Will nodded toward Hadrian. “Look at the swords he’s carrying. A man wearing one—maybe he knows how to use it, maybe not. A man carries two—he probably don’t know nothing about swords, but he wants you to think he does. But a man carrying three swords—that’s a lot of weight. No one’s gonna haul that much steel around unless he makes a living using them.

You don’t win battles with hate. Anger and hate can make you brave, make you strong, but they also make you stupid. You end up tripping over your own two feet.

Right. And our first job is to teach her to give a speech on the Grand Balcony in three days.” “That does not sound too difficult. Has she done much public speaking?” Amilia forced a smile. “A week ago she said the word no.

Another last-minute, good-deed job,” Royce grumbled as he stuffed supplies into his saddlebag. “True,” Hadrian said, slinging his sword belt over his shoulder, “but this is at least a paying job.” “You should have told him the real reason we saved him from Trumbul— because we wouldn’t see the hundred tenents otherwise.” “That was your reason. Besides, how often do we get to do royal contracts? If word gets around, we’ll be able to command top salaries.” “If word gets around, we’ll be hanged.

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.

The idea of how others see you becomes more important than the reality of you.

And I wish to thank you as well, Royce." He was puzzled. "For what?" "For reminding me that anyone, no matter what they've done, can find redemption if they seek it.