him where the stupid argument had been going on, only one of them was now collapsed in Brenton’s chair as the other man went after him with a dagger.
Swiftly, Brenton grabbed the wrist of the man who held the dagger, twisting and yanking. Bones snapped and the dagger went flying as the man began to scream. Myles was up, andbetween the two of them, they rushed the screaming man out of the common room and onto the roadway outside. Beyond was the dirty, muddy ribbon of the River Thames, and as the man pulled out another dagger with his good hand and charged them, Myles turned the dagger back on the man, so he ended up stabbing himself. As he collapsed, Myles picked him up, literally, carried him down to the river, and tossed him in.
Both Myles and Brenton stood there as the body, face-down, was surrounded by a dark red stain. Slowly, it floated down the river before finally submerging.
